Shelby Cross's Blog, page 18
December 24, 2012
Have a Jolly Kinky Christmas
Have a jolly kinky ChristmasIt's the best time of the yearYour blood will flowHis dick you'll blowAnd your pain will be severe
Have a jolly kinky ChristmasAnd when you're bruised and beatWith a quiet purrThank your SirFor giving you such a treat
Oh, hoAnother blowA welt where you can seeA flogger waits for youFling it once for me
Have a jolly kinky ChristmasAnd in case you didn't hearOh by golly Have a jolly kinky ChristmasThis year!
A few days ago, I promised my followers on Twitter if anyone sent me their kinky Christmas photos, I would post them on my blog. I only got three, but I know Molly over at Molly's Daily Kiss got more; you should go check 'em out. Merry Christmas, everyone!
courtesy twistedsheets
courtesy Jenn
courtesy Hubman
Have a jolly kinky ChristmasAnd when you're bruised and beatWith a quiet purrThank your SirFor giving you such a treat
Oh, hoAnother blowA welt where you can seeA flogger waits for youFling it once for me
Have a jolly kinky ChristmasAnd in case you didn't hearOh by golly Have a jolly kinky ChristmasThis year!
A few days ago, I promised my followers on Twitter if anyone sent me their kinky Christmas photos, I would post them on my blog. I only got three, but I know Molly over at Molly's Daily Kiss got more; you should go check 'em out. Merry Christmas, everyone!
courtesy twistedsheets
courtesy Jenn
courtesy Hubman
December 22, 2012
When Roles Change
This post has been on my mind for a while. I've been putting it off, and you will soon understand why; but now that the situation has passed, it's a little bit easier to write about it.
A short while ago, Husband got laid off. It was sudden, yet expected; shocking, but by no means a surprise. We had been preparing ourselves for the moment, anticipating it as best we could, but there was no real way we could have been ready when it arrived.
A few days after he was laid off, we were lying in bed together, clinging to one another as if we were in the midst of a wailing wind storm, desperately trying to hold on. He turned to me in the dark, his cheek touching mine. As his lips grazed my cheek, he asked me, "Are we going to be okay?"
"Yeah, we'll be okay," I said.
But this failed to mollify him. "If I don't get another job soon," he asked, his voice high and full of buried fear, "are you going to take the kids and leave me?"
The question flummoxed me. "Why would even think that?"
"Because it's my job to make money for the family. If I'm not...." He couldn't finish the sentence.
Dear readers, that moment was one of the lowest points of our marriage. It's hard to write about it. It's hard to think about it.
I reassured him as best I could, shocked he would even entertain such an idea...but maybe I shouldn't have been.
In a 1950's D/s household, roles are clearly defined. I am the homemaker; I take care of the house and children. Husband is the breadwinner.
His layoff turned our world on its axis. For the first time since I've known him, Husband was no longer earning a salary. In his mind, his role had been not just been damaged, it had been corrupted. I was fulfilling my role, but he was not doing his part, not anymore.
Many people mistakenly believe in a D/s relationship, the sub does most of the "work." She must complete any menial tasks her Dom puts forth. She must follow orders, and obey the rules. She must conform to his wishes. She must do as told.
The Dom barks orders, and the sub tows the line.
But this is so far beyond the truth, it's ridiculous. Being the head of a 1950's household is like being the captain of a ship: yes, you give orders...but the responsibility of the entire craft and crew is on your shoulders. The onus is on you to make sure everything goes right, because if you shirk, or if you blunder, the entire ship may sink.
It's a heavy burden to carry. Not many can do it.
Husband does it, and does it well--but for the first time ever, I got a glimpse into how closely he identifies himself with his role.
If he wasn't acting as captain of the ship, if his authority was compromised...what good was he?
I'm happy to report Husband has already landed another job. A better job, in fact; he's excited about his work again, and he's optimistic about the future. I am so, so glad.
But I have some work to do now, too. I need my husband to understand my love for him transcends any role he may fulfill or title he holds. Someday, if we're lucky, we will grow old together, and he may not be able to maintain his duties as my Dom and Master. It does not mean I will love him any less.
Having him as my Dom is amazing. It enriches my life in ways I can't describe. But he will always be my Husband, no matter what happens, and that has nothing to do with any kind of kink or BDSM dynamic. I love him, pure and simple. Nothing will ever change that.
A short while ago, Husband got laid off. It was sudden, yet expected; shocking, but by no means a surprise. We had been preparing ourselves for the moment, anticipating it as best we could, but there was no real way we could have been ready when it arrived.
A few days after he was laid off, we were lying in bed together, clinging to one another as if we were in the midst of a wailing wind storm, desperately trying to hold on. He turned to me in the dark, his cheek touching mine. As his lips grazed my cheek, he asked me, "Are we going to be okay?"
"Yeah, we'll be okay," I said.
But this failed to mollify him. "If I don't get another job soon," he asked, his voice high and full of buried fear, "are you going to take the kids and leave me?"
The question flummoxed me. "Why would even think that?"
"Because it's my job to make money for the family. If I'm not...." He couldn't finish the sentence.
Dear readers, that moment was one of the lowest points of our marriage. It's hard to write about it. It's hard to think about it.
I reassured him as best I could, shocked he would even entertain such an idea...but maybe I shouldn't have been.
In a 1950's D/s household, roles are clearly defined. I am the homemaker; I take care of the house and children. Husband is the breadwinner.
His layoff turned our world on its axis. For the first time since I've known him, Husband was no longer earning a salary. In his mind, his role had been not just been damaged, it had been corrupted. I was fulfilling my role, but he was not doing his part, not anymore.
Many people mistakenly believe in a D/s relationship, the sub does most of the "work." She must complete any menial tasks her Dom puts forth. She must follow orders, and obey the rules. She must conform to his wishes. She must do as told.
The Dom barks orders, and the sub tows the line.
But this is so far beyond the truth, it's ridiculous. Being the head of a 1950's household is like being the captain of a ship: yes, you give orders...but the responsibility of the entire craft and crew is on your shoulders. The onus is on you to make sure everything goes right, because if you shirk, or if you blunder, the entire ship may sink.
It's a heavy burden to carry. Not many can do it.
Husband does it, and does it well--but for the first time ever, I got a glimpse into how closely he identifies himself with his role.
If he wasn't acting as captain of the ship, if his authority was compromised...what good was he?
I'm happy to report Husband has already landed another job. A better job, in fact; he's excited about his work again, and he's optimistic about the future. I am so, so glad.
But I have some work to do now, too. I need my husband to understand my love for him transcends any role he may fulfill or title he holds. Someday, if we're lucky, we will grow old together, and he may not be able to maintain his duties as my Dom and Master. It does not mean I will love him any less.
Having him as my Dom is amazing. It enriches my life in ways I can't describe. But he will always be my Husband, no matter what happens, and that has nothing to do with any kind of kink or BDSM dynamic. I love him, pure and simple. Nothing will ever change that.
December 21, 2012
Playboy Ads Post
It's been a long fucking time since I did one of these Playboy Ads post, so let me bring you up to speed:
When Husband and I were first married, we were on a tight budget, so we bought most of our furniture and housewares used. Every weekend, we would scour the neighborhood, looking for yard sales that seemed promising. Even after we didn't need anything in particular anymore, we still would often stop at the larger and busier yard sales, just for the fun of it. I don't know how many of you have ever stopped at a yard sale, but it can be really fun. You find amazing shit that other people have been storing in their attics or garages for years and don't want anymore.
One day I just happened to be walking down the street, and passes a small yard sale. There were only a few items out, some books, some kitchen supplies...and this big tupperware container. I looked inside, and lo and behold, it was full of PLAYBOY MAGAZINES.
The guy was a little surprised by my interest, but I, the good wife, knew Husband would be forever grateful if I bought these magazines for him. They were being sold by the issue.
"How much for the whole collection?" I asked.
The guy's eyes grew round, as he was clearly thrown off by the question, coming from a young woman. "Ten bucks," he said.
To this day, I wonder if he's still kicking himself for selling the whole collection for a measly ten.
I still look at these Playboy magazines now and then, but not for the pictures. (Or should I say, not just for the pictures.) I pull them out and admire the ads.
Because the ads, people...the ads.
This post is brought to you by March, 1991:
Oh Stephanie Seymour, your beauty is timeless.The first thing you'll notice is that the magazine is (still) full of ads like this
and this
When did those ads stop running, anyway? Mmm, I'll have to go through a 1995 mag, and see if the ads are still in there. Certainly, by the time mp3s came along, the ads were doomed. But I don't know exactly when that was.
This ad cracks me up
But makes me feel old at the same time. I remember when Star Trek TNG was new. Now it's...quaint. That ship has sailed so far around the world, we're right back where we started, and now a new movie of the old crew is coming out soon, and Will Wheaton's big claim to fame is collating paper for The Bloggess.
Moving on.
Joe Montana was selling shoes. I'm sorry, but I really don't see the difference between March, 1991 shoes and shoes sold today. I know those people waiting in line for four hours for a chance to buy the new Air Jordans would disagree with me, but I personally don't get it.
If any of my readers still own this car, please send me a photo. I think the only word to describe it is "nifty."
"A diamond is forever. Thank God these haircuts are not. Look! Even our sweaters are the same! We are so compatible."
It's not just the old technology here I could mock, it's the language. "Pronounced" Advantage? As in, not really pronounced...just kinda pronounced. Pseudo-pronounced.
I wish I could go back in time and send this to the 1991 version of Unnecessary Quotation Marks...if there was one. Probably not.
Sigh.
All Playboy Mags are full of ads for other Playboy products, but this one caught my eye because the video was also made by The Sharper Image. Do you guys remember The Sharper Image? That was my favorite store. It was so cool.
It's not cool to say cool anymore, is it? Well I don't give a fuck. That store was wicked cool, full of wicked awesome things, and all of them were 100% pervertable.
This ad is for a DAT, or "digital audio tape," Walkman. Apparently it's big claim to fame was the ability to record CDs to cassettes. After you get over the shock of the old technology, take a look at the prices: The Walkman is $850 dollars. The car stereo system under it is $1800. The Digital Audio Recording System under that is $5000, and the remote is another $1000.
A remote. For $1000 bucks. Now you can just program your phone.
This is the first ad I've ever seen in Playboy that's showcasing a picture for sale. It's a Milton Glaser print, and according to the ad, this edition was limited to 375 copies, each one numbered and signed. On eBay, Milton Glaser prints sell anywhere from $100 to $350, certainly not the $500 dollars this ad was asking for. On the other hand, this one is signed, so who knows. Maybe by now, the buyers are feeling like they got their money's worth. Hopefully.
And now...the ad for the product I wish they were still selling today (or maybe they are, and I just don't know it. I'm frankly too lazy to check at this point)...drum roll please...
Is this sword not totally fucking cool? It's totally fucking cool. Get in my toy bag, sword!
So there you have it. Another Playboy Ad Post come and gone. (Am I the only one who wants to giggle every time I have to use the word "come" in a sentence?) Hopefully I won't wait so long to do another one. Then again, I do have a limited supply. It was only one container, after all.
When Husband and I were first married, we were on a tight budget, so we bought most of our furniture and housewares used. Every weekend, we would scour the neighborhood, looking for yard sales that seemed promising. Even after we didn't need anything in particular anymore, we still would often stop at the larger and busier yard sales, just for the fun of it. I don't know how many of you have ever stopped at a yard sale, but it can be really fun. You find amazing shit that other people have been storing in their attics or garages for years and don't want anymore.
One day I just happened to be walking down the street, and passes a small yard sale. There were only a few items out, some books, some kitchen supplies...and this big tupperware container. I looked inside, and lo and behold, it was full of PLAYBOY MAGAZINES.
The guy was a little surprised by my interest, but I, the good wife, knew Husband would be forever grateful if I bought these magazines for him. They were being sold by the issue.
"How much for the whole collection?" I asked.
The guy's eyes grew round, as he was clearly thrown off by the question, coming from a young woman. "Ten bucks," he said.
To this day, I wonder if he's still kicking himself for selling the whole collection for a measly ten.
I still look at these Playboy magazines now and then, but not for the pictures. (Or should I say, not just for the pictures.) I pull them out and admire the ads.
Because the ads, people...the ads.
This post is brought to you by March, 1991:
Oh Stephanie Seymour, your beauty is timeless.The first thing you'll notice is that the magazine is (still) full of ads like this
and this
When did those ads stop running, anyway? Mmm, I'll have to go through a 1995 mag, and see if the ads are still in there. Certainly, by the time mp3s came along, the ads were doomed. But I don't know exactly when that was.This ad cracks me up
But makes me feel old at the same time. I remember when Star Trek TNG was new. Now it's...quaint. That ship has sailed so far around the world, we're right back where we started, and now a new movie of the old crew is coming out soon, and Will Wheaton's big claim to fame is collating paper for The Bloggess.Moving on.
Joe Montana was selling shoes. I'm sorry, but I really don't see the difference between March, 1991 shoes and shoes sold today. I know those people waiting in line for four hours for a chance to buy the new Air Jordans would disagree with me, but I personally don't get it.
If any of my readers still own this car, please send me a photo. I think the only word to describe it is "nifty."
"A diamond is forever. Thank God these haircuts are not. Look! Even our sweaters are the same! We are so compatible."
It's not just the old technology here I could mock, it's the language. "Pronounced" Advantage? As in, not really pronounced...just kinda pronounced. Pseudo-pronounced.I wish I could go back in time and send this to the 1991 version of Unnecessary Quotation Marks...if there was one. Probably not.
Sigh.
All Playboy Mags are full of ads for other Playboy products, but this one caught my eye because the video was also made by The Sharper Image. Do you guys remember The Sharper Image? That was my favorite store. It was so cool.It's not cool to say cool anymore, is it? Well I don't give a fuck. That store was wicked cool, full of wicked awesome things, and all of them were 100% pervertable.
This ad is for a DAT, or "digital audio tape," Walkman. Apparently it's big claim to fame was the ability to record CDs to cassettes. After you get over the shock of the old technology, take a look at the prices: The Walkman is $850 dollars. The car stereo system under it is $1800. The Digital Audio Recording System under that is $5000, and the remote is another $1000.A remote. For $1000 bucks. Now you can just program your phone.
This is the first ad I've ever seen in Playboy that's showcasing a picture for sale. It's a Milton Glaser print, and according to the ad, this edition was limited to 375 copies, each one numbered and signed. On eBay, Milton Glaser prints sell anywhere from $100 to $350, certainly not the $500 dollars this ad was asking for. On the other hand, this one is signed, so who knows. Maybe by now, the buyers are feeling like they got their money's worth. Hopefully.And now...the ad for the product I wish they were still selling today (or maybe they are, and I just don't know it. I'm frankly too lazy to check at this point)...drum roll please...
Is this sword not totally fucking cool? It's totally fucking cool. Get in my toy bag, sword!So there you have it. Another Playboy Ad Post come and gone. (Am I the only one who wants to giggle every time I have to use the word "come" in a sentence?) Hopefully I won't wait so long to do another one. Then again, I do have a limited supply. It was only one container, after all.
December 16, 2012
Accepting You are Good
I'm going to tell you a little secret that you'll probably think is ridiculously simplistic and obvious when you read it, except for the fact that it's not:
People want to feel good about themselves.
The people in the advertising industry know this. That's why they are constantly trying to convince us their products will make us happy, will give us what we want--because that is one way we can feel good about ourselves.
People in the entertainment industry know this. That's why they're constantly showing us things that make us feel smarter, richer, luckier, better than the next person--because being better off than someone else makes us feel good about ourselves.
We all want to be happy, and being happy means being content with who we are.
People who are content with who they are don't care so much about what other people are saying about them, because it doesn't matter. This doesn't mean they don't listen when someone tells them they've done something wrong; the exact opposite. They listen intently, and don't react defensively, because they can admit to themselves it's possible they fucked up. They are okay with this possibility because, deep down, they know the difference between doing something wrong and being something wrong.
Doing something wrong, making mistakes, is part of life. You can learn and grow from your mistakes. You can move on from your mistakes.
Being something wrong is a whole other bowl of fruit. It is hard, if not impossible, to change who you are. If you're an inherently selfish person, a greedy person, a manipulative person--if you've got some kind of negative trait that really needs to be dealt with--then you've got some hard questions to ask yourself.
But I don't think the vast majority of us are bad people. I think most of us, kinky and vanilla, are basically good folk. We just want to be secure in that knowledge.
That's one reason why people tend to look for others who share in their philosophies and core beliefs: because if so many others think like you do, how can what you think be wrong?
This kind of mentality is even more affirmed in the kinky world. If you go on Fetlife, you'll find people looking for something, or more often than not, someone: a person who shares their fetish; a person who complements their desires; a mentor, a lover, a play partner. A friend.
But underneath it all, people join the kink community to find others like them, because in their world, who they are is not okay, and that knowledge fucking hurts.
People who've been in the scene for a while know what I'm saying is true, even if they don't break it down in such simplistic terms. But they'll agree I'm right, and I'll tell you something else, dear readers: it's easy to recognize people who've been in the scene for a long time, even in a crowd. Not because they know so many people, and not because they're wearing the right clothes.
Because of the wealth of confidence in their eyes.
They know who they are, and they know the person they are is okay. Maybe not perfect, no, but fundamentally good. Not evil, and not crazy. Different, oh holy shit, yes--but different can be good, too.
I'm not saying there aren't evil people in the scene. I'm sorry to say there are. What's worse is that these evil predators use this knowledge to manipulate others. A predator's biggest piece of arsenal is his (or her's) ability to convince others that in order to be okay with who they are, they need to be willing to do x, y, and z for him. He can convince them they are good, there is nothing wrong with them--as long as they listen to him and give him what he wants. If they are susceptible, they will go along with this. If they are not, he will find someone else who is.
(I take it back. Maybe the biggest piece of a predator's arsenal is his ability to smell susceptibility. But that is a subject for another post.)
But real predators are rare. Like I said, most people just want to meet others who share in their kinks, their little idiosyncrasies--or at least forgive them, so they can feel good about themselves.
At the end of the day, all of us, no matter what the age, gender, what have you--all of us just want to be accepted for who we are.
The second step is accepting others who are different from us, but the first step is accepting yourself.
We are kinky.
And that is okay.
People want to feel good about themselves.
The people in the advertising industry know this. That's why they are constantly trying to convince us their products will make us happy, will give us what we want--because that is one way we can feel good about ourselves.
People in the entertainment industry know this. That's why they're constantly showing us things that make us feel smarter, richer, luckier, better than the next person--because being better off than someone else makes us feel good about ourselves.
We all want to be happy, and being happy means being content with who we are.
People who are content with who they are don't care so much about what other people are saying about them, because it doesn't matter. This doesn't mean they don't listen when someone tells them they've done something wrong; the exact opposite. They listen intently, and don't react defensively, because they can admit to themselves it's possible they fucked up. They are okay with this possibility because, deep down, they know the difference between doing something wrong and being something wrong.
Doing something wrong, making mistakes, is part of life. You can learn and grow from your mistakes. You can move on from your mistakes.
Being something wrong is a whole other bowl of fruit. It is hard, if not impossible, to change who you are. If you're an inherently selfish person, a greedy person, a manipulative person--if you've got some kind of negative trait that really needs to be dealt with--then you've got some hard questions to ask yourself.
But I don't think the vast majority of us are bad people. I think most of us, kinky and vanilla, are basically good folk. We just want to be secure in that knowledge.
That's one reason why people tend to look for others who share in their philosophies and core beliefs: because if so many others think like you do, how can what you think be wrong?
This kind of mentality is even more affirmed in the kinky world. If you go on Fetlife, you'll find people looking for something, or more often than not, someone: a person who shares their fetish; a person who complements their desires; a mentor, a lover, a play partner. A friend.
But underneath it all, people join the kink community to find others like them, because in their world, who they are is not okay, and that knowledge fucking hurts.
People who've been in the scene for a while know what I'm saying is true, even if they don't break it down in such simplistic terms. But they'll agree I'm right, and I'll tell you something else, dear readers: it's easy to recognize people who've been in the scene for a long time, even in a crowd. Not because they know so many people, and not because they're wearing the right clothes.
Because of the wealth of confidence in their eyes.
They know who they are, and they know the person they are is okay. Maybe not perfect, no, but fundamentally good. Not evil, and not crazy. Different, oh holy shit, yes--but different can be good, too.
I'm not saying there aren't evil people in the scene. I'm sorry to say there are. What's worse is that these evil predators use this knowledge to manipulate others. A predator's biggest piece of arsenal is his (or her's) ability to convince others that in order to be okay with who they are, they need to be willing to do x, y, and z for him. He can convince them they are good, there is nothing wrong with them--as long as they listen to him and give him what he wants. If they are susceptible, they will go along with this. If they are not, he will find someone else who is.
(I take it back. Maybe the biggest piece of a predator's arsenal is his ability to smell susceptibility. But that is a subject for another post.)
But real predators are rare. Like I said, most people just want to meet others who share in their kinks, their little idiosyncrasies--or at least forgive them, so they can feel good about themselves.
At the end of the day, all of us, no matter what the age, gender, what have you--all of us just want to be accepted for who we are.
The second step is accepting others who are different from us, but the first step is accepting yourself.
We are kinky.
And that is okay.
December 14, 2012
My heart is with those in Newtown, Connecticut. If t...
My heart is with those in Newtown, Connecticut. If there ever was a definition of senseless violence, this is it.Senseless. Violence.I will hug my kids a little bit tighter tonight as I choke back my tears.
