Cate Ellink's Blog, page 44

Sunday Story - more thoughts on humiliation

Two Fridays ago, I spoke about humiliation and my lack of comprehension of it as a sexual arousal tool. (you can access the post here). It's been playing on my mind since then, or really before then, since my heated response at my last Book Club to a non-sexual form of humiliation.

Why am I so anti-humiliation? That's what I've been asking myself.

You wouldn't think it would take me weeks to work this out, would you? But I've had to dig deep into myself to answer this - and then even deeper to write about it.

From the age of about 11 or 12, humiliation was an every day occurrence for me. It was rarely deliberately said to hurt me, but it had that effect anyway. I had acne, well, that was the first diagnosis. At 19, it was severe cystic acne with rosacea, and at 42, it became Hidradentis supprativa with rosacea. But no matter what they called it, it resulted in not only pimples and blackheads, not only red skin that blushed puce at the slightest thing, but also boils. Huge boils that would come up red, angry and throbbing, rarely to a pus-filled head like a pimple, and then open to a huge deep crater-like wound that took months to heal and left scarring. Anything from 0.5 cm across to 1.5 cm across.

I remember the first day I was aware that I had a problem. I went with dad to the chemist (we went most weeks on a Saturday morning as dad was mates with the guy) and the pharmacist's mother, who worked there, said to my dad, "You have to do something about her skin. It's revolting to see." I was 11 or 12 and until that moment, I don't think I realised I had a problem...but oh boy oh boy, did I know now. I never voluntarily went back inside that shop. The woman became a witch in my eyes...when I'm sure she thought she was being helpful.

So, from then until I went to uni, I lived on antibiotics. They did nothing to help my skin (probably killed my immune system though). At uni, I learned how bad long-term antibiotics are for a person....so I insisted on stopping...which led me to a skin specialist. I had part time work, so I could afford to try my own things now, as well as what the skin specialist suggested. The specialist had me go off hot drinks and oranges because she was sure they were the cause. I tried vitamins and minerals, drank chlorophyll, took extra zinc and magnesium in drinks, used every face wash under the sun, herbs, tonics, herbal washes, diet adjustments. No change.

Another semester at uni (thank god I did biology subjects!) and I heard about hormones and the impact of them on women in particular. My skin eruptions were definitely hormonal, I could predict them. The skin specialist was an older lady almost retiring...she suggested I get pregnant when I discussed the hormonal link. Horrified (because I was at uni looking to have a career in science, not a family. And I didn't have a boyfriend, which was hardly surprising given my facial eruptions), I asked to see another, younger skin specialist. She put me on the pill. This had some effect, but nothing major. Some years later I tried Roaccutane, with the result of my skin beginning to peel, as itchy as anything you can imagine. It was abandoned. Every treatment I could try, I tried. By age 26, and two different skin specialists, I gave up. I'd heard everything anyone could say, tried everything possible, and just had to live with it. Hell, I'd survived my teenage years and early adulthood when looks mattered - I was invincible.

I've had workmates tell me, "You need to do something about your face. It's the first thing people see and it's a terrible impression they get, when you're really a nice person."

I've had kids in the street stop me and say, "Does your face hurt? It looks awful."

I've had people constantly ask me why I didn't do something to fix it.

I've never handled any of these type of comments well. They shrivel me inside. They make tears stand on my eyeballs and spike. But they also made me tougher. I've had so many ask, in so many ways, that I'm now able to stand there and answer someone's question (especially young kids when they're only curious, or trying to be sympathetic) without melting into a puddle of shame.

But it's gut wrenching. Horrifying. Humiliating.

I've never understood why people would assume that you either (a) didn't know what it looked like, or (b) hadn't already tried everything you could to fix it.

Some days I remember looking in the mirror after some horrid comment, relieved when I didn't look as bad as I'd imagined, or as bad as the throbbing from the boil made it feel. It's so much worse from the inside than from the outside.

And that's why I can't handle humiliation - as a sex act, or otherwise.

Now I'm in my 40s and I appreciate when I don't have people ask, or stare. Writers are people who, although naturally curious, have never once asked or commented or made me feel bad, odd or different. It's been weird to be in a group of people (there are 300 at conferences) and not have anyone comment negatively. Writing conferences have been a place where I've received so many positive affirmations I've almost been bowled over by them. Last year I wore a dress to the dinner that I'd been talked into buying by the sales assistant. I wasn't sure that it was me - it was a dress to start with! By the end of the evening I thought my heart would burst. I can't tell you how many people came up and said how good I looked. It might have taken 30 years to happen, but every comment chipped away at a negative one I'd heard before. It was one of the most beautiful nights of my life.

I did have a funny one years ago. I went to an agricultural conference, and they had a formal dinner at the state Government House. It was pretty swish, so I'd bought a new shirt especially to go with my black skirt or trousers or whatever I was wearing. The shirt was this rich jade colour. I wore my hair out (it was always tied up for working) and maybe a bit of mascara. We caught a bus to the venue and I was waiting to get out of my seat when this elder statesman scientist I knew quite well stopped to let me out. I smiled and said, "Thank you, John." He looked at me, puzzled for a few moments, but then his face lit up like a kid at Christmas. "Cate, is that you? Oh, you look stunning." Maybe he didn't have his glasses. Maybe it was the shock of me in good, clean clothes and not filthy from work. But I have never forgotten his face or his words. I loved that man for his kindness that night.

For me, compliments are far more acceptable than humiliation. Humiliation should not be allowed.

And so... my purging is done. I've put my heart up here on my blog, and although I was terrified of doing that at the start, now I'm smiling and it doesn't seem so awful. Thanks for bearing with me, if you got this far.

I write to understand things, including myself. This post was written to understand me and my reactions. Not to garner compliments or sympathy.

Phallic Friday - sleeping

I hope I'm not the only person in the world to have a fetish for sleeping. I love snuggling into my bed for lots of zzzzs...

but today's fetish isn't that.

It's about watching someone sleep, somnophilia.

I have to say that I don't get this one but I've been trying to understand it.

I'm a night owl, so I'm often awake (and usually reading when I should be writing) long after Mr E goes to sleep. So lately I've been watching him and thinking about this fetish...but I'm still not understanding it. I need reciprocation, or at least response, for arousal.

I've thought back to my young years when I first slept with a man, and I do remember the thrill of waking up and watching him sleep. His face relaxed, his lashes lying on his cheek, his eyes flicking beneath lids as he dreamed (of me I always hoped!), his lips softened and almost smiling, his body relaxed, or sometimes curled up a little which was so cute on such a tough guy. But I think that mental catalogue lasted a few moments.

This fetish is more about getting off on the watching. Not looking and thinking they're cute... but taking that further to sexual arousal.

All I can imagine is that it's a sexual arousal from the vulnerability that comes with sleep. No one sleeps when they're 'on guard' and so to sleep with someone watching, you must be exhausted, or trust the person. And that's an aphrodisiac - trust.

But reading around the internet, there are lots of reasons why people have this fetish, and some have it linked with another fetish too. One guy said he was shy and used this to overcome his shyness - although he never had intercourse with the sleeping/unconscious woman, just touched, maybe oral, but usually just looking and sniffing and light touching. Reddit has a huge amount of fetish discussion.

There's an interesting website with some research about different fetishes too. It has an article on somnophilia. It's not explicit, more scientific. You can access it here.

Have you got any somnophilia insights for me?

Wildlife Wednesday - Southern Shortfin Eel

We've had some rather wild weather of late and after it, we found an eel washed up on the beach. I'm not sure if someone caught it and left it there, or if it washed up on the beach.

So, the trusty Australian Museum website has some info here and a short video.

It usually lives in freshwater and mature eels migrate to the sea to spawn. Young eels return to freshwater to live.

They grow to about 1m length, which this one was close to. So I guess this was a mature eel heading off to spawn. We do have a river quite close to us, but this eel was definitely washed up on the beach.

I wonder if the rough weather got it? Or was it old age? Or did a fisherman play a part?

So much stuff is washed onto the beach after rough weather. Most of it rubbish, but there are heaps of soft corals, shells, stones and all sorts of things we don't get in calm seas. It makes a walk on the beach a photographic smorgasbord :)

Sunday Story - the Baumgartners

Selena Kitt writes really gritty sex. Sometimes it's a bit confronting, but I think it's always raw. I noticed she had a couple of freebies on iTunes the other day, so of course, they fell onto my iPad.

Meet the Baumgartners was the first one. I enjoyed it for the gritty rawness of the story.

The second one was Babysitting The Baumgartners. When I started it, I thought it was a bit weird...but then it got me. It's about 10 years after the first book, so the couple who hooked up in the first story, are now married with kids...and a babysitter.

The babysitter is nineteen, just becoming sexually aware, although not a virgin. She goes away with the family on a holiday to 'mind the children' but the Baumgartners have other plans for her.

This book reminded me of one of my favourite classics, Philosophy in the Bedroom by the Marquis deSade. It's an older couple educating a young girl.

It's really cleverly written from the girl's point of view, but she overhears and sees so many things she shouldn't, that we get to see how the couple feel too.

I thoroughly enjoyed this story for it's raw grittiness, clever writing, and hot hot sex.

https://itunes.apple.com/au/book/babysitting-baumgartners/id841165718?mt=11

Phallic Friday - golden showers and scat play

So, this fetish is not for the squeamish. Stop reading now if you're not into bodily functions.

I'm squeamish. I don't do bodily fluids. So this one's not something I'd be keen on playing with.

Golden showers are all about urination. Scat play is all about poo.

I'm not entirely sure what the thrill is with these - and it's probably different for each person. Maybe it's the taboo nature. Maybe something about the sharing and intimacy. Maybe it's related to the humiliation.

Taboo nature: some people get off on being 'dirty' and doing something 'wrong'. Some like trying something that's beyond the norm. Scat and golden showers fall into these categories. There's quite a lot of discussion on the internet about this nature of the fetish.

Intimacy: sex is all about intimacy. Joining of two people. Exploring another's body. Knowing what turns someone on. This takes it further. You're not just sharing sexual bodily fluids, but sharing bodily fluids that others don't ever share. When you share another's urine and faeces, there isn't a lot you don't know about the person. And it's a huge trust issue too...you're moving into territory where trust violation can be a serious threat to your health, and also your lifestyle. Of the reasons, this one makes sense to me. There are very few people who I'd trust so much. And sharing something as intimate as this, would need a lot of trust on my part.

Humiliation: I'm not into humiliation. Even seemingly innocuous humiliation gets me furious - we had a discussion about this at Book Club last month where I realised how adamant I am against humiliation. I was shocked at my stance on something simple (a memoir where the author had shared embarrassing things about her children's childhood), that others didn't think was a big deal. So, although I know that people enjoy being humiliated (and humiliating), and they take sexual pleasure from it...I can't get my head around it. I can't understand it in the simplest form, let alone a sexually intricate form. Humiliation makes me turn in on myself, hide myself from the world. It doesn't come close to getting me off. But, if you like humiliation, this is kind of the ultimate, isn't it? Especially when it's 'forced' or 'commanded', and even more so when it involves swallowing.

Maybe there are other reasons that this fetish is sexually arousing but that's all I could find in my hunting. Do you have any other ideas?

Wildlife Wednesday - the river, stingray and fish

Fish - maybe mulletWhen my sister and her kids were visiting, the river was teh other haunt. We had such fun the two days there. Boats went past creating waves to jump, and they had people in them who waved! Kids love people waving at them :)

Almost 2 years ago, our river broke open to the sea for the first time in 25 years and cleaned out. Before then it was stagnant and filthy (not so much with rubbish, just with staleness). So there's been a marked increase in the biodiversity in the river.
Stingray - can you see him?
We saw some large fish, like flathead, scoot from their resting place, basking in the shallows. We saw some young bream or mullet or such fish, swimming around. We saw, and caught, some tiny baby fish like the one in the shallow green bucket.

To my amazement we saw a large stingray. He was maybe 1.2m across or so. Just cruising around the shallows. Not sure if you can see him in the picture but hopefully you can see the lifted flap as he swam off (about mid photo) with his eye carefully looking at me.

Tiniest fish caught (A couple of women on their horses came by and the kids got to pat the horses. A heap of people walk dogs along the river and some were kid friendly and came to have a pat and a scratch.

There were pelicans soaring, ducks swimming, shags airing their wings. Black swans in the distance. Seagulls checking out if we had food.

The river is now a place teaming with life. I hope it doesn't take another 25 years before it flushes clean again.

Phallic Friday - binding

Last week we talked about spanking and whipping, this week takes it a little further - binding.

I used to be a talker junkie, way back when the internet was starting. I was on a BDSM talker and I met some amazing people, but one man who I adored was into binding, in a big way.

If we 'played' we acted out his fantasy, which was to tape someone up. Not just their mouth, but to bind their wrists, their ankles, then slowly bind their body. Sometimes it was to something, like a whipping post. Sometimes it was just to be bound and left with strategic places exposed. Left helpless, dependent upon him for help, pleasure...and everything.

Now I should explain that talkers were like chat rooms now. So 'playing' meant talking/typing, and all was anonymous. No images. No emails. No idea who the person really was, unless you decided to meet in real life, away from the talker. So it was relatively safe...so long as you were careful. And the fantasies you acted out, had to be described, in words, and so you could fake anything, or go as far as you wanted with something - even log off if it all got too weird.

So...back to my binding man. We talked for some months and I learned a little about his real life. The most fascinating thing about him was that he had these binding fantasies...that he had never acted out and never shared except on talkers...and his real life job was so so so much like his fantasies it was incredibly amazing. He was an anaesthetist.

I don;t think he could really understand my complete and utter fascination about this. It made him uncomfortable when I brought up his real life job and tied it to his fantasy. He took his job very seriously. He didn't see that the two things connected - or didn't want to see. But to me, it was purely fascinating. Did he have the fantasy because of the job, or the job because of the fantasy? Or were they really not connected?

For many months we talked about this but we never really came to a conclusion. He thought he'd always had binding fantasies but that they'd become stronger the older he got. So he imagined that there was a little of the fantasy driving his career choice, but also his career choice driving the fantasy further.

One interesting thing about him. I tried to marry his fantasy to his job, by encouraging him to do a 'scene' online where I was on the operating table and he was binding me. Nope. He could not do it. Totally freaked him out. He could bind me elsewhere, but I couldn't link his work with his thrills.

It made me want him to be my anaesthetist if I ever needed one. But I was never really into the complete immobilisation from binding. I like my bit of control!

Ever thought about binding? or being bound?

Wildlife Wednesday - octopus and rockpools

At the beachMy sister came to visit last week with Miss 3 and Mr 7. We had days like it was summer (and the last 3 days have been wet and cold, so they were special days!). We spent every day at the beach or the river or on the rocks.

I'm very lucky to live where I do. I lived most of my life inland, and away from the ocean, so when the chance came to live on the coast, we were rather choosy about where we lived - well, after we took into consideration the cost of houses, which was the most limiting factor, really!

So, back to the holidays! We attacked the waves at the beach. This is usually fun when I'm by myself. Add Mr 7 swinging off my arm and it was fun, with a dash of scary. My sister was freezing and not in swimmers, so if a wave took him, it was up to me. Then Miss 3 wanted to join in the fun. So Miss 3 swinging on my hip and Mr 7 off my arm ramped up the scary...but lordy it was fun! They squealed so much as the waves came in to wet us.

OctopusThen we hit the rock pools. There's a rock platform nearby with a rock swimming pool. I thought the kids would enjoy the pool but I was wrong! After seeing Mr Octopus lurking around the edges, they weren't so thrilled by the thought of sharing a huge swimming pool with him!! They believe swimming pools should be crystal blue, chlorinated and preferably with a roof!!

But we spent hours poking around rock pools (the small non-swimming variety) looking at all manner of weeds, soft corals, periwinkles and barnacles, little fish and funny anemones.

Exploring rockpoolsThen we found a few gorgeous little starfish that the kids could hold and feel walking across their hands. I think they enjoyed them...but the squeals may have been of fear. Who knows? I enjoyed it :)

I love the tidal rock pools, love the beach. It's a great excuse to have visitors and spend the day enjoying nature at its finest!

Are you a beach person?


Starfish

Phallic Friday - late and in trouble, need spanking

I'm late and Lily has already called me out about it on Twitter. My apologies. I was having too much fun this week with visitors and now my brain is fried with exhaustion! We spent a lot of time at the beach and the river...and the weather gods were kind and gave us a late summer :)

Anyway, Phallic Friday - this week is about spanking and whipping.

My sister bought me a book many years ago called Spank Me, and it was a history of spanking. Hmm...it's not on my bookcase and must be in the garage in my other book cupboard. So I can't give you any details about the book...and google and amazon aren't helping me.

Anyway, suffice to say that I've been interested in this form of fetish for a while now. There's something thrilling and exhilarating about spanking or whipping. Now, I'm not talking about a thrashing or a belting here. I'm talking about spanking for fun. For the stimulation. The thrill. The sharp jag of pain, the shock, the unexpectedness.

I know alot of people associate spanking with childhood trauma, or childhood spankings/chastisement. I don't know that fun spanking can be linked to that - maybe the humiliation spankings could be, as they're more associated with the punishment, humiliation, degradation aspects.

For me, the fun aspect comes from the unexpectedness. The sharp jag of pain. It rips you from yourself. Focuses on the external. gets you out of your had and into the event.

In my exhausted state here, I've probably shared far too much! Sorry if I've fallen into the TMI post.

How do you feel about spanking?

Wildlife Wednesday - Black Swans

Just a quick post this week because I have visitors.

The Black Swans have come back. They've been away for the summer - wonder where they went - but have returned. The black dots on the sand bar here are about a third of the black swans that were lined up there. I couldn't get a shot of them all because this sand bar is in the middle of the river and this is zoomed in heaps so you can see them. There must have been a couple of hundred birds - 2 pelicans, 1 cormorant and the rest black swans! It was amazing.