Lessons from my Cat

Pic credit.

Pain is so closely related to pleasure that we sometimes lose track of where one morphs into the other. Hormones, I guess, all those interesting wee chemicals our bodies live and die by create this intriguing dichotomy.

During sex, with the taught pleasure string and the altered pain threshold, pain and pleasure can even be reversed. In the cool calm of a Sunday morning, HOW WEIRD IS THAT?

Not really so weird, as long as we understand that a good flogging is excellent for one's wellbeing. Alright, so maybe just a light flogging, between consenting adults, with all the usual precautions. Gawd, I can't even make a small joke about the pleasures of a little S&M play without safety caveats. What have our sex lives become now that the Safety Nazis and PC Police are in the corner watching us act out our fantasies?

Oh, did I mention to ALWAYS use a safeword?

Anyway, my cat teaches me much about the nature of women. Cats have claws. Cats, when happy, knead those claws into one's flesh. It's a classic pleasure and pain scenario: my sweet tortoiseshell purrs and punctures my skin. She's in ecstasy, and I'm...happy she's happy. But OUCH, those things are sharp!

Remember, women have claws, too. Thank goodness.





Bottoms Up, Felines!

The Girlfriend Experience

I want to write something along the lines of:

The Girlfriend Experience is about the closeness of two people meshing at inter-dimensional levels for spiritual reasons.

But that doesn't ring true - the contradictory evidence in my life alone is overwhelming.

Maybe that's because the whole relationship-dating complex tends toward hard-bitten-ness as people age. We begin to appear as - or begin to look for - financial saviours or mental leaning-posts rather than specially connected individuals.

My golden age was from fifteen until twenty-one. Innocent of wordly motives, a girlfriend was just that - about having a girl as a friend. Girls are soft and smell great and feel different and look at shit differently. That's nice. I want one of them close to me, on my side.

Innocence. That's the key word, implying a voyage of discovery with someone. From innocence to knowledge. And then to BDSM, but only after a decent interval.



Girlfriend Experience illustration from here [link]

Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down

The bow-tie is unfairly characterized as the neckware of fools and dandies, a misreading of the fashion in my opinion.

The men who affect the bow-tie are trying to look different, trying too hard because the bow-tie is a cliché that says "I'm trying to look different." They're obviously attempting to stand out, and everyone knows it...except the wearer, which confirms them as terminally un-hip.

If only the bow-tie was associated with restraint sex. From personal experience, regular neckties make perfect tools with which to tie a woman to the bed, or to restrain her arms or legs, or even to blindfold her. But bowties are a more perfect length, and you can always wear them the next day and keep the scent close to your nose.


Bottoms Up, Dominators!



Bow-tie sweater from here [link]

Feminist Literature

Floating around the internet searching for dungeon equipment proved immensely time wasting. Not only are there VERY few vendors, the quality of the goods looks decidedly dodgy. And surprisingly there's not much of a market for second-hand (pre-spanked?) BDSM kit...although maybe not so surprisingly.

Hey, I'll give you fifty for the rack, the standing cage and the two wooden stingers.

What I did find was an enormous amount of porn, which, as we all know, was the reason hand lotion was invented.

One kink I don't understand is this thing of writing shit on a woman. I'm looking at an example now. She's wearing spike heels and a sweet spiked collar. Her master (presumably) used a felt pen to write what amount to instructions all over her. Big arrows point at her cooter saying "For Fucking". On her buttocks, similar arrows lead to her chocolate starfish with the words "Cocks Go Here." On her boobs is the instruction "Cum All Over These" and at various places she's branded a "Slut".

Ooookay.




Exploring Uma photo from here [link]

Dungeon for Rent

The huge number of industrial buildings offered for lease got me thinking the other day. My small Floridian town is suffering from unemployment and idiotic government as much as any place, but there's enough money around for this idea: A Dungeon for Rent.

BDSM (bondage and discipline, submission and sadomasochism) verges on being mainstream thesedays. I presume it's the natural progression from the pornocization of society, but whatever I might think about that isn't going to stop me from making some jink from people's kink.

Big industrial buildings lend themselves to creatively designed dungeons. Mine would be decorated in black, mostly, of course, with blood-red highlights. Lighting would be cheap, as candles are the dungeonmaster's illumination of choice. There would be rooms with various kinds of whipping posts, crosses mostly, with simple shackles and chains for the primitive players. Special rooms with suspension devices are likely to be popular too. You can bring your own gags, crops and whips, or, for a fee, I'll provide you with rental punishment and restraint equipment.

As with the Japanese Love Hotels (some of which I understand now come with dungeons for rent) discretion would be the name of the game. Players in couples or groups would be kept apart by time or wall. And separate entrances and exits would keep them that way.

At Wombat's Dungeon World, no-one need know you like your love hog-tied and gagged in a dark, dripping den of depravity.





Delicious photo from here. The English are big into Dungeon Life, apparently. [link]

Safety Word

Or safeword or even Safeword is short-hand for "stop what you're doing now, I'm at my limit."

Being tragically ill informed about the BDSM world, this is about the extent of my experience. As usual, a little knowledge is dangerous. Trying to be cool with stuff about which I know nothing always gets me into trouble. For instance, I made a joke with Angie, the bartender at my local pub the other day.

We need a safety word, I said.

Isn't that safeword, Wombat? she looked at me like I was from outer space.

Sure, whatever, safeword. I want my safeword to mean you should stop serving me drinks and give me the check.

Why can't you just ask for the check, and I'll stop serving you, she said, giving me that duh look she keeps for particularly specious customers.

Oh, c'mon, that's no fun. I want my safety word...

....safeword....

Sorry, safeword to be Pink Squirrel. I am triumphant now.

Pink Squirrel?, she repeated, without enthusiasm but with an extended duh look.

Yep, Pink Squirrel.

Angie walked away shaking her head. I think she thinks I'm weird.



Picture from here.