Harder Than November Rain

My pals HMP and Aarkey recently traded blog thought on the role of corporal "punishment" in bdsm relationships. The question? Is it really punishment or is it just something a submissive maso bottom wants and the dominant sado-top loves to dish out? To simplify a complicated subject, HMP thought that percussion play ought, for him, to be just that - play. Aarkey responded and came at the question by explaining that for him, even an intense corporal experience was, at its heart and soul, a "corporal punishment scene". Their point and counterpoint initially had me thinking that I just did not really have the experience base either of them have to really comment or meaningfully share my thoughts or know-how on the subject because I didn't have much. But, as is my wont, I ruminated on the subject and, never really at a loss for words, I figured I'd share.

I have to say, I initially thought that practically all my "beat me, beat me" scenes had been play. I've never really had a dominant hit me to actually punish me for something she thought I'd done wrong - or so my thought pattern went. Sure, I've been cropped, smacked and slapped silly because she said I'd been a bad, bad boy. But it was all in good fun, wasn't it? But then I got to thinking...hmmm. There were actually some very powerful times I'd really been "punished". Not always by being physically hit, but I'd been well and truly "marked" by her anger and sincere displeasure at something I'd done to actually and justly offend her.

"She-Who-Visits" and I have had at least three very powerful, substantially punitive, interactions that for me were real, retributive reprimands which have both emphasized her dominance over me and solidified my submission to her.

First up was our last cash-in-the-envelope session which happened over two years ago now. At the time and place in question I did something that really upset her. I was overcome with an almost magnetic need to do what I did. I'm much too embarassed to confess my transgression publicly, but suffice it to say - it was just flat-out wrong. I later learned that there was a genuine, bona fide, oh-so-poignant reason for her rage. Anyway, I did what I did and she proceeded to mercilessly, verbally chastise me and just brutally bitch slap me about the face so hard it made me burst into uncontrollable tears. I'm talkin' racking, blubbering, sobbing. I was genuinely and deeply sorry, both for my sin and for displeasing her. For, as you dear reader may gather, I love "She-Who-Visits" with all my heart. We made up on the spot as I melted in her arms and she brought me home from lose-it-land.

Second was an off handed, stupid remark I made to her in an email after I was unable to bring myself to sneak away to her for a long weekend. After she'd left New York I'd begged her for this quality time. She invited me and I thought I could tell all the lies necessary to steal away. But alas, I found I could not. She seemed to understand when I honestly confessed I just couldn't manage to pull it off. As a penalty, she asked me to buy her something she really needed. I brainlessly and dimly suggested that she'd gone all "prodomme" on me. Well, you can imagine her reaction! All "prodomme" huh? Ya wanna see all prodomme? I'll give you prodomme. Open a PayPal account and pay me for each and every email, phone call and sweet nothing you get, she wrote. Then she proceeded to simply cut me off. She gave me the silent treatment. For four long months. Thankfully, she relented one sunny October day after I'd sent her only the lyrics to "Old Habits Die Hard" -

We haven't spoken in months
You see i've been counting the days
I dream of such inanities, such insanities
I'm lost like a kid in a maze
But i've never taken your calls
You see, I put a block on my phone
I act like an addict, I just got to have it
I never can leave it alone

Finally, this past August, after she made me hers, we had a wonderful night out on the town at Paddles, a local kink club. Among my duties that enchanted evening was to mind her purse. During my dommy date, we found ourselves in a dark little corner, she in full domme regalia, me wearing my new collar - my long desired gift from her. I had just happily finished serving as her personal chocolate caddy, on my knees of course, as she dragged me up and away in tow. We got about five steps from our former perch and she stopped dead and pointed. There, in truthful, humiliating plain view - on the floor in the corner - was her purse. She yanked me close and pointed. "You were going to leave that?" she snarled menacingly. "I give you one task and you fail?" she spat. "It has my driver's license in it. With my real name on it." I fell onto the floor in real fear. I desperately kicked my foot at the purse to try, to snag it, to retrieve it with-all-my-might verve. She leaned on my leash. She's really strong from her island paradise outdoor expert job. I couldn't budge. She bent down, grabbed my face and growled, "Go get it. Don't lose it again!"

So, though I love her, I actually have a healthy, heaping dollop of fear of her. It strikes me that this deepens my submission to her and makes me love her love for me even more. In some measure, these punishments have helped mold me and bind me to her. Despite our distance, she can always walk through my walls like a ghost.

South Of The Border

It used to be when the urge struck I'd turn up the heat. Ten days of onanistic, on-my-honor chastity would put an edge on any interaction I'd have with any attractive woman - the cute barrista at Starbucks, the prosecutor with the tight skirts, that hot, middle-aged blonde on the downtown Lex. By the two week mark I'd just be wild for a session and I'd dial-a-domme. Self imposed chastity has a mind-altering capability for me, kinda like drinking did. It's not until fairly recently that I've realized that for me, chastity is a drug to used in moderation, sparingly and with another I trust. Though I never did acid, I need a chastity playmate, a denial partner.

For all the progress I've made this year in being out with my kink, I'm still pretty closeted and isolated. Its been a couple of months since I've played. Maybe it's that a couple of really attractive, kinky women are visiting New York and I'm going to dine with them. Oh jeez, maybe I'm just horny. There's something about the week between Christmas and New Year's that just makes me wanna get my freak on.

Timothy Findley uses the phrase "The Rain of Onan" in his novel Not Wanted on the Voyage (1984). He writes, "it was now that the rain, having lost its translucence and its mauveness, began to take on an opaque milky look, and Noah said that what had been an "evil" rain was now a 'passionate' rain being poured from the sky-spent and wasted on the dying earth and this he called 'The Rain of Onan.'" Now, I'm just not all that literary, just a Wiki cheat ... but the quote feels way hot nevertheless. And my earth is dyin' and I'm tired of praying to Onan!!

So here's one New Year's resolution. More real time kinky friends, more munches, a class, a conference, a fetish party ... maybe even a private play party. Wait ... did I say one resolution. Sounds like a pack of 'em. Let's just say I resolve to have more real fun.

And tonight, real fun would be a chastity playmate who loves the intense tease of semi-prolonged denial. A dominant woman who liked to play in a hot, hot kitchen with me. One who lives in the same town I do. One who wants to be friends.

Or maybe a T&D lapdance in a bar ... I like to think Vanessa has dabbed a little Icy Hot on the business end of a CB-3000 and Kurt is at the three week mark of combined on-his-honor and device enforced chastity. Whew ... it gets hot south of my border.

Pirates and Perverts and Play ... Oh My! (Or ... Advo goes to Paddles)

So ... finally I'm getting around to writing about my outing to Paddles. I know for many this is not a particularly momentous thing ... but fer lil' ol' me ... it was major! I was invited by my dear friend and I got to wear my collar in public. Thrilling stuff. We went on the Friday night of Labor Day weekend so the club was pretty quiet. It was "Pirates of the Carribean" night. I maintained that my medium black, Gap T-shirt gave me a certain Keith Richards, I'll-walk-the-plank-for-you, cool. But she chastised my choice of size and reminded me we were not going to a barbeque.

Paddles was oddly homey. Lots of very nice people who knew one another. There was some play going on. Mostly guy tops with women bottoms. It was a first for me to actually see this play. It was discordant. A familiar melody played slightly off key. She looked at me and said, "It just always seems unnatural to me."

Then there were the lurkers. At once both pathetic and sympathetic. We were in one of the dark, back rooms. In a corner she was beautifully perched on a wall bench. I was happily kneeling. Her chocolate service - opening and holding. The lurker appeared out of nowhere and just sat right next to her without so much as an introduction. Wanted to know if she was "working". Claimed to be into public humiliation like I was. She politely drove him off. Public humiliation ... pleeeze! I was a proud candy caddy.

But on another night. Without her and pining for some community, I might feel like him if I was in a corner at a party or club all alone. But then again, I'd never just presumptuously plop down next to a beautiful domme and ask if she's working. Little did he know it was our last night together ... little did he care.

Then there was the friendly guy we met at the bar. TES member ... very cool. Offered to introduce me around if I made it to a meeting. I'm gonna make it one of these days. When the stars align or I can negotiate with the wife for open friend time. It was great fun to be in public with her and chat with another nice person. Kinky, normal, nice.

Then she led us both upstairs. It all seemed weirdly natural. Two of us serve her. He on her left foot, me on her right. Me as her backrest, he worships her feet. I smell her hair, she leans into me ... and hooks her tanned leg around his neck. Another lurker seated in the room watches. The TV - not us.

I'd definitely go back with friends. Alone I'd feel too lurker like. But Paddles had a great feel and was very friendly. I'll for sure go back. 'Cos there's love in that club.