Saturday 2 April 2011

Silence, discomfort and rope

A couple of days ago, I found myself on the way to the seaside, hot, sweaty and nervous. It was the first day of a bank holiday weekend, and time for a first play date. Even though the weekend has since finished and lots of things have happened, one of my clearest memories is sitting in that crowded carriage overlooking the fields and fretting about the trip. On some levels, I wasn't sure it was a good idea.

I wasn't fretting about the play, but something more basic: what we were going to talk about. Shyness has played an unusually large part in the story of our friendship. For years she and I have sat in the corner of parties and talked about nothing except our shyness. Friends have noticed and commented as, bit by bit, we've overcome that shyness together, but I was worried that there might be more awkward moments.

The nervousness that comes with several years of failed small talk probably explains why, when she asked me whether I wanted to spend more time on the beach or go to her flat to play, I chose the latter. She surprised me by how clearly she took the lead in what followed: asking how many clothes I'd like to be wearing, and whether I prefer to be comfortable or uncomfortable when tied up. She asked the questions about diabetes and epilepsy that are important for safety reasons without any awkwardness at all. I let her lead and tried to be a good partner: concentrating on her actions and the feel of the rope, being present, and not directing what she was doing at all. I was trusting that we'd connect.

We played quietly and smiled at each other a lot. She understood why I like discomfort and found positions that it was difficult for me to keep. When I admitted that I was making my life easier by propping myself up on a finger (rather than relying on my abs to keep my torso from falling backwards), she tied up the finger. She wasn't ordering me to sustain anything, but giving me the opportunity to push myself, and letting me know that she liked to watch me struggle. When I was bound on the floor she asked if I was able to get to my knees. For a long time it seemed impossible, however much I rolled around, but then she asked whether she could use a misery stick on me, and promised to keep on using it until I'd managed it. The solution I discovered involved wriggling out of some ropes around my feet. She said it would be okay for me to do that.

We played with rope for a long time, and I fell into a submissive head space slowly and easily. She picked my head up from the ground and the moment of panic that she could drop me onto the hard floor was soon overcome by an awareness of the trust that I'd placed in her. I felt safe. Afterwards we stretched out side by side, a little distance apart, and talked.

In retrospect, there really wasn't any reason to worry at all. Perhaps shyness has left a good legacy. For one thing, we seem comfortable with silence: we've had practice! I'd like more quiet times with her. Also, I'm realising that a lot of the assumptions that I had made about her during our disconnected conversations were wrong. Perhaps this is the chance to get to know someone from scratch.

Saturday 12 March 2011

About being male and submissive


I'm the oldest of three brothers, but it wasn't always that way. My mum told me that she was pregnant for the third time as she was walking me across the town square on the way to Boots and then to the old sweet shop. My only other brother at the time was with us, and far from being happy, he almost cried when mum broke the news. He had always wanted to be the smallest one, and he was no longer going to be. I remember my eight year-old self thinking how stupid he was. I had gotten used to not being the smallest, and so should he. It had taken him years to let go of his pushchair and dummy, and now was the time for him to finally start behaving as a grown up.

In the Polish version of "Britain's Got Talent", a would-be pop star walked out from behind the curtain and on to the stage, only to be immediately booed by the crowds. He was wearing jewellery, and he happened to be male. The judges told the crowds to be quiet, but still they insisted that he remove the "women's wear" before auditioning. I go to Poland fairly often and I know that the culture is, on the whole but with very important exceptions, conservative. But I was shocked to see this on national television.

This blog is going to be about being submissive and about being male. Of the two, being submissive is going to be easier for me to write about. I've been fortunate to have had wonderful play partners and my experiences with kink have been fun and positive. I only have good things to say about consensual BDSM play. I can't wait to start discussing things like queer sex, collaboration, the body, what I mean by spiritual kink, and more.

In comparison, my history as a male has been more challenging. Of course, I was male before I started being submissive and the history is that much longer. Like my younger brother, I encountered my own problems growing up and I did not always want to behave in the way that was expected of me. It's not an unfamiliar story, and it's not a sad one either, since each year I've found my possibilities increase. London offers many more options for how a male can behave than the small market town of my childhood and I have found partners and friends who love and accept me. But even today I still think that that the number of options available to most people is too limited.

I wanted to use this first post to mention an idea which seems fairly obvious to me now, but which did not occur to me until a few years ago when I started exploring kink and read The New Bottoming Book by Dossie Easton and others. Very simply it's that each of us can decide for ourselves what we want our gender and sexuality to look like, which traits we want to pick up and use, and what images and ideas are useful to us. I can't explain this any better than Holly, who is one of my heroes and talks about a gender smörgåsbord on her blog, The Pervocracy.

The trick is to find an environment where we can be the way that we want, safely. Kinky play offers one space to experiment with a lot of emotions and identities. Even in London I would face prejudice if I wore jewellery in some places, but I've had some very lovely scenes when I've been a father or son or girl or slave - lots of things. It's an example that simplifies a lot, because not all submission is about role-play, and also progress at building a more tolerant society has to happen outside of particular communities. But I hope it gives an idea for why I wanted to talk about submission and maleness together in the posts that follow.