Mastering the Light

Once upon a time, I wandered into the darkness, seeking.  Then, things happened.  Then, I learned something.  Now, I come out of the darkness and back into the light, having learned something.  I breathe the fresh air, and I look around at the blue sky.

I'm not finished my learning; not at all.

I'm looking from a different angle, though.  I thought it was darkness that compelled me through the woods.  I realize now, though, that things have changed and I am better able to articulate what I need -- and articulate to the proper people.  It's not darkness I need: it's mastery of the light.

Just like in photography: the trick to a good photo is the use of light.  The trick to an interesting subject, one that compels us to look and understand, is the story.  What is she doing, where has she come from, and where is she going?  The present, the past, and the future of a story.  Only connect.

And as such, as I begin my mastery of the light, I celebrate one very important revelation.  It's a thread that has spun round me for a few months now and finally terminates in a pretty bow laced to my frilly blouse-collar:  are you sure what you're looking for is a D/s dynamic, he had asked?  It's an honest question.  The question arose because I was resistant to many things one traditionally associates with BDSM, namely the wide array of kinks on offer.  They simply do not turn me on.  Are you sure, came the question.  Of course! was my reply.  But that thread still hung loosely, nagging me.

And then it occurred to me.  Eureka! I do not need kinks to enjoy submission.  I may, actually, enjoy submission for the sake of submission.  It may very well be that I simply enjoy submission; the power exchange; without necessarily needing to bring a chicken, a crop, a deck of cards, and a blindfold into the room at the same time.  (Note well:  I am not only kink-tolerant, I am kink-encouraging!  I think people should have fun and do what they love to do.  I do not disparage "kink."  I simply think that kink is for others.  Or, well.  Usually.)

People may enjoy the delights of kink even in a non-D/s dynamic.  One does not have to be submissive to enjoy the unique sensation of a drop of wax on one's inner wrist.  One does not have to be submissive to enjoy the feeling of clamps, stamps, needles or blades, pins, fins, broomsticks and spades.  One may enjoy these things all on one's own, or with a friend, or with a lover, with an equal, or with a stranger... there are many ways one may enjoy a kink without actually submitting to an exchange of power in the process.

Plain and simple: I am not a kinky submissive.  There are times (naturally) when fantasies arise and these fantasies do not resemble my daily routine in the least.  (I do not live in a Chateau or own a posture collar in my real world; and so these things are delicious in fantasy play.)  But I have discovered that these fantasies arise less and less frequently as I engage more and more fully with my present.  My every-day.  My heart and soul and hearth.  The LIGHT in my life.  As I begin to embrace what is lightness in my world, the darkness recedes into the distance.  It may not be such a difficult transition into the real world, after all.

Shame, Part Three

Shame as kink involves a phenomenon that I still find difficult to put into words.  I have a great empathy for the practice, but I do not wish to practice it.  I do, however, understand the incredibly powerful connection that arises when two people engage: shame actually fails without that incredibly powerful connection.  To put it another way, shame is evidence that the connection between two people exists.  (Of course, there are other ways to test and prove the connection.  But, shame is as good a proof as any.)

Even if the players have only just met.  Even if the players do not even know each other's names. Or even if the players have played for fifty years one way and one way only.  "Shame" as a kink is a peculiar kind of connection between two people.  Take, for example, the idea of "insult."

On one hand, if someone I have no connection to, someone I feel completely indifferent to, tells me "You, Anna, are a dog, a low-lying guttersnipe," then I feel more puzzled than anything else.  "I have no idea why you would say such a thing, but I'm not curious to find out.  Goodbye," would be my answer.  In other words, I reject the insult as irrelevant to me.  It does not strike the target.  It does not hit home.  My core is perfectly preserved.

On the other hand, if someone for whom I have great respect, or great longing, or great lust, or great need, or great dependency upon, tells me, "You, Anna, are a dog, a low-lying guttersnipe," then for a moment I actually believe those words.  I admit those words into my core.  Not permanently... but, for a time.  Just to examine them and to see if they are real.

Personally, I do not feel "turned on" by being insulted. I feel emotionally struck when I am insulted by someone I love.  Those words "hit home" with a bulls-eye target if those words come from someone I trust.  Logical or not, I admit those words.  And so it is with shame.  If shame were my kink, I could see how powerful it would feel -- how strong the connection would become in my mind, in my body, in my imagination, in my whole reality -- if the man I worshipped were to look into my eyes and say the words that would make me feel shame.  Or if he were to position my body in the way that would shame me in front of others.  Or if he were to do anything, for that matter.

The connection is the idea.  "Kink" reinforces connection.  Whether it be shame, or cuffs, or dog-collar, or equipment, or words...  Kink reinforces connection.  Shame, like any other part of D/s relationships, requires both parties to participate, both parties to consent.  In fact, consent is half the shame, indeed.

Shame, Part Two

"Kink shame" and "shame as kink" are two different things.  Some people are ashamed of their kinks; and some are turned on as a kink by the idea of shame.

I spent a great deal of my second life (the first time around) dead-ashamed of my kinks.  (I mean, the "G" word.  My first BDSM fantasies were, counter-intuitively, Gorean.  And I'd never even heard of Gor before Second Life, so this was quite an awakening.)  I was not ashamed to live my fantasies of sexual slavery and participate actively -- only ashamed to associate my fantasy self with my real self and to introduce both selves to each other.  Often, it is shame that prevents many people from integrating their first and second lives: the feelings of shame lead to this behaviour of dividing (sometimes with a violence) the two lives.  In extreme cases, it is this shame that prevents the real self from meeting the fantasy self.  Living in the closet is a painful experience: one divides the self and it doesn't feel very good.  I am sure this theory applies to more than just "kink" and Second Life.  I am sure the idea of living in the closet is more common than society would be comfortable admitting.

In my series of interviews around "shame" I met many people who keep a careful array of closets.  Closets for reasons of gender, for reasons of sexual orientation, for reasons of shame and kinks... there are many reasons a person will hide part of oneself from the rest of the world.

I know that in my case, I have struggled in the past with asserting a confident sense of self.  Second Life has really helped me achieve a better (and loveable) sense of self.  I feel more confident saying to people "I need this."  I feel more confident saying to people, "I will not tolerate this."  I know the difference between fantasy and reality: and I know that I do not want one to become the other, but I would like both to have their own special places in my life.  This took quite a bit of time to articulate, finally.  Naturally, I wish that I could go back to the beginning knowing then what I know now.  Knowing that there is no shame (objectively) to wanting and desiring.  Knowing that I have a valid, loveable self that can play nice and contribute fun things.  Knowing that when someone acts like an ass, it's not because of something I did but, rather, that person is quite separately an ass regardless of me.

I'm over my kink-shame in much the same way that I am over my "invalid self" feelings.  I know I have a lot of people to thank for this.  I'm grateful for each and every one of them.

Lovely Blog, Lovely Ponies

If you have not yet read my friend Ara's blog, A slut's storyboard, you are missing out.  Her poetry is well-crafted and powerful.  Well-crafted and powerful enough to teach me a thing or two about this D/s lifestyle, in fact one thing in particular that nobody has yet been able to impart to me.  There is a pony phenomenon that  I have learned about in Second Life especially through the careful administrations of Sir RB upon his little pony girls (and I am not one such girl, but I have met such girls).  I could not understand the phenomenon.  Even as I read Anne Rice's Beauty trilogy, I still could not understand the nature of the pony-girl phenomenon; the relevance of the pony-girl phenomenon; the desire to be a part of the pony-girl phenomenon.  And there are very explicit and detailed fantasy pages devoted especially to this kink!  Anne Rice does not disappoint, if you are into that sort of thing.  But, for me... not to judge it, not to disparage it, and especially not to negate its validity, I simply could not empathize with that particular urge or appetite, and I was convinced I would never be able to.  (Sympathize, yes I can -- there are many kinks in the world, and the world takes all kinds of people to make it go around... Nobody's safe, sane and consensual kink is a freak-show, in my opinion. But empathize, I simply could not.  I just did not understand the impetus to prance.)

Until I read Ara's post! 

I get it now.  It is simply another way to demonstrate one's discipline.  It is simply another way to demonstrate one's fitness.  It is simply another way to demonstrate one's showmanship.  To display.  To perform.  To sweat in the service of someone in a private language shared only between you both.  It is an immediate transformation into the dreamscape of fantasy and the concretized need of the submissive to serve, and to serve with many body parts all at once.  There are many points of access now, as I consider it.  I do not wish to experiment, personally; however I do understand that, as a submissive, I share very VERY similar urges and appetites which I demonstrate in different areas of display.  We are not so very different in your kinks and mine, you pretty ponies of the world, only in our display of them.

I mention Ara's blog because, bless her, she nominated me for a "Lovely Blog" award.  There are rules to follow for this and I am afraid I do not have the ability to follow them at the moment.  I have wanted for a few days to recognize the nomination, though, and to link back to Ara's gorgeous and perfectly poetic blog.

Darkness

I was reminded today that I started this journey looking for darkness.

It stands to reason that only a person in the light can seek darkness.  Only a person battered by never-ending sun seeks wet, cooling rain.  I meditated upon what the darkness means to me (because, many weeks ago, He had asked me and I know my answer was insufficient, at least to me).   "What is it that I seek," I kept returning to, "in the so-called darkness?"

There is a place in Second Life that specializes in darkness.  (Well, let's face it... there are several who make that claim.  I refer, though, to a very explicit specialty, imaginatively concocted and originally produced.  Sin Labs and Club Circe, my friends, the first and the mighty.)  No orifice is sacred.  No body part unused.  The true, objectified reality of skin and bones, and all the nerves in-between.  Kneel upon a plinth and be hypnotized into rebirth as a beautiful statue, so pretty, so soft to touch.  Kneel upon the plinth and feel your body filled with new fluids; and feel the taps clamp down to pour your own fluids for serving.  It is dark and blue and electric, the atmosphere so charged with the presence of omnipotent domination and manufactured servants.  Transformed beings for the sake of pleasure.  A factory for darkness. The art involved, the creativity and scripting genius... the whole philosophy is to be commended.  I applaud Kumi Itoku.

And yet, that is not what I mean by darkness.  Or, rather, the words might sound similar, but the visuals are very different.  My darkness has no logic to it; pure whimsy, that which cannot be controlled.  The appetites of men, that which cannot be controlled.  The leisure and release of men, that which cannot be controlled.  The darkness I seek is simply the unknown variable of a man in possession of rare ability who thirsts for my brainpower and hungers for my body.  And who will show me how to appreciate the subtleties of pain.

My darkness has a feeling of an old world.  A chateau, luxury and wealth dripping from every lit candle.  A library of apocrypha, magics and sundry offenses.  A laboratory, rarely used.  A ballroom, frequented by masked, initiated regulars.  Cages, perhaps.  Bird-cages, animal-cages... but the birds fly freely, and the animals roam wild.  The girls, on the other hand, are caged, held in reserve for use.  I would be one among many; and I would be useful.  I would never know by whom, or how to anticipate.  But I would know when.