On stringed instruments, spanking and joyful masochism.

October 2, 2011 at 2:40 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , )

Learning to love being spanked, as a switch, has been a hard thing for me. I was smacked as a child, usually on the bottom, and it caused me real, especially sexual trauma. One of the many reasons why I am passionately opposed to all forms of CP against actual children – it’s not that being smacked turned me into a spanko, it’s that being smacked (along with the rest of the abuse) has been a real obstacle to developing my sexuality in the way that I want to. And that’s just not fair!

I had been fascinated with consensual, adult CP for some time as a Dom, and had caned and paddled the Warrior on many occasions before the Magician and I got together. Meeting and getting together with the Magician gave me a means of finally exploring my submissive side, and it’s been wonderful, not to mention amazingly good for me. The first time we tried some very light spanking on my bottom, however, I became massively triggered, distressed and panicky. Naturally we stopped immediately, and he gave me all of the support, care and love I could want. I was determined to persist, however, and find a way to enjoy this side of myself, free of the flashbacks and intrusive thoughts that my childhood makes me prone to.

It took determination, patience and intelligence from both of us, but these days most of those obstacles have gone, and for the most part, spanking from the Magician is something I utterly love. Well, not necessarily always at the time, but afterwards at least. πŸ˜‰

It has only just occurred to me, however, that there was something from my youth that I have been consistently tapping into when enjoying spanking, as well as other forms of pain play (scratching and hair-pulling, especially) that the Magician and I indulge in.

I’ve been a stringed instrument player since I was a small child. During my teens, I was a jazz double bass player of some skill. At gigs, in that delightful mindspace that one enters when the music flows through you and all is adrenaline and energy and glory, I would play and play and ride past what was often quite intense pain that the playing invoked. On at least one occasion, literally until my fingers (specifically the index finger on my right hand) bled. I wore the blisters and the soreness as a badge of honour afterwards, and somehow the pain was just another, beautiful element of the general delight that a good gig gave me.

To my regret, I’m no longer a double bass player – it’s a frightfully impractical instrument when you have ME and back problems! But I am learning the ukulele at the moment, and as I type this my fingers of my left hand are stinging and aching and… it’s rather fantastic.

It reminds me too of sore feet when I’m well enough to go on long walks. Of the scratches on my hands when scrambling on rocks. The kinds of pain that come as a welcome intensifier of joyful, life-affirming activities. The kind of masochism that is absolutely about being strong and creative and delighting in the world around me. I usually regard myself as a sadist, a dominant and a submissive in terms of my sexuality. But I really do have a masochistic streak as well. And it lies so close to a lot of the healthiest parts of my brain, that this may help me spread that healthiness around all sorts of bits of me. πŸ™‚

I admit I am also wondering whether, at some point, the Magician might be up for a scene that involves me practising my uke under his orders. I could see that being a quite ridiculous amount of fun. I shall have to ask him. πŸ™‚

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Referring to my partners :-)

September 28, 2011 at 11:35 am (Uncategorized) (, )

“My Dom” and “my Sub” seems inadequate. Not least because that is so very, very far from being all of who they each are to me. They are my life-partners, and my Sub is also my spouse.

I have been indulging in an awful lot of myths and fairy tales lately. My head is full of the imagery. And so, at least for now, I shall name my Dom “the Magician”, and my Sub “the Warrior”. My Sub is a very gentle man indeed, but there is something of the Warrior about him nevertheless, especially the Warrior on an heroic quest. And it nicely subverts that frustrating (and inaccurate) idea of the male Sub as weak or pathetic. My Sub is anything but that. πŸ™‚

So! Magician and Warrior it is. At least for now. πŸ™‚

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Mountains, blackout curtain and finding my wings

September 28, 2011 at 11:29 am (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

I’ve recently returned from a glorious holiday to a mountainous region of the UK, with my Dom, my Sub and some friends.

I had little sexual energy. But one evening when some of the stress of the last few months was getting to me, my Dom and I both found some kink energy from somewhere, and got to work. πŸ™‚

He tied my wrists with strips of blackout curtain (which I thoroughly recommend as a bondage material, incidentally!) and took out his rather pleasing paddle brush. He warmed me up gently and kindly and thoroughly, told me not to bother counting, and by the time he started to strike with real toughness, I was ready to take anything, and relishing every hard bite of the brush.

My usual image for subspace is that of falling into the sea, deeper and deeper and deeper. It’s a gorgeous image, and one that my Dom encourages, hypnotising me by sending me down beneath the waves and telling me to breathe in the water until I am part of the sea, indistinguishable from it, utterly in his power.

I love it. Naturally. πŸ™‚

But I have read so many accounts of bottoms/Subs taking wing, soaring with pain and pleasure, and this I had never experienced. Until last week. It’s what I needed – the holiday as a whole was very much about finding my wings, about feeling free in all that I do and am.

I started to rise up into the air with the spanking. And when my Dom put down the brush and started to dig his nails hard into my sore and throbbing bottom, I shot up and flew. It wasn’t pain, it was lines of brilliant cold fire across my tender places, and it was beautiful.

He wrapped me in his arms, and I continued to fly, quietly, for perhaps another ten minutes, while he tethered me and caressed me. He apologised profusely that one scratch had inadvertently drawn blood – not the kind of mistake he usually makes – and worried that once I had come down I would be unhappy about it. I wasn’t. It’s not something I’d want him to make a habit of, and did occasion a sneaky trip down into the lounge of the cottage we were renting to retrieve some antiseptic cream! But I wore that scratch like a private badge of honour for days afterwards. Although not as proudly as my pink and glowing bottom that evening. And tensions ages long had fallen from me as I rose into the air, and didn’t come back.

For anyone who’s not seen it yet, Pandora Blake has a wonderful post from a few days ago, about storing emotions in the body, and the therapeutic power of spanking. It’s something I can definitely vouch for! I have to be careful when trying to find that place, given my background. But consensual, enthusiastic D/S, as a free adult sharing my power with my Dom… so very much yes. Gloriously therapeutic. Although, as my Dom rightly said, that’s not actually why we’re doing it. More a happy side-effect. πŸ˜‰

My wings are growing. Not just in terms of my kink energy! They are growing in all areas of my life, and it’s wonderful.

Now, if I can get some Dom energy myself at some point, that would be rather wonderful too. πŸ™‚

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September 9, 2011 at 3:03 pm (Uncategorized) ()

I have a Twitter account. It is here: http://twitter.com/#!/MotleyWanderer


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September 8, 2011 at 5:37 pm (Uncategorized)

I glory in my long legs, my fleshy thighs, my delicate wrists, my large, slender, practical hands.

I glory in my body hair, thicker and longer and darker than that of many cis men I know, especially on my calves.

I glory in my silly, wobbly, bumpy ankles that mean I can put my feet and all sorts of improbable positions, and which are terribly useful for scrambling on rocks.

I glory in my abundant, round, beautiful bottom. Β I glory in my tiny, pert little breasts, and my soft white belly.

I glory in my high neck, and my big brown eyes, and my ludicrously tiny nose.

I glory in my hair, dark brown and black and reddish and silver.

I glory in the way my arms and nose freckle in the sunshine.

I glory in my sweat, my dirt, my essence.

I’m an androgynous gentleman in formal wear and a topper.

I’m a femme hippy in pretty dresses with my hair flowing halfway down my back.

I’m a practical folky type in combats and bunches and a slightly goth-y utility belt.

And sometimes, like today, I’m bed-ridden, in pyjamas and a hair-scarf and smudgy glasses.

Healing myself, moving forward, they depend on looking at who I am and going, yes. This person is me. This person is beautiful. This person is lovable. And, yes, this person is sexy.

So much for the person in the mirror. Exploring what lies inside myself – that’s harder. That’s much, much harder to love. The emotions, the sensations, the thoughts, the inner workings and decisions and fluids and muscles and churnings that feel disgusting, wrong, unworthy, shameful, embarrassing. But starting with the exterior is helpful. And, yes, is something I can glory in.

The rest? They will come. πŸ™‚

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Healing with masturbation

September 8, 2011 at 12:01 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

I’ve been reading bits of the book “Healing Sex: A Mind-Body Approach to Healing Sexual Trauma”, by Staci Haines. Which I highly recommend, I might add, though I’ve not gone beyond the first couple of chapters yet.

One of the first exercises given in the book is an exploration of self-touching, and of giving oneself patience and compassion as you invoke your own sexual power.

The phrase “sexual power” associated with my body’s pleasure responses is one that felt totally alien to me when I first read about it. I’ve always associated sexual arousal and pleasure with *lacking* power – with having it taken away from me without my consent, as well as with consensual fantasies of sexual submission.

Which would be one reason why I have great difficulty reaching orgasm when not in a submissive situation, of course. Dominance, for me, has always been about giving pleasure, and submission about receiving it. Which isn’t a bad starting place, but both dominance and submission can be so much richer and more varied than that!

When I first tried the exercise, I had to use all of my self-compassion and patience to stay with the concept of arousal = my sexual power, and not be deflected by intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, a sense of disempowerment, panic, shame and self-disgust.

I kept with it. I rocked my pelvis. I enjoyed lying on a hard floor with a pillow beneath my head.

Then I thought about grounding with the Earth, about making myself safe. About making the space around me sacred.

Then something interesting happened. πŸ˜‰ Something that I can’t describe fully, and should not in a public space even if I could. Something private. But suffice to say that I had a Visitor. Wild, benign and, well, rather masculine. πŸ˜‰

My orgasm, when it came, was fierce and beautiful. And, for the first time in my life, it made me feel more, not less powerful. More, not less safe. More, not less loving of my body and my pleasure responses.

So, that was interesting. πŸ˜‰

Since then, I’ve done my best to keep practising the lesson I learned that day.

And something very interesting that emerged not long after was that I can keep that sense of empowerment *even when my fantasies are submissive*. My arousal, my orgasm – these are powerful things that I own. In submission I give power to a Dom (real or imaginary!), but I then receive my own sexual power back tenfold. D/s is about *sharing* power. Playing with the exceedingly sexy idea of it all going one way, but in reality, ideally, enhancing and celebrating the sexual power of everybody involved.

I’m still, at the time of writing this, not really in a good space for having sex with either of my partners. Especially, though this may sound counter-intuitive, my sub. I don’t feel able to dominate yet, nor to have much in the way of non-D/s sex. It may sound odd that I’ve found my power in submissive fantasies and have yet to find any in dominance or “vanilla”. Actually I think that it makes perfect sense. I have found my sexual power, and started to enjoy it and relish it. This is a huge step forward. But *trusting* it… that’s another matter entirely. I’m still scared of that power, and especially scared of letting it loose with another person. In submission, most of the control of the situation goes to my Dom. Who is exceedingly trustworthy. In dominance and in non-D/s sexual activity, I have some or all of the control myself. And that’s something I’m really not ready for yet.

In the past – in all of my sexually active past, in fact – I’ve repressed my fears about all of this, and thus managed to engage in all sorts of activities that now seem absolutely terrifying. Realising that I was abused has made me confront all of this. It’s a very slow learning curve. Though I am very glad that my sub does have another partner who has no such problems!

*sighs* Well. One step at a time.

And I should read and learn from more of the “Healing Sex” book. And continue to work on all of this.

Little by little, step by step, I will get there. πŸ™‚

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The journey :-)

July 20, 2011 at 10:18 am (Uncategorized)

Hi. I’m the Fool.

I’m a polyamourous, polygendered (FAAB), pansexual, switchy kinkster.

I’m also disabled. AndΒ a feminist. And an aspiring druid. And a green lefty type.

And I’m also a child abuse survivor, trying to learn to finally love my body, my sexual energy and my power. Β To reclaim my libido, my kinkiness and my whole self from the damage that’s been done to me. And to unite them with my feminism, my politics and my spiritual path.

It’s a difficult, painful but beautiful journey I’m on, and this is my travel journal.

Welcome. πŸ™‚

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