lovesongs for underdogs
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
So, what's new?
Well, Kam's having a steamy affair with a sexy, full-lipped submissive on another continent, and I've turned into a really, really sadistic dominatrix.
Well, that last part is only in my bedtime fantasies, and that first part is strictly long-distance at this point.
OK, let's break it down.
Thesis 1: I am really, really unsubmissive right now, in that I put myself to sleep at night fantasizing about sadistically torturing harems full of grovelling men.
Thesis 2: Kam is still a Dom, with lots of pent-up Domly energy, and given the twitchy nature of doing things online, and our semi-long distance relationship right now, there isn't much he can do to bring me back into the fold.
Catalyst: We have a friend in another country whom we've been talking to online for some time now, who reads this blog periodically, knows about our sexual predilections and our deep and abiding love for each other, on whom we have a collective and reciprocal crush, and who is profoundly submissive, and single.
Synthesis: Kam is cyber- and phone-dominating Sapphire (as I have randomly pseudonymmed her unless she has a better idea) and I am getting to hear reports of their activity, which is slowly turning me back on to submission, sort of, maybe, or maybe I would just like to help dominate Sapphire. Anyway, it's nice.
It would be nicer if we could all be in the same bed, but that won't happen UNTIL SAPPHIRE COMES VISIT LIKE SHE KEEPS PROMISING TO COUGH COUGH HINT HINT.
Love you, babe. :-)
That has been your ever-less-regular kinkiness update from your friendly local vicious dominatrix or I guess switch or whatever damn random label works for you these days.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Superhero. Someone like us, who is so much more than us. Someone who shows us our own face... human, breakable, tired, confused... and then shows us the powers we wish we possessed along with it. The strength to do what is in our hearts. The strength to do what we really, truly want to do... not lazily, but with our strongest inner selves. Our spirits are willing but our flesh is weak, but your flesh is always strong enough, conformed and molded to your spirit in perfect oneness.
You confront the demons that haunt the corners of our eyes. You face them and fight them and make them whimper. And in so doing, you show them to us as well, the things we refuse to fully see because what could we do, anyway? You give us fear and you give us hope. You show us that we are surrounded, and why it's worth fighting anyway. Because of you.
You protect us because we are weaker than you, and you protect us to show us how to treat those who are weaker than us. You are the one we turn to and the one in ourselves who turns to you... the secret hero in all our hearts. And you are the one we protect, the one whose limp and exhausted body we lift gently in our arms, the one whose face we see, burdened and oppressed, that gives us the love to fuel our rage to fuel our strength to make us fight. To make us care that much.
You are at the heart of all our stories, dear limping god, and you have a thousand names. You are the torn one chained to the rock, the spiderbitten boy, the child from Krypton, the wanderer in the mountains, the hart at sunrise, the baby in the snow, the rabbit who gave his tail, whiskers and ears for his people. Your eye is single, and your whole body is full of light.
My name for you shivers me to pieces, and pieces me back together in new ways, with new things fitted into old cramped spaces. The way your body touches me makes my legs tremble all the way back to the pew, feeling you burn in my throat and belly, beloved stranger, alien with a human face, human with an alien gentleness. I touch you in wine and wafer. I call you Jesus.
But that's just me.
Sunday, July 25, 2004
Do other girls have this problem: Right before, during, and after That Time of the Month, my vagina becomes very, very tender, so that it's very sensitive and sex feels better than usual, but also, it starts to hurt fairly quickly. Like, say we have one go-round of sex that lasts maybe fifteen minutes because we haven't seen each other for so long, and then an hour later we're watching a Muppets video and snuggling and I notice he's hard again so we start things up again and in five minutes my vagina starts hurting, like it's being chafed raw, and if we don't stop immediately when it starts hurting (which I don't want to because it still feels REALLY good) then another hour later when we go at it again, it hurts too much to even enjoy it.
Of course, it's not TOO much of a problem, as all it means is I give him the best blowjob ever and he goes down on me until my eyes roll all the way back in my head and my head spins around and there are claw marks in the headboard. But still. Does this happen to other pre- and post- menstrual women? It may just be a function of our relative sizes, i.e. I am very teeny and he is quite large, but it's frustrating to have to whisper, "It hurts" instead of "Oh Jesus yeah baby" which is my usual murmur.
(Or, as Kam remembered with fondness yesterday, what I gasped out the first time he went down on me: "Oh... God... I... can't... BELIEVE... this!")
Oh yeah, and maybe someone can help me out with this one before I send it on to Miss Manners:
Dear Miss Manners: My boyfriend and I very much enjoy giving each other head, and we are both very good at it. However, shortly after an explosive orgasm on his part, whereas my tendency is to keep sucking on his penis with the same enthusiasm and painstakingly perfected technique which I have been employing throughout the blowjob, he quickly begins making high-pitched whimpering noises, groaning "No more!" and pushing my head away from his crotch. I gather from his reaction that the intensity of pleasure has reached a pitch which he no longer finds bearable, and I have always considered that the courteous response is to withdraw and let him catch his breath. However, when I have had multiple orgasms from cunnilingus and try to wriggle away to indicate my fear that I may lapse into unconsciousness if he continues his activity, he simply grasps my hips more firmly and continues with more vigor than ever! Should I take this as an indication that he wishes me to override his requests for "no more" as well?
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Doms creep me out
(Warning: I am drunk.)
Okay, so, there are, like, two dominant males I know who don't just give me the complete heebies. Not counting Kam, since I'm not sure he would be dominant, like, as a lifestyle if it weren't for me. Kam isn't cocky. He doesn't go around assuming it's his prerogative to spank girls. He can be very dominant, but he can also be very gentle and humble, and that really turns me on.
Nothing irritates me quicker than an arrogant male. And not in that love/hate, "oh I hate you you big strong man you, please dominate me and bed me to prove your superiority" way, either. Just in that "God you're an asshole, piss off and leave me alone" way. I don't fantasize about being overcome by such men; I fantasize about shooting them in the head with an Uzi.
Not only that: Submissive men turn me on. A ton. Nothing gets me hot and fantasizing faster than a boy who's shy and uncertain of himself.
There was this boy in college who I never thought much about until he directed and starred in a short film for an English class we were both in. In the film, he was forced at gunpoint to undress and have sex with this girl. After that, he turned me on. Go figure.
Here's the other weird thing. Dominant females make my little clit throb. As do submissive females. So what's up with me loathing dominant males so much?
I guess I suspect them all of secretly being Republicans. (Snerk.) All Stepfordized and wanting women not to have any freedom and equality and, like, MANLY MEN. Ugh.
Whee! I will post this now and alienate all my male republican dom readers, and those who are married to such. Don't desert me, Invidia! I suspect you are a Republican, but I love you anyway.
Monday, July 19, 2004
Yeah, so I haven't been here in ages, and especially not to write about anything kinky, because, well, there hasn't been anything kinky to write about.
See, Kam's sex drive has been close to zip for quite some time now. And along with it, his Dom-energy. Some of you know that he has cystic fibrosis, and have varying understandings of what that means, but one of the things it means is that his health and energy steadily deteriorate over a period of time, until he needs to be hospitalized for a couple of weeks once a year or so, and then he's all chipper again for awhile until things start to go downhill again.
He's in the hospital right now, and already feeling better, as evidenced by all the heavy breathing when we talk on the phone (different from the labored breathing when his lungs are clogged up) and the fact that he wants to talk about nothing but sex. Kinky sex dreams he had, what he wants to do with me next time he sees me, threesome scenarios, what I've been fantasizing about, is that hot?-- he's definitely making up for lost time.
The thing is, my sex drive has had to be shut down for awhile to match his, and I haven't been submissive for months, and right now I'm feeling sort of like Brian's mom in The Life of Brian: "Stop thinking about sex! You're always on about it!"
I guess it's just going to take a little while to reactivate. And I don't want to do it over the phone. I don't like doing stuff over the phone anyway, and definitely not when it's the first "stuff" we've done in so long.
Blah blah blah, anyway. That's just to set the stage in case I have more kinky stuff to talk about soon, and if I feel less than totally stoked by it, because right now I do.
On a brighter note, here is a phone conversation between Kam and his stepmom, as told to me:
Stepmom: Your dad and I went over to your apartment today to straighten up a bit for when you get home.
Kam: Oh, cool, thanks.
Stepmom: Yeah, we picked up a bit, and did your laundry, put some books back on the shelves, threw out some old stuff in the refrigerator.
Stepmom: And we put your riding crop in your top dresser drawer.
Stepmom: By the way, your rope sucks. You need to get some better rope.
Kam: Uh... heh.
Stepmom: Don't be embarrassed. It could have been worse.
Kam: I, um...
Stepmom: There could have been bolts in the walls.
Kam: I... *cough* Well, thanks.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
I've been at the beach for the past week. Yeah, I'm sure you all missed me profoundly.
I just went to see Spider-Man. Besides being an excellent movie, it gave me to think about my sexual predilections, more on which later, plus related topics such as wet Communion.
In the meantime, here's an excerpt from my paper journal from this past week. This one isn't a joke.
Almost I cherish my rage. Cradle it deep inside, wrapped away in silk, written on my thigh. It gives me fire, a sharp edge, something heavy behind it. Only I don't have anyone to aim at, just feel it grow helplessly, after dark, when all I can do is seethe. Because there's no one to kill.
My love grows dull from incessant use, my habitual forgiveness. My hate is razor-bright, because I take it out only to polish it, breathe new life into it, cherish it darkly and put it away. There is no one to kill. Always I find a gentleness, always you show yourself suddenly in the middle of the evil and I find myself loving whoever we're hating this week. God help me, I love them all, and the blade of my rage grows sharper with lack of use.
There is no one to kill. There will never be anyone to kill. That isn't what I keep this for, that isn't why I tend my rage so carefully. That isn't why I need it. No one is responsible; I don't hope to be avenged.
But there will be something to kill. Something that will kill me if I don't kill it. Something soft, gentle and dark, against which I will have only that in me which is hard, sharp and bright. When despair comes for me, my rage will be ready for it, annd it is hot and hungry enough that it will win. And when that fight is over, maybe it will be quenched, maybe I will have some peace.
...I always feel the fire fading at its hottest point. Father, I ask for a mundane virtue. I ask that you keep my love sharp and bright for everyday uses, that I may not tire of your grace for needing it so often. I need you to keep me seduced by gentleness, so that I don't constantly wander to fondle the haft of rage, hate, willfulness, self. Make me wonder constantly at the dangers and glories of your path, Father, and make my anger yours as well...
...I longed to be pregnant, to live slowly inside your future. To craft your creation without knowing how. Help me nourish this child, Father, even if its birthing rips me apart. Help me waddle in the meantime, weighted down with its care, bound to a thing unborn, waiting patiently until it can breathe without me.