Shelby Cross's Blog, page 16
May 31, 2013
Euphemisms
When you're kinky, sex and play become this kind of huge metaphorical amusement park, filled with mind-bending rides, laugh-soaked shows, and breath-catching thrills. Some of the rides are short, quick, and heart-pounding; some are long, slow, and relaxing; some you go on once or twice, and decide you'll never do again; and some are so amazing, you want to go on over and over and over. Each ride is different. Each one is unique in its own small way.
When you're kinky and have children, you still want to visit the amusement park pretty often. But you don't want your kids to know you're looking forward to a trip to the amusement park, and you certainly don't want them knowing which ride you're looking forward to the most.
So, if you're like us, you start making up names for the rides. Names that sound innocuous, but hold a much deeper meaning between the two of you. Names that can be placed into an innocent statement, but signify something else entirely, something much more kinky.
Like, let's say, oh, Doctor Who. If you're a long-time reader (or a twitter follower), you know I LOVE Doctor Who. You might also know Husband does not love Doctor Who (he once called my obsession with the show "retardis"). So when Husband says he wants some "Doctor Who," he is not talking about the TV show. He is talking about a specific sex position, a mode of play we enjoy. (How the position got this name is a story in and of itself.)
Now, Husband also likes beer. He doesn't indulge all that often, but when he does, he does not ask me to get him a beer. He gets up and pours it himself, mainly because he has a specific set of glasses he uses, and a specific way of pouring the beer into the glass, one that I can never seem to get right.
So when Husband says he wants me to "get him a bottle of beer," I know he's not talking about drinking a beer...well, he's not only talking about drinking a beer. He's talking about another sex position, another mode of play. (Again, how this position got this moniker is a story unto itself--although, if you think about it long enough, you could probably figure out what he's doing with the beer bottle.)
We have all sorts of names for all sorts of kinky ways of play. Besides "Doctor Who" and "Drink a Beer," we have "La Jolla," "Get the Butter" (which does NOT involve butter, thank god, butter does NOT a good lubricant make, no matter what Marlon Brando would have you believe) (just FYI), "You Won't Be Able to Reach Your Phone," "I'll Mess Up Your Hair," "You'll Be Typing Standing Up," "Go Food Shopping in the Vegetable Aisle," and others.
In this way, Husband and I can have all sorts of conversations in front of the kids that sound completely reasonable and chaste, because only he and I understand the deeper context. Conversations like the one we had last night in the car, which went kinda like this:
Husband: So you have anything going on tonight?
Me: No...why?
Husband (smirking): I'm thinking I should have a beer.
Me (refusing to play along): Go ahead. Have a beer. Just don't drive anywhere afterwards.
Husband (frowning): You know what I meant.
Me (trying not to grin): Yeah, I know.
Child Sitting in the Back: What did you mean, dad? You're gonna get blitzed?
Husband: No, I am not going to get blitzed. And what kind of word is that?
There is a pause now, as Husband is a tad annoyed.
Husband: Maybe while I'm drinking my beer, you should watch some Doctor Who.
Child Sitting in the Back: Oh! There's a new Doctor Who?
Me, turning to Child Sitting in the Back: No, no new Doctor Whos until Thanksgiving.
Child Sitting in the Back: But then you've already seen them all.
Me: Yup, I've seen them all. But I don't mind watching some of the episodes twice. You want to watch with me, kiddo?
Child Sitting in the Back: Naw, I have better things to watch. But thanks for asking.
Me (doing some of my own smirking): Sure.
Husband is now gnashing his teeth together.
Husband: When's our next trip to La Jolla?
Child Sitting in the Back: End of summer, dad.
Husband (murmuring under his breath): Not for your mother.
Child Sitting in Back: What?
Husband: Nothing. Nothing. (Turning to me): Wife, do we have enough vegetables at home?
Me (afraid now): I...think so?
Husband: Are you sure? Cause it's never a bad thing to have a well-stocked vegetable drawer. Maybe you should go to the supermarket later, and buy some.
Me: But...but we have vegetables.
Child Sitting in Back: We're out of the cucumbers, mom.
Husband (triumphant): There you go, Wife. You need to buy cucumbers. So why don't you go to the supermarket later, and get some cucumbers? And while you're at it, get some other vegetables, too.
Me: Fine. Fine! I get it.
Child Sitting in the Back: What do you get, mom?
Me: Nothing, kiddo.
Husband: You're mom's just a little afraid I'm going to mess up her hair before she goes to the supermarket.
Child Sitting in the Back: Why would you do that, dad?
Husband: Cause I can't help it. (He reaches his hand around my head to pull me closer, giving me an innocent head-hug.) You're mom's hair is so beautiful, I need to touch it all the time.
Child Sitting in the Back: Well, you can just fix your hair, can't you mom?
Me: Yes, kiddo. I can just fix my hair. But I would rather your father KEEP HIS HANDS OUT OF IT.
Husband: Are you sure, wife? Are you sure? Cause I don't think so. I don't think so at all.
Me: I think so!
Him: How's that chair doing in your office? Still good? It's nice to sit in, isn't it?
Me (panicking): Uh, I meant, I TOTALLY THINK SO. Yes.
Him (thoroughly satisfied now, in the most irritating way): That's what I thought.
Do the kids get some idea we're talking about things over their heads? I'm sure they do. But they won't know exactly what we're talking about. They'll wonder, but they'll never know. And this way, Husband can convey his information to me and get his point across without having to wait until we're alone. He can make me wait and worry and freak the fuck out even longer.
He doesn't have to wait to implement a good mindfuck.
When you're kinky and have children, you still want to visit the amusement park pretty often. But you don't want your kids to know you're looking forward to a trip to the amusement park, and you certainly don't want them knowing which ride you're looking forward to the most.
So, if you're like us, you start making up names for the rides. Names that sound innocuous, but hold a much deeper meaning between the two of you. Names that can be placed into an innocent statement, but signify something else entirely, something much more kinky.
Like, let's say, oh, Doctor Who. If you're a long-time reader (or a twitter follower), you know I LOVE Doctor Who. You might also know Husband does not love Doctor Who (he once called my obsession with the show "retardis"). So when Husband says he wants some "Doctor Who," he is not talking about the TV show. He is talking about a specific sex position, a mode of play we enjoy. (How the position got this name is a story in and of itself.)
Now, Husband also likes beer. He doesn't indulge all that often, but when he does, he does not ask me to get him a beer. He gets up and pours it himself, mainly because he has a specific set of glasses he uses, and a specific way of pouring the beer into the glass, one that I can never seem to get right.
So when Husband says he wants me to "get him a bottle of beer," I know he's not talking about drinking a beer...well, he's not only talking about drinking a beer. He's talking about another sex position, another mode of play. (Again, how this position got this moniker is a story unto itself--although, if you think about it long enough, you could probably figure out what he's doing with the beer bottle.)
We have all sorts of names for all sorts of kinky ways of play. Besides "Doctor Who" and "Drink a Beer," we have "La Jolla," "Get the Butter" (which does NOT involve butter, thank god, butter does NOT a good lubricant make, no matter what Marlon Brando would have you believe) (just FYI), "You Won't Be Able to Reach Your Phone," "I'll Mess Up Your Hair," "You'll Be Typing Standing Up," "Go Food Shopping in the Vegetable Aisle," and others.
In this way, Husband and I can have all sorts of conversations in front of the kids that sound completely reasonable and chaste, because only he and I understand the deeper context. Conversations like the one we had last night in the car, which went kinda like this:
Husband: So you have anything going on tonight?
Me: No...why?
Husband (smirking): I'm thinking I should have a beer.
Me (refusing to play along): Go ahead. Have a beer. Just don't drive anywhere afterwards.
Husband (frowning): You know what I meant.
Me (trying not to grin): Yeah, I know.
Child Sitting in the Back: What did you mean, dad? You're gonna get blitzed?
Husband: No, I am not going to get blitzed. And what kind of word is that?
There is a pause now, as Husband is a tad annoyed.
Husband: Maybe while I'm drinking my beer, you should watch some Doctor Who.
Child Sitting in the Back: Oh! There's a new Doctor Who?
Me, turning to Child Sitting in the Back: No, no new Doctor Whos until Thanksgiving.
Child Sitting in the Back: But then you've already seen them all.
Me: Yup, I've seen them all. But I don't mind watching some of the episodes twice. You want to watch with me, kiddo?
Child Sitting in the Back: Naw, I have better things to watch. But thanks for asking.
Me (doing some of my own smirking): Sure.
Husband is now gnashing his teeth together.
Husband: When's our next trip to La Jolla?
Child Sitting in the Back: End of summer, dad.
Husband (murmuring under his breath): Not for your mother.
Child Sitting in Back: What?
Husband: Nothing. Nothing. (Turning to me): Wife, do we have enough vegetables at home?
Me (afraid now): I...think so?
Husband: Are you sure? Cause it's never a bad thing to have a well-stocked vegetable drawer. Maybe you should go to the supermarket later, and buy some.
Me: But...but we have vegetables.
Child Sitting in Back: We're out of the cucumbers, mom.
Husband (triumphant): There you go, Wife. You need to buy cucumbers. So why don't you go to the supermarket later, and get some cucumbers? And while you're at it, get some other vegetables, too.
Me: Fine. Fine! I get it.
Child Sitting in the Back: What do you get, mom?
Me: Nothing, kiddo.
Husband: You're mom's just a little afraid I'm going to mess up her hair before she goes to the supermarket.
Child Sitting in the Back: Why would you do that, dad?
Husband: Cause I can't help it. (He reaches his hand around my head to pull me closer, giving me an innocent head-hug.) You're mom's hair is so beautiful, I need to touch it all the time.
Child Sitting in the Back: Well, you can just fix your hair, can't you mom?
Me: Yes, kiddo. I can just fix my hair. But I would rather your father KEEP HIS HANDS OUT OF IT.
Husband: Are you sure, wife? Are you sure? Cause I don't think so. I don't think so at all.
Me: I think so!
Him: How's that chair doing in your office? Still good? It's nice to sit in, isn't it?
Me (panicking): Uh, I meant, I TOTALLY THINK SO. Yes.
Him (thoroughly satisfied now, in the most irritating way): That's what I thought.
Do the kids get some idea we're talking about things over their heads? I'm sure they do. But they won't know exactly what we're talking about. They'll wonder, but they'll never know. And this way, Husband can convey his information to me and get his point across without having to wait until we're alone. He can make me wait and worry and freak the fuck out even longer.
He doesn't have to wait to implement a good mindfuck.
May 19, 2013
Integrity
This weekend there was a pretty big local event here, the NorthwestLeather Conference, or NWLC. It’s sponsored by smOdyssey, a group of which I have just recently become a member. I did not attend the conference. However, there was a separate event yesterday being held in a private room of the hotel, open to everyone, registered conference attendee or no. Husband and I came to that.
I had the opportunity to walk around the hotel a bit, say hi to some of my friends, and see what all the fuss was about. I’ll tell you right now—next year, I’m buying at least a Saturday day pass to this thing. The conference schedule looked amazing, and I’m sorry I missed so many amazing classes (not to mention a kickass party Saturday night).
Of course, not being a registered attendee yesterday, I was unable to enter many of the rooms and suites set aside for the conference. One of the rooms I really, really wanted to check out was the vendor space. Literally every single one of my friends who entered that blocked off room came out with something amazing! I couldn’t even ask them to take pictures for me, because photography was not allowed.I asked at the register table if I could have permission to go into the vendor space. They said no, not without a pass. I asked if there was a special pass I could buy, just for the vendor space, and they said no—I would have to buy the whole day pass. Seeing as how Husband was already on his way to pick me up from the hotel, I declined.
Outside the vendor room, standing with a circle of friends, I bemoaned my unhappiness (and jealousy) of my friends buying such cool stuff. More than a few of them offered to give me their passes from around their necks so I could go into the vendor space. I refused.“Just put it on and go in,” they said. “Nobody will know the difference.”“But I asked if I could go in, and they said no,” I explained.“They told you you need a pass. Take mine for a few minutes. It’s not a big deal.”“It’s not right. They told me I need to pay.”“That’s silly. Here, just take it,” they said.I still refused.“It’s not right,” I kept saying. “I’m not doing it.”After I made it clear I was against doing it because of the principle of the thing, one woman got a sly look in her eyes. She said, “you would do it if your Husband told you to.”I thought about it...for about a tenth of a second. “He never would,” I stated. “He is my Dom, and he would never ask me to go against something I thought was wrong. It’s one of the reasons why he’s my Dom.”“He would never ask her to go against her integrity,” another friend interjected. This woman, someone well-known and well-respected in the scene, had managed to say succinctly what I had not been able to, and the rest of the arguments finally stopped.
The whole episode got me thinking, though. Would I have taken someone else’s pass and used it for my advantage if Husband had told me to? Probably. I would have assumed he must have a good reason to tell me to do such a thing. Given that he knows I would be morally against it, and given that he respects my sense of ethics, I would trust he would not order me to do such a thing unless he was privy to information I was not, information he would later share with me to assuage my guilt.
But, the truth is…Husband would never ask me to do something like that. In fact, he would be angry with me for going against my better judgment, and giving into peer pressure.He expects me to hold myself to certain beliefs; that is one of the reasons why he chose me as his wife. I hold to these beliefs, with or without his say-so, and he expects me to continue to do so; that is one of the reasons why I chose him as my Husband.My Dom would never ask me to go against my core ethical beliefs, because I would never allow someone to be my Dom who could do so.
If your Dom, Master, Top, Whathaveyou, if this person is asking you to engage in behavior you find immoral, unethical, or basically goes against your better judgment, that is a major red flag. This person should no longerhave that kind of influence over you. A D/M should never ask you to behave badly in a way you’ll later regret; a D/M should always expect the best of you, so you can be the best person you can be, proud of who you are, happy in your own skin.
Now, do I think it’s a stupid rule that NWLC doesn’t allow non-conference-attendees to check out the vendors' space? Absolutely, yes. I think the vendors would probably benefit from more people—aka, more potential customers—checking out their wares. I think, in the future, the conference should think about selling cheap badges that would let people at least see what's for sale.But my opinion on the wisdom of the rule doesn’t change what I was told. I was told I could not go in, so I did not.When I came home, I told Husband what had happened, and what I did. He was pleased. He always likes to hear when I conduct myself well. It makes him proud.His pride in me is the best reward there is.
May 10, 2013
To My Sister: Do Not Read This Post. I'm Serious. Don't Read It. [Blood Play]
Social media always leaves me with the feeling other couples find new ways to spice up their sex life by reading magazine articles while looking at the accompanying pictures, usually the stick-figure or cartoon variety. (See: Cosmo magazine.) I also get the feeling it's never the men who are looking for new things to try in the bedroom, but it's somehow the woman's sole responsibility; as if to say, women need to push things up a notch if they want to keep their man's attention occupied, otherwise their men won't be looking to magazine articles for help, they'll be looking to other women.
The sexist attitude inherent in our culture is a topic for another day. Husband and I don't work that way. Yes, sometimes we find inspiration through tumblr or Fetlife. But more often than not, we learn our way through real life conversations, interactions--And often, by accident.
The other night, we were enjoying a rare evening when all the stars happened to align in our favor: the oldest two boys were out, the youngest was fast asleep, and we basically had the house to ourselves. Kinky sex was on the horizon, but how that would play out, exactly what we would do with our time? That was still an exciting mystery.
Husband decided he wanted to watch the end of a movie he had started a couple days before. Assuming it would take at least half an hour for him to watch it, and having no interest in watching it with him, I decided to go downstairs and watch one of my own shows on the kids' TV.
Now, the way our house is set up, the family room has the biggest TV in the house, but the kids also have a pretty nice TV downstairs, facing an old futon. This futon actually used to be our couch, back when we used to live in a small apartment. This was pre-kids.
Husband and I had many fun times on that futon.
About ten minutes into my own show, Husband came downstairs to find me."I thought you wanted to finish watching your movie," I said."I decided I could find better entertainment down here," he replied.He sat down next to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me over his lap. The TV show was forgotten; play had begun.
Here's something you might not know about a futon: the angle of it, the deep slope of the seat, makes it perfect for the-woman-on-top position. She can really snuggle into the man's thighs, push in deep, and grab onto the back of the wooden frame for support. So when it was time, a while later, for the real fun to begin, it made sense that Husband wanted me to straddle his lap.
But here's something about me: when I'm in deep surrender mode, I can't deal with that kind of power. It feels wrong. My hips don't want to move; they want to be grabbed, squeezed, and restrained, not allowed to move about freely and do whatever they want. I can't come that way.
So Husband quickly turned me over, pulled me on all fours, and took me from behind. It was a tight fit for me. I was all scrunched up there, my ass poking out, my face squashed against the futon. Every time Husband bucked into me, I had to hold my breath; my mouth and nose would press into the black velvet cotton futon cover, making it impossible for me to draw air.It was awesome.
When we were done, I rested my face into the crook of my arm, giving myself a minute to recover before I tried to stand up. Husband, smiling, took a step around to have a look at me. But when he saw me, his smile faded. "There's blood on your arm," he said, pointing. "And on your face. What happened?"I looked down at my arm, confirmed there was indeed blood, and felt my face. "I think you were pushing me into the futon so hard, I got a bloody nose," I said, touching my nostrils. "Wow," he said. Then--to my utter surprise--his smile widened. "Wow." He bent down and again, to my complete surprise, began to smear the blood from my nose all over my face. "Wow," he repeated, grinning.I grinned back. "What, do I look cool?""Yeah," he said with glee. "Like a woman who just got fucked so hard, she got a nosebleed.""I wanna see."I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom. Red streaks lined my cheeks, chin, and forehead. I began to laugh. "Oh my god," I said. "Oh my god, I'm a mess.""A hot mess.""Should I wash it off right now?" I was asking a rhetorical question...or thought I was, until Husband took a serious minute to think about it."I guess so," he said. "The kids might come home early. But it's really cool." His eyes were fixated on my face as he admired his art. "We need to do this again.""What, have sex on the futon?""Have sex hard enough to make your nose bleed," he said. As he turned away to put his clothes back on, he said once again, "Wow. Wow, that's hot."
Does this mean were dipping our toes into blood play now, or some kind of extra level impact play? I don't know yet. It's too early to tell. You know I hate making conjectures about these sort of things, when I have absolutely nothing to base myself upon.And besides, not knowing is part of the fun. Open mind+no predictions=no limits to the fun.
But I love how we surprise ourselves with what we can still do, the new levels of play we can still find, even after all these years.
It takes a certain level of self-assurance to do what we BDSMers do. We have to strip away all the restrictions and expectations society puts on us, just so we can be ourselves. Another couple might have been alarmed by the blood; the man would have been ashamed by his behavior, while the woman would have grown alarmed and furious. She might have questioned what kind of man he was, giving his wife a nosebleed (if only by accident), while he would have been put in a position of having to beg for forgiveness. But we laughed...and entertained the idea of doing it again.
Now, have no doubt, if my nose had been really hurt, we would have dealt with the injury accordingly. Husband would have treated me in the appropriate manner, helping me to feel better. He also would have made a mental note to himself for next time.But even then, this whole episode still would have been put into proper perspective. Husband did not mean to hurt me...this time. It would have been a case of rough sex gone wrong.
In our case, it was rough sex gone right. Next time, when Husband has every intent to hurt me, it will be with my absolute consent.
This is what BDSM does: It takes away the guilt for having the kind of sex you really want. All there needs to be is the beauty of consent between two adults, the love of trust, and if you're lucky, the trust of love.
The sexist attitude inherent in our culture is a topic for another day. Husband and I don't work that way. Yes, sometimes we find inspiration through tumblr or Fetlife. But more often than not, we learn our way through real life conversations, interactions--And often, by accident.
The other night, we were enjoying a rare evening when all the stars happened to align in our favor: the oldest two boys were out, the youngest was fast asleep, and we basically had the house to ourselves. Kinky sex was on the horizon, but how that would play out, exactly what we would do with our time? That was still an exciting mystery.
Husband decided he wanted to watch the end of a movie he had started a couple days before. Assuming it would take at least half an hour for him to watch it, and having no interest in watching it with him, I decided to go downstairs and watch one of my own shows on the kids' TV.
Now, the way our house is set up, the family room has the biggest TV in the house, but the kids also have a pretty nice TV downstairs, facing an old futon. This futon actually used to be our couch, back when we used to live in a small apartment. This was pre-kids.
Husband and I had many fun times on that futon.
About ten minutes into my own show, Husband came downstairs to find me."I thought you wanted to finish watching your movie," I said."I decided I could find better entertainment down here," he replied.He sat down next to me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me over his lap. The TV show was forgotten; play had begun.
Here's something you might not know about a futon: the angle of it, the deep slope of the seat, makes it perfect for the-woman-on-top position. She can really snuggle into the man's thighs, push in deep, and grab onto the back of the wooden frame for support. So when it was time, a while later, for the real fun to begin, it made sense that Husband wanted me to straddle his lap.
But here's something about me: when I'm in deep surrender mode, I can't deal with that kind of power. It feels wrong. My hips don't want to move; they want to be grabbed, squeezed, and restrained, not allowed to move about freely and do whatever they want. I can't come that way.
So Husband quickly turned me over, pulled me on all fours, and took me from behind. It was a tight fit for me. I was all scrunched up there, my ass poking out, my face squashed against the futon. Every time Husband bucked into me, I had to hold my breath; my mouth and nose would press into the black velvet cotton futon cover, making it impossible for me to draw air.It was awesome.
When we were done, I rested my face into the crook of my arm, giving myself a minute to recover before I tried to stand up. Husband, smiling, took a step around to have a look at me. But when he saw me, his smile faded. "There's blood on your arm," he said, pointing. "And on your face. What happened?"I looked down at my arm, confirmed there was indeed blood, and felt my face. "I think you were pushing me into the futon so hard, I got a bloody nose," I said, touching my nostrils. "Wow," he said. Then--to my utter surprise--his smile widened. "Wow." He bent down and again, to my complete surprise, began to smear the blood from my nose all over my face. "Wow," he repeated, grinning.I grinned back. "What, do I look cool?""Yeah," he said with glee. "Like a woman who just got fucked so hard, she got a nosebleed.""I wanna see."I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom. Red streaks lined my cheeks, chin, and forehead. I began to laugh. "Oh my god," I said. "Oh my god, I'm a mess.""A hot mess.""Should I wash it off right now?" I was asking a rhetorical question...or thought I was, until Husband took a serious minute to think about it."I guess so," he said. "The kids might come home early. But it's really cool." His eyes were fixated on my face as he admired his art. "We need to do this again.""What, have sex on the futon?""Have sex hard enough to make your nose bleed," he said. As he turned away to put his clothes back on, he said once again, "Wow. Wow, that's hot."
Does this mean were dipping our toes into blood play now, or some kind of extra level impact play? I don't know yet. It's too early to tell. You know I hate making conjectures about these sort of things, when I have absolutely nothing to base myself upon.And besides, not knowing is part of the fun. Open mind+no predictions=no limits to the fun.
But I love how we surprise ourselves with what we can still do, the new levels of play we can still find, even after all these years.
It takes a certain level of self-assurance to do what we BDSMers do. We have to strip away all the restrictions and expectations society puts on us, just so we can be ourselves. Another couple might have been alarmed by the blood; the man would have been ashamed by his behavior, while the woman would have grown alarmed and furious. She might have questioned what kind of man he was, giving his wife a nosebleed (if only by accident), while he would have been put in a position of having to beg for forgiveness. But we laughed...and entertained the idea of doing it again.
Now, have no doubt, if my nose had been really hurt, we would have dealt with the injury accordingly. Husband would have treated me in the appropriate manner, helping me to feel better. He also would have made a mental note to himself for next time.But even then, this whole episode still would have been put into proper perspective. Husband did not mean to hurt me...this time. It would have been a case of rough sex gone wrong.
In our case, it was rough sex gone right. Next time, when Husband has every intent to hurt me, it will be with my absolute consent.
This is what BDSM does: It takes away the guilt for having the kind of sex you really want. All there needs to be is the beauty of consent between two adults, the love of trust, and if you're lucky, the trust of love.
May 7, 2013
The Original Story Got Sidetracked, but It's All Good
So like every pair of parents who fear the long arm of social services, Husband and I try to shield our kids from the worst of our kinkiness. This is relatively easy with the 7-year-old, who anyway lives in his own little world of legos, rocks, and Minecraft. Power Rangers sometimes gets mixed in, but rarely, and only for a half an hour or two on Saturday morning.
The two older boys are getting harder to fool; but at the same time, we're feeling less guilty about exposing them to it.
I just realized...I never told you guys what happened over Passover, did I? No, I don't think I did. All I can say is, I blame the two cups of diluted wine Husband thought it okay to let them drink for the seder. I thought this a very very bad idea, and as you'll see, I was proven right.
Wine has a way of loosening tongues, people.
So we were having our seder, partaking of our cups of wine and our meal, and then it was time to search for the afikoman. If you're not familiar with a Jewish seder, the afikoman is the piece of matzah that serves as the dessert for after the meal.
(This only furthers my belief Jews invented sarcasm, by the way.)
The meal cannot continue until the afikoman is eaten. (We might have invented sadism, too.)
There is a tradition among most Jewish families that the afikoman gets hidden, either by the parents or the children, and the other party must find it. Depending on who's doing the finding, a round of bartering and blackmail ensues, until an agreement is reached and the meal can continue. In our family, Husband and I hide the afikoman, and our kids have to find it--but once they do, we have to pay them to give it back.
So the kids start looking around for the afikoman, using a well-organized system, I have to tell you, and Husband and I start following them around, laughing our heads off at their feeble attempts. We take this game seriously, you know. We're not the kind of parents to just hide stuff in the most obvious places, and let's be honest here, we've had some experience hiding stuff from our kids.
In other words, we weren't going to make it impossible for them, but we weren't going to make it easy, either.
But when my 12-year-old got to the wide padded rocking chair in our bedroom, I thought the game was up. Surely, I thought, he would lift up the seat cushion, and find the afikoman. But to my surprise, he didn't.
A few minutes later, they all gave up the game, and I showed them where it was by pulling the afikoman away from under the rocking chair's seat cushion.
"It was right here," I said to the 12-year-old. "You didn't look."
"I didn't want to touch that rocking chair," he said, scrunching up his face.
"Why?" I asked, confused.
"Because I know what you two do in that rocking chair," he answered me. "I hear it creaking at night. I'm not touching that thing."
I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me, my horror was so great. And then--then I did the only thing I could think of to save myself. I lied through my teeth.
"I promise you, son, absolutely nothing inappropriate happens in that rocking chair," I said.
At this point the 15-year-old chimed in. "Yeah, brother, those creaking noises are coming from the bed," he said. "Can't you tell the difference?"
At this point I just wanted to die of shame. "You can...you can hear us?" I squeaked.
"Of course we can," the 12-year-old answered. "You guys aren't exactly quiet, you know."
"Yeah, but it's ok mom," the 15-year-old tried to comfort me. "It sounds like you guys have fun. Just the screaming gets loud."
I sat down in the rocking chair and curled up my knees to my chest, muttering 'oh god, oh god.' But Husband...Husband's reaction was a little different.
"So you guys know anyway?" He said, a pleased grin spreading across his face. "You mean, from now on, we can just put a sock on the doorknob or something and you'll leave us alone?"
"HUSBAND." I shouted. "That is...that is..."
"This is great," he said.
"THIS IS NOT GREAT," now going from wanting to die to wanting to kill him. "We are never having sex again."
"Yes," he said, "we are."
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," I continued my rocking and muttering. "We are awful parents. Awful."
"We are not awful parents," Husband scoffed. "So what if they know sometimes when we're having sex?"
"Yeah, mom," my 12-year-old said. "It's not like it's all the time."
I looked up with pleading eyes. "It's not?"
"No," he said. "Most of the time now, when I hear you guys in your room, I just start listening to my music with my headphones on. Why do you think I spent so much of my own money on those headphones, anyway?"
So the ship has sailed. Our oldest two boys know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that THEIR PARENTS HAVE SEX. And--what's worse--WE KNOW THEY KNOW. And THEY KNOW WE KNOW THEY KNOW.
Ad infinitum, hallelujah, amen.
I just took a break from writing this post to go get a cup of coffee, and now for the life of me, I can't remember where I was going with this post. I hate it when this happens. Hate it. But I suppose the original point of this entry is going to have to wait for another day, because I want to hit publish on this thing, so I can announce to all my readers:
Two close friends of mine have recently come out with sexy hot poetry books!
My friend PurryLady has written a book titled The Scented Garden: Poems of Desire and Fulfillment. It's only .99¢, and it's available off Amazon. Check it out here. Go have a look!
Next, my friend D has also written a book, titled Cinnamon Witch, also available on Amazon. I'm not sure why it's listed under the editor, Susan. I have to ask him about that. But check it out by clicking here!
Support your local kinky writers. Living the lifestyle is hard in ways vanilla people can't even image, what with the rocking chairs and the headphones and all the creaking going on, yo.
The two older boys are getting harder to fool; but at the same time, we're feeling less guilty about exposing them to it.
I just realized...I never told you guys what happened over Passover, did I? No, I don't think I did. All I can say is, I blame the two cups of diluted wine Husband thought it okay to let them drink for the seder. I thought this a very very bad idea, and as you'll see, I was proven right.
Wine has a way of loosening tongues, people.
So we were having our seder, partaking of our cups of wine and our meal, and then it was time to search for the afikoman. If you're not familiar with a Jewish seder, the afikoman is the piece of matzah that serves as the dessert for after the meal.
(This only furthers my belief Jews invented sarcasm, by the way.)
The meal cannot continue until the afikoman is eaten. (We might have invented sadism, too.)
There is a tradition among most Jewish families that the afikoman gets hidden, either by the parents or the children, and the other party must find it. Depending on who's doing the finding, a round of bartering and blackmail ensues, until an agreement is reached and the meal can continue. In our family, Husband and I hide the afikoman, and our kids have to find it--but once they do, we have to pay them to give it back.
So the kids start looking around for the afikoman, using a well-organized system, I have to tell you, and Husband and I start following them around, laughing our heads off at their feeble attempts. We take this game seriously, you know. We're not the kind of parents to just hide stuff in the most obvious places, and let's be honest here, we've had some experience hiding stuff from our kids.
In other words, we weren't going to make it impossible for them, but we weren't going to make it easy, either.
But when my 12-year-old got to the wide padded rocking chair in our bedroom, I thought the game was up. Surely, I thought, he would lift up the seat cushion, and find the afikoman. But to my surprise, he didn't.
A few minutes later, they all gave up the game, and I showed them where it was by pulling the afikoman away from under the rocking chair's seat cushion.
"It was right here," I said to the 12-year-old. "You didn't look."
"I didn't want to touch that rocking chair," he said, scrunching up his face.
"Why?" I asked, confused.
"Because I know what you two do in that rocking chair," he answered me. "I hear it creaking at night. I'm not touching that thing."
I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me, my horror was so great. And then--then I did the only thing I could think of to save myself. I lied through my teeth.
"I promise you, son, absolutely nothing inappropriate happens in that rocking chair," I said.
At this point the 15-year-old chimed in. "Yeah, brother, those creaking noises are coming from the bed," he said. "Can't you tell the difference?"
At this point I just wanted to die of shame. "You can...you can hear us?" I squeaked.
"Of course we can," the 12-year-old answered. "You guys aren't exactly quiet, you know."
"Yeah, but it's ok mom," the 15-year-old tried to comfort me. "It sounds like you guys have fun. Just the screaming gets loud."
I sat down in the rocking chair and curled up my knees to my chest, muttering 'oh god, oh god.' But Husband...Husband's reaction was a little different.
"So you guys know anyway?" He said, a pleased grin spreading across his face. "You mean, from now on, we can just put a sock on the doorknob or something and you'll leave us alone?"
"HUSBAND." I shouted. "That is...that is..."
"This is great," he said.
"THIS IS NOT GREAT," now going from wanting to die to wanting to kill him. "We are never having sex again."
"Yes," he said, "we are."
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," I continued my rocking and muttering. "We are awful parents. Awful."
"We are not awful parents," Husband scoffed. "So what if they know sometimes when we're having sex?"
"Yeah, mom," my 12-year-old said. "It's not like it's all the time."
I looked up with pleading eyes. "It's not?"
"No," he said. "Most of the time now, when I hear you guys in your room, I just start listening to my music with my headphones on. Why do you think I spent so much of my own money on those headphones, anyway?"
So the ship has sailed. Our oldest two boys know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that THEIR PARENTS HAVE SEX. And--what's worse--WE KNOW THEY KNOW. And THEY KNOW WE KNOW THEY KNOW.
Ad infinitum, hallelujah, amen.
I just took a break from writing this post to go get a cup of coffee, and now for the life of me, I can't remember where I was going with this post. I hate it when this happens. Hate it. But I suppose the original point of this entry is going to have to wait for another day, because I want to hit publish on this thing, so I can announce to all my readers:
Two close friends of mine have recently come out with sexy hot poetry books!
My friend PurryLady has written a book titled The Scented Garden: Poems of Desire and Fulfillment. It's only .99¢, and it's available off Amazon. Check it out here. Go have a look!
Next, my friend D has also written a book, titled Cinnamon Witch, also available on Amazon. I'm not sure why it's listed under the editor, Susan. I have to ask him about that. But check it out by clicking here!
Support your local kinky writers. Living the lifestyle is hard in ways vanilla people can't even image, what with the rocking chairs and the headphones and all the creaking going on, yo.
April 17, 2013
Judging the New
Bear with me, readers. I am fighting off an angry brat called depression. Sometimes I'm able to bury it under the blankets, and sometimes it rears its ugly head to stick its tongue out at me. For the most part, I am fine; I go on with my days getting my shit done, housecleaning, laundry, cooking, tidying up... but now and then I can't help but notice that big lump under my covers, giggling, laughing at me. Its taunting laughter is quite grating on the nerves.
I went to a BDSM discussion group last week, one which I had debated attending. I was in a crappy mood. Most of the time, when I'm in a crappy mood, I don't like to engage other people. I don't want my crappy mood affecting them. It's rude. But this time, I thought, I would show up to the meeting, and if I didn't have anything good to say, or if I thought I'd be a sourpuss for everyone else, I'd just keep my mouth shut.
Well, it turned out to be a very good discussion. I was enlightened on a few points, and managed to enlighten others on a few points. I got to see people I don't often see, and I let others see me, in more ways than one.
What was interesting about this meeting was that we had a new guy show up, someone absolutely no one knew, who was not just new to the discussion group, but new to the entire scene. Now, this in and of itself would not be that big of a deal; new people sometimes decide to attend these things last minute. It's like jumping off the kinky cliff into dark mysterious pools; new swimmers often have to stand there a long time before they finally jump. Who knows how long, or what synapsis finally went off in their brains to make them take the plunge.
I'll tell you one thing, though, they often make quite the splash.
I speak from experience.
Anyway, this new guy showed up, and what was confusing to us at first was that he had not even found our group from Fetlife or any other kinkster calendar. No, he had learned of our group from another site entirely, one which I will not mention by name--but I will say it is not a site specifically for kinksters. It is a site for random people to meet and hook up.
This sent us all red flags. But we welcomed the new guy, motioned him to have a seat, and took inventory.
He was relatively young, relatively good looking, and had a thick accent. He told us he had been to one other meeting before, with poly people, and this was his second foray into the kinky scene.
More red flags.
Here's the thing: since Fifty Shades of Gray came out, there have been a lot of people checking out the kinky scene and BDSM in general, not because they think it's something they might enjoy, but because they think by associating with kinky people, they are more likely to get laid.
This is especially true for men who haven't had a lot of luck with women in the vanilla world. They think if they start reading up on floggers and whips and calling themselves a "dominant," they'll have an easier time finding a submissive woman who'll fuck them. Which may or may not be true, I don't know. But that's their assumption.
Which is just obnoxious. Because the number one concern for these people is not finding a community where they fit in, so they can grow as a person, and learn to love themselves for who they are; no, their number one concern is doing and saying whatever it takes to have sex.
If they need to be a sadist, they'll be a sadist; if they need to act all strong and macho, they'll act all strong and macho.
But it's an act. They don't know what the fuck they're doing, they have no interest in learning a craft beyond looking good to impress the females, and their fulfillment ends at filling pussy. They are not doing this to pacify something within themselves, a darker force they cannot deny; they are following a script, playing the part, willing to become whatever the opposite sex wants, as long as they'll put out.
This is not being a dominant. This is anti-dominant.
Unfortunately, once in a while, you have someone come into the kink community who is not there for the right reasons. From what I gather, sometimes they find their footing, and sometimes they do not. Sometimes epiphanies are made, and these people go on to become well-regarded community members. But often, they fade away. Like an old-timer friend told me, "people in the kink community have a short half-life."
I'll tell you one thing: you may or may not get laid more often being a member of the kink community... but your chances of finding a stable, long-term relationship are no better in the BDSM world than they are in vanilla land. In fact, some would argue, they are worse. Having a D/s M/s O/p relationship is hard.
So we went on with the meeting, talking about things the way we normally would, and this guy sat at the back of the table, quietly assessing us much the same way we were assessing him. Which is fine; everyone was polite, help was offered when needed, and the meeting was a success.
But I wonder if I'll ever see this man again. I wonder if he walked into our meeting with certain assumptions, and if we burst his bubble; or maybe I'm the one making faulty assumptions about him, and he'll surprise me.
I went to a BDSM discussion group last week, one which I had debated attending. I was in a crappy mood. Most of the time, when I'm in a crappy mood, I don't like to engage other people. I don't want my crappy mood affecting them. It's rude. But this time, I thought, I would show up to the meeting, and if I didn't have anything good to say, or if I thought I'd be a sourpuss for everyone else, I'd just keep my mouth shut.
Well, it turned out to be a very good discussion. I was enlightened on a few points, and managed to enlighten others on a few points. I got to see people I don't often see, and I let others see me, in more ways than one.
What was interesting about this meeting was that we had a new guy show up, someone absolutely no one knew, who was not just new to the discussion group, but new to the entire scene. Now, this in and of itself would not be that big of a deal; new people sometimes decide to attend these things last minute. It's like jumping off the kinky cliff into dark mysterious pools; new swimmers often have to stand there a long time before they finally jump. Who knows how long, or what synapsis finally went off in their brains to make them take the plunge.
I'll tell you one thing, though, they often make quite the splash.
I speak from experience.
Anyway, this new guy showed up, and what was confusing to us at first was that he had not even found our group from Fetlife or any other kinkster calendar. No, he had learned of our group from another site entirely, one which I will not mention by name--but I will say it is not a site specifically for kinksters. It is a site for random people to meet and hook up.
This sent us all red flags. But we welcomed the new guy, motioned him to have a seat, and took inventory.
He was relatively young, relatively good looking, and had a thick accent. He told us he had been to one other meeting before, with poly people, and this was his second foray into the kinky scene.
More red flags.
Here's the thing: since Fifty Shades of Gray came out, there have been a lot of people checking out the kinky scene and BDSM in general, not because they think it's something they might enjoy, but because they think by associating with kinky people, they are more likely to get laid.
This is especially true for men who haven't had a lot of luck with women in the vanilla world. They think if they start reading up on floggers and whips and calling themselves a "dominant," they'll have an easier time finding a submissive woman who'll fuck them. Which may or may not be true, I don't know. But that's their assumption.
Which is just obnoxious. Because the number one concern for these people is not finding a community where they fit in, so they can grow as a person, and learn to love themselves for who they are; no, their number one concern is doing and saying whatever it takes to have sex.
If they need to be a sadist, they'll be a sadist; if they need to act all strong and macho, they'll act all strong and macho.
But it's an act. They don't know what the fuck they're doing, they have no interest in learning a craft beyond looking good to impress the females, and their fulfillment ends at filling pussy. They are not doing this to pacify something within themselves, a darker force they cannot deny; they are following a script, playing the part, willing to become whatever the opposite sex wants, as long as they'll put out.
This is not being a dominant. This is anti-dominant.
Unfortunately, once in a while, you have someone come into the kink community who is not there for the right reasons. From what I gather, sometimes they find their footing, and sometimes they do not. Sometimes epiphanies are made, and these people go on to become well-regarded community members. But often, they fade away. Like an old-timer friend told me, "people in the kink community have a short half-life."
I'll tell you one thing: you may or may not get laid more often being a member of the kink community... but your chances of finding a stable, long-term relationship are no better in the BDSM world than they are in vanilla land. In fact, some would argue, they are worse. Having a D/s M/s O/p relationship is hard.
So we went on with the meeting, talking about things the way we normally would, and this guy sat at the back of the table, quietly assessing us much the same way we were assessing him. Which is fine; everyone was polite, help was offered when needed, and the meeting was a success.
But I wonder if I'll ever see this man again. I wonder if he walked into our meeting with certain assumptions, and if we burst his bubble; or maybe I'm the one making faulty assumptions about him, and he'll surprise me.
April 11, 2013
Guest Post from...Myself
So of all the people in the world, guess which one of my blog readers was the one who got me to come out of hiding and write again?
My sister.
Yes, my sister reads my blog, apparently religiously, and has been waiting for a new post.
So here is what happened:
I wrote a post entry for Fetlife, put it up on Fetlife, and put it up on my tumblr account, as well. On tumblr, it only got, like, five notes. But on Fetlife, it took off, garnering over 2,000 likes, over 500 comments, and ending on Kinky&Popular.
I'm still trying to understand how different medias get different attention. If I had never posted that entry on Fetlife, but added it to my tumblr account only, I probably would have thought it's a dud. But it became the focus of a rather heated discussion on Fetlife. Likewise, sometimes I post stuff on Fetlife, and it gets practically zero attention, while I post it here and get amazing comments from people here, and on twitter.
I don't understand how different things appeal to different people on different sites. One thing I do know: this is why they tell people to be as "out there" as possible. Because you never know from where people are going to find you.
This is assuming, of course, you want to be found.
Anyway... after the post became so popular on Fetlife, I forgot about putting the post on here on my blog, and focused on responding to the comments there. But things have calmed down now, and as my sister reminded me, it's been a while since I posted here, so...here's the entry that caused such a stir:
The Notion of Polyamory from Someone MonogamousYou know what? I am so sick of these wackadoodle “polyamory” people telling me how oppressed they are because they are polyamorous, how monogamy is nothing but a religiously imposed construct, a yoke of society, a shackle of misogyny, an imaginative institution of hierarchy, a fabrication of the perfect lifestyle; that only they can see it for what it really is, but we should all aspire to see the ruse of it so we can throw it off like a moth-eaten coat; that a person like me can’t really understand polyamory, because I am not polyamorous myself.
Sorry, muchacho, but polyamory is not that hard to understand. It is hard to engage in, hard to live by, hard to get right, but it is not that hard to understand.
And for a lot of these fucksters, I get the feeling I, the monogamous one, understand it a lot better than they do.Polyamory means having a loving relationship with more than one person. It means being romantic with more than one person. To go back to the word itself, it means investing amorous emotions in more than one person.You know what it doesn’t mean? Fucking everything on two feet—or at least, anyone on two feet who turns you on.Here’s what I see all the time: people—a vast, VAST majority of whom are men—trying to get into the mouth and cunt of every woman who strikes their fancy. They do not want a relationship with these women. They might never want to see them again after the first date. But they want to fuck.
This is not polyamory. This is NSA (no strings attached) sex.Here’s another thing I see: couples trying to find other couples to “switch.” They will want to talk to the other couple a bit, to keep things friendly, and to make sure they’re not engaging with someone who’s violent or insane. But they’re not looking for a long-term friendship beyond the fucking aspect. They don’t want to go to the movies together. All they want is to make sure it’s safe and civil to fuck.
This is not polyamory. This is swinging.Here’s another thing I see: men looking for a woman to fuck on the side, without their wife’s/significant other’s approval or knowledge. “I’m polyamorous, she’s not,” he’ll say. “It’s kinder I don’t tell her about my sexual exploits.”
This is not polyamory. This is cheating.I have also seen polyamory work. In fact, I am often jealous of the polyamory relationships I see when it is done right.
That means everyone knows what the other people are doing, who they are seeing, who they are sleeping with, and who they are hoping to sleep with sometime down the road; nobody is engaging in NSA sex, everyone knows their sexual partners well enough to hope their particular relationship will continue at least for a while, and will be based on more than just casual sex; everyone respects what the other is doing, and there is mutual sensitivity towards everyone’s feelings.In other words, it is not about just sex.
It is about love.So when I hear someone say they would jump at the chance to fuck a woman whose name they don’t even know, who then turns around and tells me I’m somehow not “as kinky as them” because I’m monogamous and therefore I just don’t get it—
Dude, I get it. You’re a horny fucker, and you’re hung like a mule.
But no amount of sweet-smelling mints in your mouth will stop you from sounding like an ass.
My sister.
Yes, my sister reads my blog, apparently religiously, and has been waiting for a new post.
So here is what happened:
I wrote a post entry for Fetlife, put it up on Fetlife, and put it up on my tumblr account, as well. On tumblr, it only got, like, five notes. But on Fetlife, it took off, garnering over 2,000 likes, over 500 comments, and ending on Kinky&Popular.
I'm still trying to understand how different medias get different attention. If I had never posted that entry on Fetlife, but added it to my tumblr account only, I probably would have thought it's a dud. But it became the focus of a rather heated discussion on Fetlife. Likewise, sometimes I post stuff on Fetlife, and it gets practically zero attention, while I post it here and get amazing comments from people here, and on twitter.
I don't understand how different things appeal to different people on different sites. One thing I do know: this is why they tell people to be as "out there" as possible. Because you never know from where people are going to find you.
This is assuming, of course, you want to be found.
Anyway... after the post became so popular on Fetlife, I forgot about putting the post on here on my blog, and focused on responding to the comments there. But things have calmed down now, and as my sister reminded me, it's been a while since I posted here, so...here's the entry that caused such a stir:
The Notion of Polyamory from Someone MonogamousYou know what? I am so sick of these wackadoodle “polyamory” people telling me how oppressed they are because they are polyamorous, how monogamy is nothing but a religiously imposed construct, a yoke of society, a shackle of misogyny, an imaginative institution of hierarchy, a fabrication of the perfect lifestyle; that only they can see it for what it really is, but we should all aspire to see the ruse of it so we can throw it off like a moth-eaten coat; that a person like me can’t really understand polyamory, because I am not polyamorous myself.
Sorry, muchacho, but polyamory is not that hard to understand. It is hard to engage in, hard to live by, hard to get right, but it is not that hard to understand.
And for a lot of these fucksters, I get the feeling I, the monogamous one, understand it a lot better than they do.Polyamory means having a loving relationship with more than one person. It means being romantic with more than one person. To go back to the word itself, it means investing amorous emotions in more than one person.You know what it doesn’t mean? Fucking everything on two feet—or at least, anyone on two feet who turns you on.Here’s what I see all the time: people—a vast, VAST majority of whom are men—trying to get into the mouth and cunt of every woman who strikes their fancy. They do not want a relationship with these women. They might never want to see them again after the first date. But they want to fuck.
This is not polyamory. This is NSA (no strings attached) sex.Here’s another thing I see: couples trying to find other couples to “switch.” They will want to talk to the other couple a bit, to keep things friendly, and to make sure they’re not engaging with someone who’s violent or insane. But they’re not looking for a long-term friendship beyond the fucking aspect. They don’t want to go to the movies together. All they want is to make sure it’s safe and civil to fuck.
This is not polyamory. This is swinging.Here’s another thing I see: men looking for a woman to fuck on the side, without their wife’s/significant other’s approval or knowledge. “I’m polyamorous, she’s not,” he’ll say. “It’s kinder I don’t tell her about my sexual exploits.”
This is not polyamory. This is cheating.I have also seen polyamory work. In fact, I am often jealous of the polyamory relationships I see when it is done right.
That means everyone knows what the other people are doing, who they are seeing, who they are sleeping with, and who they are hoping to sleep with sometime down the road; nobody is engaging in NSA sex, everyone knows their sexual partners well enough to hope their particular relationship will continue at least for a while, and will be based on more than just casual sex; everyone respects what the other is doing, and there is mutual sensitivity towards everyone’s feelings.In other words, it is not about just sex.
It is about love.So when I hear someone say they would jump at the chance to fuck a woman whose name they don’t even know, who then turns around and tells me I’m somehow not “as kinky as them” because I’m monogamous and therefore I just don’t get it—
Dude, I get it. You’re a horny fucker, and you’re hung like a mule.
But no amount of sweet-smelling mints in your mouth will stop you from sounding like an ass.
March 21, 2013
A Spoof on Aftercare
Let us say now you followed all the rules. You found a woman, the two of you got to talking, maybe even watched each other's play technique with other people; you started negotiations, decided on a scene, and it all went really well. So well, in fact, that now you feel like James Fucking Bond, Agent of Tophood, Masterdom, and All That Is Sadistic, and your play partner is sacked out where you left her, looking like her brains have been shaken, not stirred. The world is awesome.
TIME FOR AFTERCARE.
Oh, but wait! You two didn't negotiate aftercare! You didn't realize it was necessary! Well, that's ok. See, unlike the scene the two of you just hashed out, aftercare has nothing to do with what she wants. Hell, she doesn't know what she wants anymore. Look at her; her eyeballs are rolling around her head like a pair of googly-eyes on a cookie monster doll. It's up to you now to know what she needs. Be the Top! Treat her the way she needs to be treated! She may not thank you now, but she'll be grateful in the long run, believe me.
(And I must know what I'm talking about, cause I'm taking the time to write a whole fucking post on aftercare, and these posts are always chock full of awesome goodness, aren't they?)
1. Set her down somewhere in a dark, quiet corner to relax. It should be dark enough that she can fall asleep if she wants to. Hell, it should be dark enough she can't see one foot in front of the other, cause why should she? It's not like she's going anywhere. In fact, it might be a good idea to put some legos on the floor, so you know if tries to get up and walk around; her hollers will warn you in a hurry, so you can put her right back where she belongs. If her friends think it's weird you're hiding her away where nobody can see her, snub your noses at them. This is aftercare, baby.
2. Make sure she has a nice, cozy blanket around her. Her arms should be good and snug by her sides, so she can't flail them around and accidentally hurt herself. Remember, she's got about as much sense now as a newborn babe; in her state, she might do some real damage to her face. In fact, it might be a good idea to go ahead and get out the nail clippers--blunt those nails down. Now's not the time to worry about her manicure. THIS IS HER SAFETY WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.
If you don't have a blanket, a straitjacket will do. The important thing is to make her feel secure, protected, and cared for. As you're fastening the straitjacket, you can whisper sweet words in her ear about how she's not going anywhere, and you've got her under your complete control. Let her feel the love.
3. Put some cream on those bruises. Arnica cream is awesome for this; petals from the Calendula Officinalis plant are good, too, and what's better, you can make a tea out of them! Just stick a funnel in her mouth and pour it down her throat. Remember, she needs to be rehydrated, and it's your job to see to her needs!
As you're applying the cream to her skin, rub it in like you're preparing a nice, juicy steak for the grill. It might hurt her, but hey, that's what S and M are all about. While you're rubbing, you can sing a little song to lighten the mood, like "It rubs the lotion on Its skin." The funny looks she'll give you will be those of admiration and respect.
If some of her skin has been cut, take heed: you don't want those cuts to get infected! It's time to pour on the alcohol. She'll scream with pleasure.
4. Give her some food. Have some ready, whatever you think you'll be in the mood for, since you know you'll be noshing on it, too, and she won't really care anyway. Don't worry now about any allergies she might suffer from; the important thing is to get her energy levels and endorphins back up. Chocolate is the best thing for this. If she refuses to eat the chocolate (for some stupid reason like she's on a diet or it has peanuts), pretend like you're in the Harry Potter universe and she's just been attacked by Dementors: GET THAT CHOCOLATE IN HER BELLEH. It's for her own good. If she continues to balk, pretend like you're a real wizard, get your wand out, and start yelling expecto patronum! around the room. A little cosplay never hurt anybody.
5. Give her time. Again, she's not going anywhere until you decide she's safe and ready to go. It could be hours; it could be minutes, if your ride's waiting for you and they've already got the engine idling. The important thing is to make sure she gets to her next destination safely. If you can't do this, ask a couple of your friends to watch over her. It doesn't matter if she knows them or not; she needs to trust in you now, to make the best decisions for her. And those "friends" you just made at the bar, who are eyeing her like she's fresh-baked bread? They will take awesome care of her while you move on to your next scene. (No, you don't need their last names or phone numbers, and it's impolite of you to ask. Confidentiality is key here.)
6. Check in on her the next day to make sure she's ok. If she doesn't accept your phone calls, keep trying; she might just be processing the lovely scene you two shared. If she starts yelling and screaming at you over the phone to leave her the fuck alone, don't take it personally--she's just going through subdrop. In fact, if she is going through subdrop, it might be a good idea to show up at her place unannounced just to let her know how pleased you are with her and how you'd love to play with her again sometime...like, maybe, right now? Don't take it personally if she calls the cops. Again, this is normal subdrop behavior. She'll get over it, and once she does, she'll be fine, ready, and raring to go!
So there you have it. A guide to aftercare. Remember, it's all up to you now. She's bloody and loopy, but don't despair! She just needs some aftercare!
(*In all seriousness, I do not understand why so few couples negotiate aftercare before they start a heavy scene. But if this happens to you, the most important thing is to follow the bottom's cues, do whatever is right for her/him, and don't blindly follow any piece of advice you read in a BDSM post just because it was written by some "expert." You didn't play with the "expert," you played with the bottom in front of you. Their wishes, and their safety, is most important.)
TIME FOR AFTERCARE.
Oh, but wait! You two didn't negotiate aftercare! You didn't realize it was necessary! Well, that's ok. See, unlike the scene the two of you just hashed out, aftercare has nothing to do with what she wants. Hell, she doesn't know what she wants anymore. Look at her; her eyeballs are rolling around her head like a pair of googly-eyes on a cookie monster doll. It's up to you now to know what she needs. Be the Top! Treat her the way she needs to be treated! She may not thank you now, but she'll be grateful in the long run, believe me.
(And I must know what I'm talking about, cause I'm taking the time to write a whole fucking post on aftercare, and these posts are always chock full of awesome goodness, aren't they?)
1. Set her down somewhere in a dark, quiet corner to relax. It should be dark enough that she can fall asleep if she wants to. Hell, it should be dark enough she can't see one foot in front of the other, cause why should she? It's not like she's going anywhere. In fact, it might be a good idea to put some legos on the floor, so you know if tries to get up and walk around; her hollers will warn you in a hurry, so you can put her right back where she belongs. If her friends think it's weird you're hiding her away where nobody can see her, snub your noses at them. This is aftercare, baby.
2. Make sure she has a nice, cozy blanket around her. Her arms should be good and snug by her sides, so she can't flail them around and accidentally hurt herself. Remember, she's got about as much sense now as a newborn babe; in her state, she might do some real damage to her face. In fact, it might be a good idea to go ahead and get out the nail clippers--blunt those nails down. Now's not the time to worry about her manicure. THIS IS HER SAFETY WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.
If you don't have a blanket, a straitjacket will do. The important thing is to make her feel secure, protected, and cared for. As you're fastening the straitjacket, you can whisper sweet words in her ear about how she's not going anywhere, and you've got her under your complete control. Let her feel the love.
3. Put some cream on those bruises. Arnica cream is awesome for this; petals from the Calendula Officinalis plant are good, too, and what's better, you can make a tea out of them! Just stick a funnel in her mouth and pour it down her throat. Remember, she needs to be rehydrated, and it's your job to see to her needs!
As you're applying the cream to her skin, rub it in like you're preparing a nice, juicy steak for the grill. It might hurt her, but hey, that's what S and M are all about. While you're rubbing, you can sing a little song to lighten the mood, like "It rubs the lotion on Its skin." The funny looks she'll give you will be those of admiration and respect.
If some of her skin has been cut, take heed: you don't want those cuts to get infected! It's time to pour on the alcohol. She'll scream with pleasure.
4. Give her some food. Have some ready, whatever you think you'll be in the mood for, since you know you'll be noshing on it, too, and she won't really care anyway. Don't worry now about any allergies she might suffer from; the important thing is to get her energy levels and endorphins back up. Chocolate is the best thing for this. If she refuses to eat the chocolate (for some stupid reason like she's on a diet or it has peanuts), pretend like you're in the Harry Potter universe and she's just been attacked by Dementors: GET THAT CHOCOLATE IN HER BELLEH. It's for her own good. If she continues to balk, pretend like you're a real wizard, get your wand out, and start yelling expecto patronum! around the room. A little cosplay never hurt anybody.
5. Give her time. Again, she's not going anywhere until you decide she's safe and ready to go. It could be hours; it could be minutes, if your ride's waiting for you and they've already got the engine idling. The important thing is to make sure she gets to her next destination safely. If you can't do this, ask a couple of your friends to watch over her. It doesn't matter if she knows them or not; she needs to trust in you now, to make the best decisions for her. And those "friends" you just made at the bar, who are eyeing her like she's fresh-baked bread? They will take awesome care of her while you move on to your next scene. (No, you don't need their last names or phone numbers, and it's impolite of you to ask. Confidentiality is key here.)
6. Check in on her the next day to make sure she's ok. If she doesn't accept your phone calls, keep trying; she might just be processing the lovely scene you two shared. If she starts yelling and screaming at you over the phone to leave her the fuck alone, don't take it personally--she's just going through subdrop. In fact, if she is going through subdrop, it might be a good idea to show up at her place unannounced just to let her know how pleased you are with her and how you'd love to play with her again sometime...like, maybe, right now? Don't take it personally if she calls the cops. Again, this is normal subdrop behavior. She'll get over it, and once she does, she'll be fine, ready, and raring to go!
So there you have it. A guide to aftercare. Remember, it's all up to you now. She's bloody and loopy, but don't despair! She just needs some aftercare!
(*In all seriousness, I do not understand why so few couples negotiate aftercare before they start a heavy scene. But if this happens to you, the most important thing is to follow the bottom's cues, do whatever is right for her/him, and don't blindly follow any piece of advice you read in a BDSM post just because it was written by some "expert." You didn't play with the "expert," you played with the bottom in front of you. Their wishes, and their safety, is most important.)
March 18, 2013
One of the Questions Put to Me Last Week
How does a rule get made and punishment decided?
I am assuming what is meant here are rules dictated by Husband, to me. There are many rules in this house, some well-stated, and some not, but just as well-understood. The rules I have instigated usually come about through negotiation and discussion, and a great deal of my communicating my frustration and/or unhappiness; while the rules Husband instigates are also set down through negotiation and discussion, but far less.
But I guess the big difference here is this: when I want a rule made, I have to start my reasoning with why should he; while if he wants a rule made, he starts his reasoning with why should she not. I have the onus of convincing him my rule is worth his change of behavior, while he does not share the same responsibility.
There is the other fact that he has veto power and final say. If I have a good reason why his proposal is a bad idea, I have every right to bring that up, but if he disagrees, the changes are still implemented.
For instance, there was a time Husband would not bother to call me if he knew he was going to be home late, even extremely late, because he did not want to take the time to call, and thereby (he claimed) come home even later. But once he understood I didn't need a whole explanation over the phone why he was coming home so late, only a "heads up," and taking that one minute to call me was a far more preferable option than coming home to a red-faced angry dragon of a wife, he started changing his ways. The rule then became, if I am going to be late, I will call.
Of course, the fact that he can punish me while I cannot punish him is a huge, um, influence on our negotiations. But the biggest detriment to breaking a rule is disappointment, and that power can be wielded by both of us; it just depends how much we care.
When I forgot to plug in Husband's shaver that time, he was extremely disappointed in me. That hurt indescribably, and for a long time. On the other hand, he is constantly forgetting to pick up his dirty socks and put them in the laundry hamper. He knows this drives me bonkers, but does that stop him? No, it does not, because he knows I don't care enough to make it a huge issue.
Rules involving the kids are, of course, a bit more complicated. He delegates most of the day-to-day power over the kids to me. This is not say he has relinquished his veto power and final say, but it does mean he recognizes that I probably have more insight into these things than he does. He also recognizes that, as a mother, I will fight harder for my kids than I would for myself.
Making rules takes time. All of them have asterisks next to them, representing the fine-print list of exceptions and bullet-point caveats. For instance, that example I gave before, of Husband calling when he's coming home late? The fine print would state something like
*Husband agrees to call as soon as he realizes he's going to be home late, unless for some reason it is a bad time to call; in which case, he will call as soon as possible. Wife agrees not to demand explanation at that time. Husband agrees to give her one as soon as he is able, with the understanding that may not be until after he has eaten something at home (so he is not a complete grouch). Husband agrees to only come home extremely late if it is completely necessary, Wife agrees to trust Husband what is completely necessary.
With every rule, it always comes back down to trust. I am trusting in Husband to implement the right rules, and use his veto power with discretion. He is trusting in me to communicate to him what he needs to know to make the correct decisions: my thoughts, my opinions, and my wisdom. I am trusting him to trust in me; he is trusting me to trust in him.
As for punishment...like I said earlier, disappointment is the biggest punishment there is. Now, since my Husband is a Sadist as well as my Dom, my punishments tend to get painful. Husband likes to use toys.
But this is not to say I don't have my own way of letting out my vexation on him. I can get creative, too.
But the important thing to remember is that setting down rules is not a quick-decision-making process. It takes time, thought, and consideration. The urge to move fast can be tempting, but it usually results in temporary, and therefore weak, rules.
I am assuming what is meant here are rules dictated by Husband, to me. There are many rules in this house, some well-stated, and some not, but just as well-understood. The rules I have instigated usually come about through negotiation and discussion, and a great deal of my communicating my frustration and/or unhappiness; while the rules Husband instigates are also set down through negotiation and discussion, but far less.
But I guess the big difference here is this: when I want a rule made, I have to start my reasoning with why should he; while if he wants a rule made, he starts his reasoning with why should she not. I have the onus of convincing him my rule is worth his change of behavior, while he does not share the same responsibility.
There is the other fact that he has veto power and final say. If I have a good reason why his proposal is a bad idea, I have every right to bring that up, but if he disagrees, the changes are still implemented.
For instance, there was a time Husband would not bother to call me if he knew he was going to be home late, even extremely late, because he did not want to take the time to call, and thereby (he claimed) come home even later. But once he understood I didn't need a whole explanation over the phone why he was coming home so late, only a "heads up," and taking that one minute to call me was a far more preferable option than coming home to a red-faced angry dragon of a wife, he started changing his ways. The rule then became, if I am going to be late, I will call.
Of course, the fact that he can punish me while I cannot punish him is a huge, um, influence on our negotiations. But the biggest detriment to breaking a rule is disappointment, and that power can be wielded by both of us; it just depends how much we care.
When I forgot to plug in Husband's shaver that time, he was extremely disappointed in me. That hurt indescribably, and for a long time. On the other hand, he is constantly forgetting to pick up his dirty socks and put them in the laundry hamper. He knows this drives me bonkers, but does that stop him? No, it does not, because he knows I don't care enough to make it a huge issue.
Rules involving the kids are, of course, a bit more complicated. He delegates most of the day-to-day power over the kids to me. This is not say he has relinquished his veto power and final say, but it does mean he recognizes that I probably have more insight into these things than he does. He also recognizes that, as a mother, I will fight harder for my kids than I would for myself.
Making rules takes time. All of them have asterisks next to them, representing the fine-print list of exceptions and bullet-point caveats. For instance, that example I gave before, of Husband calling when he's coming home late? The fine print would state something like
*Husband agrees to call as soon as he realizes he's going to be home late, unless for some reason it is a bad time to call; in which case, he will call as soon as possible. Wife agrees not to demand explanation at that time. Husband agrees to give her one as soon as he is able, with the understanding that may not be until after he has eaten something at home (so he is not a complete grouch). Husband agrees to only come home extremely late if it is completely necessary, Wife agrees to trust Husband what is completely necessary.
With every rule, it always comes back down to trust. I am trusting in Husband to implement the right rules, and use his veto power with discretion. He is trusting in me to communicate to him what he needs to know to make the correct decisions: my thoughts, my opinions, and my wisdom. I am trusting him to trust in me; he is trusting me to trust in him.
As for punishment...like I said earlier, disappointment is the biggest punishment there is. Now, since my Husband is a Sadist as well as my Dom, my punishments tend to get painful. Husband likes to use toys.
But this is not to say I don't have my own way of letting out my vexation on him. I can get creative, too.
But the important thing to remember is that setting down rules is not a quick-decision-making process. It takes time, thought, and consideration. The urge to move fast can be tempting, but it usually results in temporary, and therefore weak, rules.
March 11, 2013
No Means No For Subs, Too
I was warned, when I started coming out in The Community, that as a submissive female, I would have no lack of "dance partners." It was explained to me that despite what I may have thought, there was no shortage of Doms, Sadists, and Tops who would be willing to work
(play)
with me inside my own limits and confines, to share in some fun and fantastic scenes.
I have now been in The Scene long enough to know this is absolutely true. When I go to a party or event where play is an option, more often than not, my dance card is filled before I even get there. I have to consciously leave some time available for impromptu play, otherwise I over-schedule myself. Sometimes the Tops approach me about play; sometimes I approach them.
When I'm the one approaching them, I usually get a pretty standard reaction. First, they give me a look of surprise; then, their eyes widen in delight; then, their mouths spread in an evil, sadistic smile; and then comes the typical response: "What kind of play did you have in mind?"
This is not to say I am never turned down. In fact, I have been turned down for play many times. But here's the thing: I never get upset about it.
There is absolutely zero point to getting upset when a person rejects your request to play. At best, you look like an insecure, childish neophyte who can't deal with rejection. At worst, you look like a whiny, petulant brat. Because here's the other thing: They owe you no explanation.
Let me say that again: THEY OWE YOU NO EXPLANATION.
No means no. If they don't want to play with you, they don't need to tell you why. It's your responsibility to accept their answer gracefully and move on.
Trying to get negotiations going with questions like "why don't you want to play with me?" or "what can I do to change your mind?" come across as obnoxiously pushy. Making statements like "but I was really looking forward to playing with you" or "but I think you and I could get along so well together" make you look like a smug asshole.
The only correct response to a 'no' reply is "okay." You might be able to get in a 'let's still be friends, then' or a 'sorry to hear that, but I understand.'... but even that last statement is pushing it a little bit, because you're still implying they owe you some kind of apology and explanation for your hurt feelings.
THEY DON'T.
Sometimes I get a reason for why the person doesn't want to play with me. These reasons have included:
• The person wants to talk my Dom (Husband) about it first.
• The person doesn't know me well enough yet, and doesn't play with people s/he doesn't know.
• The person has not introduced me to their Dom/me yet, and does not have permission to play with anyone before getting the ok from their Dom first.
•The person is simply not taking on anymore play partners at this time.
Some reasons I was not explicitly given, but inferred, included:
•The person is only willing to play with people s/he can also have sex with. (Husband and I are sexually monogamous.)
•The person finds me too old/out of shape/unattractive.
•The person is not willing to work inside my stated boundaries, recognizes that, and so refuses play.
Any and all of these reasons are legitimate reasons not to play with me.
Does that mean I like all of them? Hell no. Who likes feeling as if someone doesn't want to play with you because you're too fat, or too old, or too ugly? And as for talking to my Dom first: Husband has allowed me to negotiate my own play. I understand why others may not trust that--there are plenty of women out there who claim to have their Husband's (or SO's) permission when they don't--but I'm not going to make your insecurities my problem. Like I said, if you don't want to play with me, for whatever reason, that is fine. I have other options, and other play partners available. You need to do what you think is right for you; if rejecting my offer to play is what you need to do, then do it.
Don't feel bad.
Don't worry about my feelings.
I'm not going to start whining, crying, or blubbering like a baby.
But please, don't expect me to beg, either.
No means no. Once I hear a no, I back off and walk away.
So if you said no just to get me to start begging? You fucked up big time.
(play)
with me inside my own limits and confines, to share in some fun and fantastic scenes.
I have now been in The Scene long enough to know this is absolutely true. When I go to a party or event where play is an option, more often than not, my dance card is filled before I even get there. I have to consciously leave some time available for impromptu play, otherwise I over-schedule myself. Sometimes the Tops approach me about play; sometimes I approach them.
When I'm the one approaching them, I usually get a pretty standard reaction. First, they give me a look of surprise; then, their eyes widen in delight; then, their mouths spread in an evil, sadistic smile; and then comes the typical response: "What kind of play did you have in mind?"
This is not to say I am never turned down. In fact, I have been turned down for play many times. But here's the thing: I never get upset about it.
There is absolutely zero point to getting upset when a person rejects your request to play. At best, you look like an insecure, childish neophyte who can't deal with rejection. At worst, you look like a whiny, petulant brat. Because here's the other thing: They owe you no explanation.
Let me say that again: THEY OWE YOU NO EXPLANATION.
No means no. If they don't want to play with you, they don't need to tell you why. It's your responsibility to accept their answer gracefully and move on.
Trying to get negotiations going with questions like "why don't you want to play with me?" or "what can I do to change your mind?" come across as obnoxiously pushy. Making statements like "but I was really looking forward to playing with you" or "but I think you and I could get along so well together" make you look like a smug asshole.
The only correct response to a 'no' reply is "okay." You might be able to get in a 'let's still be friends, then' or a 'sorry to hear that, but I understand.'... but even that last statement is pushing it a little bit, because you're still implying they owe you some kind of apology and explanation for your hurt feelings.
THEY DON'T.
Sometimes I get a reason for why the person doesn't want to play with me. These reasons have included:
• The person wants to talk my Dom (Husband) about it first.
• The person doesn't know me well enough yet, and doesn't play with people s/he doesn't know.
• The person has not introduced me to their Dom/me yet, and does not have permission to play with anyone before getting the ok from their Dom first.
•The person is simply not taking on anymore play partners at this time.
Some reasons I was not explicitly given, but inferred, included:
•The person is only willing to play with people s/he can also have sex with. (Husband and I are sexually monogamous.)
•The person finds me too old/out of shape/unattractive.
•The person is not willing to work inside my stated boundaries, recognizes that, and so refuses play.
Any and all of these reasons are legitimate reasons not to play with me.
Does that mean I like all of them? Hell no. Who likes feeling as if someone doesn't want to play with you because you're too fat, or too old, or too ugly? And as for talking to my Dom first: Husband has allowed me to negotiate my own play. I understand why others may not trust that--there are plenty of women out there who claim to have their Husband's (or SO's) permission when they don't--but I'm not going to make your insecurities my problem. Like I said, if you don't want to play with me, for whatever reason, that is fine. I have other options, and other play partners available. You need to do what you think is right for you; if rejecting my offer to play is what you need to do, then do it.
Don't feel bad.
Don't worry about my feelings.
I'm not going to start whining, crying, or blubbering like a baby.
But please, don't expect me to beg, either.
No means no. Once I hear a no, I back off and walk away.
So if you said no just to get me to start begging? You fucked up big time.
March 8, 2013
Even Socks Are On the Table (Kinda)
Lovely readers, the time is going by, and I haven't written a post in a while, I know. But here's the problem:
In order for me to write a post, I need something to write about. Not just anything, though; not something as mundane as my grocery list. No, I need something meaty and juicy, something worthy of the amount of italics I'd use to make it pop. Typically, in order for me to have a topic like that, I'd need some kind of drama to write about.
Now, I have been circling around the perimeters of some pretty serious drama lately. Fetlife has been a fucking mess. A MESS. If any drama deserves--nay, requires--italics to it, it's that mess going on over there.
And there's been some drama among my friends. There's even been some drama among my family. But none of that drama personally touched me, and so I don't feel like it needs to go here.
The fact is, my life has been relatively drama free lately. I mean yeah, I get the occasional problem here and there, but nothing I think you fine people want to hear about.
So what I want to know is: what do you want to hear about? What kind of topics do you want me to discuss here? What questions would you like answers to, that you think I could answer? Any and all ideas will be considered.
Including my socks. Cause, guess what I found out? There are actual websites out there where women can sell their used, smelly, yucky socks, and people will actually buy them to fulfill their fetish! A fellow kinkster told me about this website called ebanned
(no I am not linking to it, you can google it yourself, you perv you)
where you can list this kind of stuff to sell.
And before you ask, I haven't put any of my stuff on there. I was thinking about it, until I had a talk with Husband about it. The conversation went something like this:
Me: I heard of this website where you can sell your used socks--
Him: No.
Me: But you didn't even hear what it's for, and why--
Him: I am a guy, I know what it is for, and NO.
Me: But--
Him: NO.
So that was that.
Not that I actually would have sold my socks on this site, mind you. I find it too creepy for my tastes. But it's nice to know Husband feels so possessive of my footwear.
Anyway! So if you have any topics for discussion, let me know, and we shall discuss.
In order for me to write a post, I need something to write about. Not just anything, though; not something as mundane as my grocery list. No, I need something meaty and juicy, something worthy of the amount of italics I'd use to make it pop. Typically, in order for me to have a topic like that, I'd need some kind of drama to write about.
Now, I have been circling around the perimeters of some pretty serious drama lately. Fetlife has been a fucking mess. A MESS. If any drama deserves--nay, requires--italics to it, it's that mess going on over there.
And there's been some drama among my friends. There's even been some drama among my family. But none of that drama personally touched me, and so I don't feel like it needs to go here.
The fact is, my life has been relatively drama free lately. I mean yeah, I get the occasional problem here and there, but nothing I think you fine people want to hear about.
So what I want to know is: what do you want to hear about? What kind of topics do you want me to discuss here? What questions would you like answers to, that you think I could answer? Any and all ideas will be considered.
Including my socks. Cause, guess what I found out? There are actual websites out there where women can sell their used, smelly, yucky socks, and people will actually buy them to fulfill their fetish! A fellow kinkster told me about this website called ebanned
(no I am not linking to it, you can google it yourself, you perv you)
where you can list this kind of stuff to sell.
And before you ask, I haven't put any of my stuff on there. I was thinking about it, until I had a talk with Husband about it. The conversation went something like this:
Me: I heard of this website where you can sell your used socks--
Him: No.
Me: But you didn't even hear what it's for, and why--
Him: I am a guy, I know what it is for, and NO.
Me: But--
Him: NO.
So that was that.
Not that I actually would have sold my socks on this site, mind you. I find it too creepy for my tastes. But it's nice to know Husband feels so possessive of my footwear.
Anyway! So if you have any topics for discussion, let me know, and we shall discuss.
