naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Before I can talk about things, I have to bore you with the second dream, which is actually really sexy and you should read it. It’s also really sad, though nobody dies and there were no injured kittens or anything.

The second dream was similar to the first in many ways. (DW and LJ links.)

Things were really beautiful at first.

I was a strapping, handsome young man serving a very, very powerful and well-placed wizard. I lived with him and his apprentice, who was an incredibly powerful girl of about fifteen. I was having lots of very good, very loving, very kinky sex with both of them.

My main purpose was as a focus object. I had no magical skill, but I had another unique talent: I was a vessel, a human familiar. A reservoir for magical energy. I could serve a as a kind of bridge for my master and his apprentice, combining their power through me. I could help to steady energy flow during magic, and I could serve as a sort of power bank. In a pinch, I could intercept hostile magic and drain away most or all of its power, meaning I served as a sort of bodyguard to both of them, protecting them from magical attack.

Just imagine that this lovely lady is a lovely dude.
Photo by Grendelkhan, from Wikipedia.
The fact that I was not able to find a decent creative-commons pic of a MAN in a slave collar is a cranky-as-hell conversation for another time.

 

Basically, I was a human familiar and bodyguard with a talent that needed to be used, just as much as a wizard’s magic needs to be used. If they did not use magic regularly, it was harmful to them. It would burn them out from the inside trying to hold it. If I did not have it channeled through me regularly, if my talent was not used, it was harmful to me, and I began to pine and fade.

I was very, very important to what they did, and I was part of a healthy, working partnership. I loved them both very dearly. Equally, but in different ways.

The girl was my dearest friend and confidante. I was in love with her in a way that is difficult to describe. She was little sister and lover and best friend all in one, and she acknowledged me as a full equal, which was extraordinary, for my power was often misconstrued as inferior to active magic, even though it was more rare. She was younger than me by about five or six years, so I was often protective of her, but her power awed me.

My master was . . . my master. I worshiped him. I belonged to him in a way that, again, is difficult to describe. It was utter trust, utter obedience, because anything else was unthinkable. I had surrendered my will to him completely, and he never abused or mistreated that trust, or treated me as anything other than a cherished companion. He had saved me from nothingness, brought me back from the edge of despair and death. I owed my life to him, but I also owed him my spirit.

Because of them, I was whole. Because of me, they were whole. I was their armor; they were my mind and my heart. It was beautiful in every way.

The first dream had no D/s undertones, but this one absolutely did. I wore a collar with a blue tag on it. Some of the things that they did to me were painful, but also incredibly sexy. I had tattoos they had put on me to make me a better vessel. I was so proud to be theirs.

We went to the Goblin Market, which, being a modern Goblin Market, was in a shopping mall underground, in a part of the city that had sunk during an earthquake.

Inside the Goblin Mall, there were dwarven jewelers, a cobbler elf shoe store, and a dressmaker’s run by rats. The gremlins owned an electronics shop – no warranty, but everything there was totally badass. There was a place that sold magic books and grand grimoires where the books would introduce themselves to you. All kinds of shops, really; magic supply shops with everything from chicken feet to unicorn bezoars, places that sold arcane magical items, a pet shop where you could get familiars. There was a place you could get curses or blessings or a handful of pixie dust in exchange for dreams – one year of dreams would get you a pretty good curse, and you could have a minor miracle for a couple of decades. There was even a carousel with real magical animals on it; I remember the filigree around the upper canopy was all made of golden thorns.

It was just the coolest thing. Sort of like Noetic City, but explicitly and thoroughly magical.

All kinds of people and things went back and forth there, peaceably enough. Familiars. Many of them. Tall fairies, shadow folk, dryads, spriggans, and fairy tale figures. I mean, it was just so cool. I met the twin offspring of Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf: a beautiful boy/girl child with a dirty face and grubby hands and hair like fire held back by a red scarf, and who flitted behind shelves and counters, barely seen; and a ginger and cream colored wolf with slightly curly fur, so well-groomed it looked like a dog, and so very soft and very friendly and eager to play – the wolf especially delighted me. It was like a Disney Princess wolf, although it still had all its teeth.

We were cutting a deal with a dwarf for a beautiful chain I suspect was to be used for some sort of bondage-y purpose, when I looked to the side, and my master and his apprentice were gone. I was immediately upset. I was not supposed to leave his side, ever – not just for his protection, but for mine. Sneered at or not, my talent was rare, I was well-trained, and I was valuable.

I looked around, thinking they had just stepped around the counter or into the next shop, and my heart sank as I realized they weren’t there. I quickly retraced our steps, hoping they’d forgotten something at one of the other shops and had gone back for it. Nothing. I searched everywhere, upper level, lower level, every shop and kiosk, even the bathrooms and food court. They were just . . . gone.

And worse, as I went along, I realized that not only had nobody seen them recently, nobody had seen them at all. Even the people at the shops we had visited didn’t remember seeing him. The proprietors of our regular haunts had never even heard of us. Something was very wrong, terribly and horribly wrong. It had fairy glamor written all over it. And, being what I was, there was not a damn thing I could do.

I started asking other patrons for help, but none would help me. I was wearing someone else’s collar and tag, and it was sort of forbidden to interact with someone else’s familiar without their explicit permission.

It hurt terribly. I was very afraid. Not because I couldn’t fend for myself in the real world or whatever, but because two people I loved were missing. I couldn’t go home without them. Actually, I couldn’t even get home without them. We had teleported. But without them, there was no home to go to, so it was completely moot anyhow. I had no place.

I stayed so late the shops closed for the witching hour. I was there all night, nothing but the dull gold glow of the security lights and the patrolling watchmen. I think they were werewolves. Whatever they were, they neither helped nor hindered, and after ascertaining that I was there to do no mischief, they did not disturb me.

I sat next to the magic fountain until dawn, keeping my miserable vigil, and then I did the only thing I could think of to do. When you are lost, you stay in one place and wait for help to arrive. I went and knelt in the middle of the main thoroughfare and stayed there with my hands in my lap and my eyes downcast, waiting. My master was respected, loved. Sooner or later, someone we knew would see me, realize that something must be wrong if I was alone, and offer to help me.

The mall opened again, and soon the strange, steady traffic resumed. They passed by hour after hour. Some looked at me with curiosity. Some with disgust, assuming I had done something wrong and had been thrown away. Some petted my hair as they went past, or stroked my face, or simply stopped and looked at me for a while. Some, assuming I was being punished for some wrongdoing, slapped me, or spit on me, or called me names. Kicked me, cuffed me. I did not react, no matter how angered or touched I was. It was brutal and humiliating, but because it was me dreaming it, and it was obviously in an explicitly kinky universe, it was also really, really hot

None of them recognized me, or if they did, they said nothing. They became a shapeless mass, faceless faces, all the same. None of them familiar. The humiliation faded into quiet resignation. I waited and waited and waited to see the gleam of his shoes, or her delicate ankle, to see his shirt-cuff and signet ring, or to feel her hand in my hair.

It was an absolutely gut-wrenching dream. I felt, still feel, awful for the boy I was in the dream. It wasn’t a dream full of terror and running, it was just . . . this heavy, growing disquiet, and then that quiet feeling of despair when you know you have done all you know to do, and you are still totally screwed.

I told Sargon about it, and he posited that maybe my master had left me there on purpose, hoping that someone would take me in, like dumping a puppy in a parking lot. Left me there and gone off with his apprentice. Didn’t want me anymore. Wanted her to himself. That’s a horrible thought, but I don’t think that was it. Totally wrong for the feel of the dream, the relationship I had with those people. I just don’t know what did happen. I have no idea, beyond the conviction that magic was involved.

Again, I really, really want there to be a way for them to be reunited, because that kid, the kid I was, was a good kid. The kind of faithful and loyal and trusting that really breaks your heart to see abused.

Cross-posted from Silver Into Steel.

naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
FOR ART! Involving MAD SCIENCE!

Anyone have any experience with electroplay? Anyone know anyone into electroplay?

Are y'all/they willing to answer questions about what that feels like?

Stuff I have experienced:

Mild charge from a hand-held defense device (I hesitate to call it a taser, because it was nowhere near that scary). Felt like tattoo fill needles. Divine.

Violet wand play. Felt sticky, and then prickly, and then snappy and sharp and stingy.

TENS unit, pads applied externally to peripheral areas (arms, legs) and to upper back. Felt thrummy and zingy and very nice. I am a fan of this.

Stuff I wanna know about, sensation-wise:

TENS unit or similar devices used externally on the naughty bits.

Inseratable attachments for the TENS unit or similar devices. Any orifice.

Raise your hand if you've had e-stim induced orgasms!

Any authenticating detail I can't ask about because I don't know about it. Something that people who have done it will read and go "Oh, yeah, that happens!", and people who have not done it might find interesting.

Adjectives or similes you'd use to describe the sensation are great.

Anything else I haven't thought to wonder about, but will think of immediately after posting.

This is definitely TMI might feel uncomfortable talking about it territory, but I really, really don't want to get into writing those bits until I've at least talked to some people who have done it. I can't do it myself right now, so secondhand will have to do.

I am having problems with LJ PM right now, apparently, so if you are leery of leaving an anonymous comment, I can be reached by email at Naamah at gmail.
naamah_darling: Picture of a treasure chest with a skull and crossbones on top. My art! (Artistic)
Oh, hey. Yeah, this is late. I'm sorry.

Madame Swallowtail is a Harsh Mistress

Brace yourselves, kiddos, because it's about to get very, very wrong. And there's a LOT of pictures under the cut. (Yeah, I over-photograph my ponies. You would too, if you knew they were going to go away and you would never see them again. Sob.)



Let's just cut to the chase, shall we? )

Madame Swallowtail Portrait

When I was smoothing her hair, I used some nice conditioner to keep it from frizzing. She now, ironically, smells of vanilla.

I don't normally go for the slick-packaged dominatrix look, I have issues with it, but I suppose this could be considered parody, or social commentary, or something. Or just something that really, really needed to be done. And should probably be done again.

She will go up for auction on Wednesday or Thursday. She needs a new home with an appreciative audience for her perverted pony antics! I'll be starting the bidding a bit higher for her, since she comes with everything up there. Toys, box, and all.

So that's Swallowtail, and I hope that you enjoyed her! I've been having a great time playing with her and taking pictures, even though between the shiny black and soft white and bright hair she's damn hard to photograph. Still, I think the results are good, and I hope she brightened your Monday.

Sorry. I mean Thursday.

* If someone has a kid with orthodontics, and could grab some in various colors next time they go in, I will cover the cost and shipping.
naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
I have been interviewed by the lovely Dishevelled Domina, also of Tumblr fame. (The interview link is work safe, the Tumblr link is really, really, really NSFW.)

We talked about a lot of fun things, including tabletop RPGs and '80s cartoons, as well as more thinky stuff like feminism and kink and marriage and so on. I talk a little about my own history and how I became aware that I am a big ol' pervert, which I haven't actually done all that much of, especially recently, so that was interesting. And there's a picture of me in a pirate hat.

So please, stop by and read and comment! I'll be checking in and answering questions. (Although I am almost always up for fielding questions either here or on my Tumblr, JSYK.)

Have an excerpt! My two favorite questions:

How did you discover your power exchange preference?

It just kind of . . . blossomed. I’ve had sadistic/masochistic fantasies ever since I was five or six. Once I became aware of BDSM subculture, somewhere around the age of twelve, I was intrigued by it. By the awesome clothes, by the glamorous people, by the strong presence of female sexuality, by the way it was forbidden.

Of course, I grew up and discovered that BDSM culture is far from perfect. And, sadly, as I explored the idea, I became aware that the female sexuality showcased in most BDSM photography and porn/erotica had little to do with my personal desires and values. But the core of that appeal remained. Pain, lust, beauty . . . I have always found the idea of a beautiful man suffering intensely erotic.

Flashback to the ’80s: I remember there was this one episode of Thundercats that had my favorite character, Tygra, getting strapped into this torture/execution machine called The Four Winds, which was basically designed to rip a person’s arms and legs off. It wasn’t the drawing and quartering I found sexy – I thought that was creepy and gross – it was that Tygra was chained in it, waiting, for hours. The anticipation was lovely. The peril. And the being chained up spread-eagle.

I only saw the episode once, but I had all kinds of fantasies about it; someone whipping him, someone cutting his clothes off, someone hurting him with pointy things, performing painful and humiliating experiments on him. I acted these out with my action figures to excess. Right in front of all my My Little Ponies, too. I’m sorry you had to see that, Moondancer.

Do you think there is a connection between feminism and femdom? If so, how would you characterize it?

Only in the sense that any issue involving women claiming their sexual desires, especially ones forbidden by the cultural roles thrust upon them, can be framed as a feminist issue.

I am an avowed feminist, and I find the conflation of “feminist” with “thinks women are superior to men” annoying. I do not believe that. Interestingly, woman-as-goddess is a huge part of the fem-dom fantasy. It’s common to see men painting women as the superior sex, especially submissive men. I have no use for that. It’s not any better, to my mind, than telling me that men are superior. It’s offensive to me as a person, and I am really tired of it, and tired of people who dismiss feminism because they do not understand what it’s about. There are legitimate bones to pick with modern feminist dialogue, it has its areas of ignorance, but one thing it is not about is putting women above men. I’ll get off my soapbox now.

I do think that femdom is often depicted in an incredibly sexist way, and while leather-clad ice-queen porn can still be well-produced and very hot, and while I don’t fault people who like it or fantasize about it (what gets you off gets you off, have a great time and don’t be ashamed), its rampant exclusion, as a genre, of the desires of actual dominant women is a huge problem, a huge turn-off, and a huge barrier to dominant women recognizing their own dominant inclinations for what they are. Thankfully, it’s changing, and I have hopes that we will be seeing more appealing male-sub imagery and writing. I am trying to contribute to that by writing erotica that appeals to me personally.

I also think that for a lot of people, the femdom fantasy does derive a great deal of its power from the subversion or inversion of traditional roles, whether we are aware of that individually or not, whether that’s affected us individually or not. I can’t honestly say whether that’s had an effect on me. I was so young when I started having these thoughts that I am inclined to think that a desire to reverse traditional roles had nothing to do with it. Those roles are probably what kept me from recognizing it for what it was in the first place.


So drop on by and say hello! And peruse the other interviews while you're there! They have been a fascinating cross-section of kinky folks, and I really admire the project and what DD is trying to do.

Penthesilea's interview is especially excellent, and what she has to say about femdom/kink/BDSM and feminism is spot-on, and I wish I had read it when I answered that question, because I could have just pointed to it and said "What she said."
naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
Now, an AWESOME plea for halp!

The wonderful Cecilia Tan at Circlet Press cannot find an appropriate dominant woman/submissive man image on the stock photo sites, and is hoping to get some help.

Details:

Help me find cover art for a gorgeous book about a dominant woman and her male submissive!

So, Circlet Press will be publishing a book very soon called The Viscountess Investigates by Cameron Quintain. It’s an erotic mystery in a BDSM fantasy world which intersects our own, in which a dominant woman (the Viscountess) and her submissive (the aptly named Severin) are a detective team who must move through the various BDSM “dominions” (alternate universes reached through a kind of S/M-based magic) to search for a killer.

It’s a smart book, very sexy, with touches of victoriana, leather culture, and many many sf/fantasy references. Most importantly, its main characters are not young fluffy porn models.

The search for a cover photograph or image has so far proved fruitless. Most of the stuff out there with any kind of BDSM theme is of 18-year-old girls with teased hair and blue eyeshadow in collars and PVC. Um, no.

What I would love is something like:
- a tasteful image of a woman’s boot-clad leg, being kissed by a worshipful male submissive
- a shot of her leather gloved hands, one holding a whip/flogger and one a Sherlock-Holmes-style magnifying glass
- A woman in Victorian dress with a man (clothed or no) kneeling at her feet

Now, you’d think a photo of a man kissing a shoe or boot wouldn’t be too hard to find in stock photo sites, but it’s just a barren wasteland.

Our budget is not huge, but I can offer up to $50 for use of an image if someone has one to sell me the rights to. It needs to be 300 dpi and a minimum of 6×6″ in size (6×9″ is ideal, but we can deal with other aspect ratios). Suggestions, pointers, artist friends, please send them my way. Thank you!


Oh, golly, people, this is a terrible problem. There is arse out there for this sort of imagery, worse on stock photo sites.

Do you have any photographer friends who do slightly sexy work who might be interested in doing a good deed? If any of you have applicable skills, would you please consider it? They can't pay all that much, no, but Circlet do really, really important work publishing erotica that pushes boundaries of genre and content, and this book sounds positively fucking kickass, and I wanna read it right this second.

We need to get a cover on this sucker!

Who can help?
naamah_darling: The letter A in a compass rose. (Adventurotica)
First, Sargon has a really great article up over at Adventrotica called Dirty, Naughty, Nasty, Filthy, and you should go read it.



I'm sure you know all the words: horny, nasty, filthy, raunchy, slutty, dirty - all of these have been applied to sex for centuries as a way of stigmatizing it, a way of saying "this is not ok", and it is perhaps inevitable that these words, like "faggot" or "queer" have been seized on by the oppressed as badges of pride. Nowadays saying that you have produced some "Nasty, down-and-dirty filth" is a way of saying your porn is awesome. After all, who wants clean, polite, courteous porn?

And therein lies a mind-fuck that it's hard to really think your way around. The idea of sex as dirty has become so ingrained in us that it has become part of the appeal, an essential element of the "thrill". I myself have said that there is little interest, for me, in scenes and acts that do not violate some social or cultural boundary. But today I have to ask - what does that really mean for us as a sex-positive counterculture?


Good stuff. Really good stuff.

Then there's what I said in my weekly article, Femdom and Fulfillment, which ends up with this:

It seems funny to complain that the more nuanced, subtle, emotional, gentle, soft, care-giving aspects of fem-dom are ignored, when I am enraged by the way that these traits (lovely as they are) are things that women in most cultures are expected to be. It seems like rebellion against the way women are expected to be would naturally manifest in icy coldness, or anger, or punishment. It seems natural for fem-dom to be about taking the male, the one with power, and casting him as something despised or worthless or worthy only of punishment and denigration. Those fantasies are extremely hot, but as I said, fem-dom is not just about taking the power dynamics of the Real World and inverting them.

It's not even necessarily about playing with the existing power dynamic between men and women, or about playing with the things people expect from women by daring to be different. Some of us aren't coming from that model. Some of us just like what we like, and it doesn't have to relate back to the traditional male/female relationship, even in the context of defying it.

Me? I'm not into beating guys because I want to be different from the chicks who don't. I'm not into it because I think guys need to be taken down a peg, even if that's one at a time. I am doing it because I am attracted to men, powerfully, and one of the ways this manifests is in a desire to deliver unto them some really interesting sensations, or a desire to have custody, for however short a time, of something beautiful that loves me, or even a part of it if that is all I can have . . . an urge that is completely understandable and common to people of all genders, whether they are kinky or not.


So come on over and read! And if you feel inclined, subscribe for $5 a month or just throw us a tip in the tip jar with the button below.

We're moving over to unmoderated comments soon, so everyone will be able to go over and comment there. I know it's been keeping people from commenting, and my original intent to discourage trolls and idiots is going to kind of have to fall by the wayside. We haven't had problems with trolls, we have had a problem with people not commenting, so we're fixing that. It just takes time.





naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
New article up at Adventurotica.com! I think you'll want to read this one. It's damn good.

On Being "Broken"

One of the things I hear occasionally from people who aren't well-versed in BDSM subculture – or people who are just jerks – is that those of us who enjoy hurting people or being hurt, dominating people or being dominated, serving or being served, must have something "wrong" with us. That we are "broken."

. . .

Here's the thing. When it comes to what people think of us, it doesn't matter why we are the way we are. . .

I'm not saying that the bad shit that has happened to us is not important as a part of personal identity; it is. They are part of us, and whether you think it's made you stronger, or just wish it never happened at all, they are important. But that's personal. If you want to explore your own motivations, that's awesome, but it should only matter to other people as much as you want it to, or as much as they care about you and want to understand and support you. It shouldn't be used to judge you.

It doesn't matter what "made" us this way. Maybe I am the way I am because I'm compensating for the powerlessness and weakness I often feel in everyday life. Maybe I would have been this way even if I didn't have that to deal with. Why should this have anything to do with whether or not people think my kinkiness is "acceptable?" Are there really such things as "legitimate" and "illegitimate" reasons for what forms of sexual expression we find meaningful? If this is how I cope with what's fucked up in my life, then where's the harm in that? I don't hurt people without their consent. That's a lot more than a lot of non-kinky and theoretically not broken people can say.

I deserve respect. We all do. Our lifestyle choices deserve respect. I'm not saying that everyone should address us as Master or Mistress or what-have-you, or that our kinks make us better than other people or mean we are more highly evolved or open-minded.

We deserve real respect as adults making our own decisions about our lives, and the validity of our identities should not be questioned or labeled as illegitimate or inferior because of someone else's assumptions about why we are that way.


We also have Chapter 13 of Sky Pirates of the Rio Grande!

Chapter 13: The dreaded return of the fate worse than death

Behind her, the crew doors opened and marines rushed in. They didn't even yell for her to stop, they just shouted in alarm and started shooting.

Zenobia let go, dove for the floor and grabbed her pistol. She hoped the cargo door would slam down, but it stayed right where it was. She was on her feet as bullets buzzed past her. She shot three times, one two three, hitting nothing at this distance, but it made them duck. Then she threw the gun down and ran.

Beyond the doors was a room that was just a big ramp, now cranked up and locked in place so it was like a wooden-planked dance floor more than anything else. All she cared about was the smaller hatch set to one side in the curved hull - a way out.

She ran for it and was almost there when another door clanged open and marines poured out like angry ants. Zenobia snarled and dodged the first bayonet that came at her, grabbed the rifle away, and ran the next man through with it. She kicked the body off her blade and leaped back, fired into the onrushing crowd and a man went down with a hole in his chest pouring out blood like a pump spigot.

More bayonets came at her and rifle fire smashed into the walls, singing off the iron hull and steel beams. She tried to fire again and just ejected the spent cartridge - damned single-shot guns! Zenobia attacked with her stolen rifle like a spear, parried thrusts and stabbed a man through the throat, smashed another one in the face with the stock. She had a moment and jumped for the hatch, battered it with her rifle and the weapon splintered apart even as the hatch came open and let in the whipping night wind.

There was nowhere to go. A wall of bayonets came at her and she screamed in defiance as she threw herself out into the bellowing darkness.

Fuck yes, it's awesome.





naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Travis Tame)
In the "there's actually a word for that" category, we have:

ghost word
fictitious entry
mondegreen
kadigan aka placeholder name

These four things alone are responsible for so much of my literary sense of humor.

Also:

petrichor aka the smell of rain
geosmin aka the chemical responsible for the smell of turned earth


On the gender/feminism side, we have:

The performance of masculinity.

Educator Charlie Glickman discusses how our society teaches us that "being a man" is something you do, and not something you are, and thus, one's manly status is called into question every time he does something not inside the "acting like a man box."

It's a wonderful dissection of how privilege works together with rigid gender roles to create great pressure on men to conform. It's an excellent overview of the issue that never dissolves into a whiny WATM pity-party, yet still explores the destructive impact of sexist gender roles on men:

There's a difference between having understanding and compassion for the men who are trapped in the Box and cutting them slack. After all, it isn't as if the dude in the Box is giving any slack to women, queers, transgender or genderqueer folks, or for that matter, heterosexual cisgender men who refuse to pretend to be Real Men. And cutting men slack is another way of coddling them instead of helping them learn to let go of the Box and discover the freedom that comes from being who you are. Having compassion without coddling people is fierce. It’s powerful. And it requires the ability to hold onto both the fact that the Box hurts us all and that it gives heterosexual cisgender men privilege.


And it does hold those with privilege accountable for their actions. That line about not coddling them? Spot. On.


The redoubtable Hanne Blank on Real Women.

A short and powerful piece, ideal for linking and distributing. Send it to people you think would benefit from it. Maybe print out a copy and give it to your therapist for possible distribution to other patients? I plan to. Make sure it's read, and please read it.

Then go and read her followup, Why wouldn't I?, about accepting transgendered and intersexed women as real women. Damn fucking right. The only measure of gender that matters to me is what a person identifies as. All the rest is frosting on the cake. I don't see why respecting that is so hard for people when it costs them nothing.


And finally, some really good BDSM-related links I ran across this week:

I'm gonna need you to fight me on this: how violent sex helped ease my PTSD. Mac McClelland may not identify as kinky, but I think this is deeply relevant to our interests. Kink is often framed as something that we do because we are damaged. It's important to fight that viewpoint, both because it's not true, but because it's equally important to point out that even if we are damaged, what we do is still meaningful to us, and like any other thing we need, that helps us, it has great power to make us whole. Whether we are damaged or not, we are entitled to whatever healing we can find that does not harm another person, and we should be respected.


Safewords are dangerous. An older piece, but one I was only recently linked to. It's bound to be controversial, but it echoes feelings I've had ever since I started dipping my toe into playing with other people. The core of it is "A special safeword doesn't keep you safe!" and that is absolutely true. My own safeword is "stop" or "safeword." My way doesn't need to be everyone's way, because not everyone wants to play like I do (for example, someone who enjoys being able to say "stop" or "don't" or "no" during a scene, without bringing the scene to an end, a safeword is the perfect thing), but this is still an important issue that needs to be addressed within the specific context of each relationship and each scene.


Last, we have A field guide to Creepy Dom, a rather unflinching and uncompromising look at abusive behavior patterns in BDSM culture. Good stuff, though Asher says he has never liked the piece, and I can see that it does have a few problems.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
In the "there's actually a word for that" category, we have:

ghost word
fictitious entry
mondegreen
kadigan aka placeholder name
charactonym or aptronym

The first four are responsible for so much of my literary sense of humor. My love for the last is responsible for why I name my characters the way I do.

Also:

petrichor aka the smell of rain
geosmin aka the chemical responsible for the smell of turned earth


On the gender/feminism side, we have:

The performance of masculinity.

Educator Charlie Glickman discusses how our society teaches us that "being a man" is something you do, and not something you are, and thus, one's manly status is called into question every time he does something not inside the "acting like a man box."

It's a wonderful dissection of how privilege works together with rigid gender roles to create great pressure on men to conform. It's an excellent overview of the issue that never dissolves into a whiny WATM pity-party, yet still explores the destructive impact of sexist gender roles on men:

There's a difference between having understanding and compassion for the men who are trapped in the Box and cutting them slack. After all, it isn't as if the dude in the Box is giving any slack to women, queers, transgender or genderqueer folks, or for that matter, heterosexual cisgender men who refuse to pretend to be Real Men. And cutting men slack is another way of coddling them instead of helping them learn to let go of the Box and discover the freedom that comes from being who you are. Having compassion without coddling people is fierce. It’s powerful. And it requires the ability to hold onto both the fact that the Box hurts us all and that it gives heterosexual cisgender men privilege.


And it does hold those with privilege accountable for their actions. That line about not coddling them? Spot. On.


The redoubtable Hanne Blank on Real Women.

A short and powerful piece, ideal for linking and distributing. Send it to people you think would benefit from it. Maybe print out a copy and give it to your therapist for possible distribution to other patients? I plan to. Make sure it's read, and please read it.

Then go and read her followup, Why wouldn't I?, about accepting transgendered and intersexed women as real women. Damn fucking right. The only measure of gender that matters to me is what a person identifies as. All the rest is frosting on the cake. I don't see why respecting that is so hard for people when it costs them nothing.


And finally, some really good BDSM-related links I ran across this week:

I'm gonna need you to fight me on this: how violent sex helped ease my PTSD. Mac McClelland may not identify as kinky, but I think this is deeply relevant to our interests. Kink is often framed as something that we do because we are damaged. It's important to fight that viewpoint, both because it's not true, but because it's equally important to point out that even if we are damaged, what we do is still meaningful to us, and like any other thing we need, that helps us, it has great power to make us whole. Whether we are damaged or not, we are entitled to whatever healing we can find that does not harm another person, and we should be respected.


Safewords are dangerous. An older piece, but one I was only recently linked to. It's bound to be controversial, but it echoes feelings I've had ever since I started dipping my toe into playing with other people. The core of it is "A special safeword doesn't keep you safe!" and that is absolutely true. My own safeword is "stop" or "safeword." My way doesn't need to be everyone's way, because not everyone wants to play like I do (for example, someone who enjoys being able to say "stop" or "don't" or "no" during a scene, without bringing the scene to an end, a safeword is the perfect thing), but this is still an important issue that needs to be addressed within the specific context of each relationship and each scene.


Last, we have A field guide to Creepy Dom, a rather unflinching and uncompromising look at abusive behavior patterns in BDSM culture. Good stuff, though Asher says he has never liked the piece, and I can see that it does have a few problems.

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