Tag Archive: bdsm


Hey folks.
So someone tossed up a beautiful piece of piercing performance on twitter today, and it reminded me of the thrill of threading sharp objects through other people’s bodies. The kind of rush you get – or at least that I get – from doing that is a bit of a trip. I need to be careful about shaking hands. It makes my stomach lurch the way too much rich food, too fast, will make my stomach lurch (advice I need to take: Remember to pace yourself as a top – get your breath back under you before you drive that next spike in…). But the payoff, when your Person goes Under, when her breath deepens and her body turns liquid-boneless in your arms… Guh.
I want it.
I want more.
 
To that end, I’m just going to drop these three little videos (neither by me in any way, shape, or form) here for future reference. None of them are how-to videos, I don’t think. But they’re worth a look, none the less.
 

 

 

 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.

My Bloody Valentine (#KotW)

So this week’s Kink of the Week topic is Blood Play.
Woohoo! 😀 😀 😀
Seriously, I saw this topic, and what popped into my head was “YAY! Jade and I actually have a kink in common!”
Not so much, apparently. But hey. Onwards!
 
So blood play – and knife play, and biting, and vampirism (which is a whole other topic, though I will definitely be touching on it here, possibly a lot) and scarification, and all the other stuff that goes along with blood-letting and why you might want to do it – is kind of my bag. My jam. My rich, oozing, red, red, jam.
😀
Yum.
 
I’ve been interested in vampires since I was about seven years old, so that’s bound up with it somewhere. I’ve read those pulpy anthologies of lesbian vampire erotica (Blood Sisters and that sort of thing) and… the formula there is so far from what vampirism means to me. It’s not a Power Exchange thing in the D/s sense of the word, for a start – although I won’t argue that my Domme wakes up sniffing the air when there’s blood to play with and in – it’s a Power Exchange in the sense of an energetic feedback loop where we are feeding into each other (like being in a really good dance club where the music is fantastic and everyone’s moving) and on each other. It’s so far from “Oh my god, she bit my clit” (although I think I’ve probably done that, or something like that, at least once) that the trope is straight-up laughable. Drinking from another can be worship and gratitude, and it’s always about trust, about welcoming. “I will make you my own[1]”, take you in, devour you, make you part of my body. We are both letting someone get under our skin, in different ways.
That’s what biting is – a kiss that goes deeper than skin.
I remember, when I was about 20, thinking “Blood sharing is more intimate than sex, because you need a lot more trust to do it, you can’t put a condom over a vein”.
In retrospect, this was, perhaps, a little simplistic. But my feelings about the intimacy of blood-sharing haven’t actually changed. I mean, yes, you have to do your homework, be aware of how to avoid getting sick – gloves, drop-sheets, STI tests – and usually, when I’m doing blood play (the exception being my wife, because: fluid bonding) I don’t actually get to drink anything, much as I might want to follow those enticing crimson rivers with my tongue. Rather, I tend to opt for the much safer second choice, which is running my hands through my Person’s blood and feeding it to her, dripping from my fingertips.
Ng.
I’ll be in my bunk.
 
Anyway. So that’s part of it. A big part of it.
But some of it is just straight-up predatory Monster Food.
The hiss and the tremble and way the blood beads bright on broken skin, there’s no red like it, no smell. My voice teacher used to tell me to imagine smelling something wonderful, in order to get me to breathe properly, and what I imagined was the mingling of blood and sex. Not that I ever told her this, because that’s got to be a little disconcerting coming from a 16-year-old, particularly one who doesn’t yet know she’s kinky. But that’s what I was imagining and, yes, since I hadn’t even kisses another person at that point, the smell I was thinking of was specifically menstrual blood. When that stuff’s fresh, it’s the best smell on earth. (Three minutes after the fact, though, it’s really, really not. Pro-Tip for those who want to save their own. Although once it’s completely dried out, it smells like honey. For real. Such sweetness under hte iron).
 
Moving along. Some of it – touching back to that energetic feedback loop – exists at the Sex Magic end of S/M. I love to carve words into my Person using a scalpel or an 18-gage needle (if you want more tearing and, thense, more pain), to carve them in mirror-script so that they can be read specifically in the mirror. It’s magic like that pen in Harry Potter – write it until it sinks in:
Hope
You Are Loved
You Are Mine
My Horse, My Servant
[2]
 
It’s all intimacy, when you get right down to it. Yes, beauty. Yes, emphatically, lust. Yes, Woo, on a number of levels. But it’s the sharing, the deep and gracious vulnerability that is offered, entrusted, accepted. That’s why it matters to me.
 
Anyway.
So those are my FEELINGS on blood play.
 
Kink of the Week
 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.
 
 
[1] That line is from a poem called Leatherwood Honey by Amal El Mohtar – from her book The Honey Month, which you should all buy. Go on, I’ll wait. 🙂
 
[2] P.S.: It’s our 5-year service-versary today. 😀

Okay. So still playing catch-up, but maybe, possibly, getting close to being on schedule. Right!
Paddles.
Honestly… Meh.
I’m a stingy gal more than a thuddy one, so you’d think that I’d be all about paddles. But I’m not. Maybe it’s because I’m used to paddles that are just shapes cut out of wood (like, say, a spaghetti measurer that packs a hell of a punch and leaves awesome marks, but also has a pretty useless handle when it comes to actually getting a grip on things), but I find them hard to weild and a bit ungainly. Not like a flogger (where splatter radius is kind of an issue on a number of levels), but ungainly in their own, annoying way.
Besides that, I’m typically a hands-on type so using a paddle, for the most part, is just like… “Why wouldn’t I just spank someone with my hands, which feels so much more intimate, and also gives me a lot more control over how I choose to hit someone? If my hands get tired, I’ll just switch to this awesome crop! That’ll be great!”
I’m not really a paddles kind of girl.
 
None the less: Onwards!
 
I have used paddles before. And I wouldn’t say I’m adverse to using, say, a heavy wooden spoon, or maybe a ruler, on someone since it would give a fairly satisfying thwack when it landed. But, by and large, I’m not fond of them. The skinnier and whippier the toy, the better, for me. 😉
 
As far as using paddles for punishment (instead of fun/pleasure) goes… Eugh. I generally try and stay away from corporeal punishment in general, just because I don’t want to there to be any confusion (my own, or my Person’s) about what’s going on when I start pulling things out of the toy bag. I don’t want to start building associations between “being angry/disapointed about something” and “acting violently towards my Person”, even within a kink context.
Which has nothing to do with paddles, and everything to do with wanting to be a Good Sadist and a decent human being, but there you go.
 
As far as having tried them goes… The one time the idea that you could get pleasure from pain actually made sense to me, on a visceral level, it was when I slapped my thigh with a big, wooden ruler with a metal edge down one side. It stung like fuck (duh), but there was a shadow of electric thrill on the tail end of the sting.
I remember thinking “Oh… That’s what that’s about…” and… that was a bout it, really. Not exactly a paddle experience, but y’know, hey. Something close.
 
Kink of the Week
 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.

So, I was reading… I think it was Radical Ecstasy, but I might be wrong… and one of the authors was talking about how, in so many books on SM, the actions and work of the bottom/masochist get ignored. That they only ever talked about techniques and tricks for the top.
And she’s right.
It’s very, very rare that I see anything in print that talks about techniques for pain processing or for working yourself towards your Happy Place (or your Scared All To Hell Place, as the case may be. Wherever the scene is meant to take you, at any rate), or for running that energy through you and back out to complete the circuit between you and your top (hint: this will help your top stay energized)… granted, I tend not to seek out stuff that’s specifically about bottoming, so I do have a bit of a bias here. Has anyone else noticed this?
 
Anyway. Trick is, when I have read “How To SM” books (Screw the Roses, The New Topping Book, The Safe Edge, etc) what I’ve seen is typically writing that only ever talks about the experience of the bottom and the facilitation of that experience through the actions of the top. A situation that leaves me, as a top, feeling a bit like I’m expected to be nothing but a operating system for a flogger (as the saying goes) or else that if I experience something like “top drop” (a situation so common that it has its own cutesy name, no less) or otherwise need aftercare, I’m Doing It Wrong either because I need it at all, or because I’ve had the audacity to ask for some when the scene is supposed to be all about the bottom.
 
It was, therefore, interesting to see someone coming at it from a different perspective. It’s a good reminder that we can all get caught in a dichotomy of “bottom = vulnerable/passive” and “top = active/invulnerable”, a dichotomy that’s a little too simplistic to really work in real life.
 
I think there are holes, at least in The Published Stuff, around how doing a scene “is supposed to” go. When I was learning “how to top”, what I was learning was how to aim a cain, how insert a needle, how to swing a flogger. That kind of thing. I was learning that tops check in with bottoms rather than (or to the exclusion of?) checking in with themselves. And I was learning, by-the-book, that SM energy was unidirectional Top–>Bottom.
In practice, thank goodness, it’s something else. But how to reach for and establish that link, from both directions, and using different techniques – whether low-key or High Woo – that stuff wasn’t typically treated as even something to consider in the intro books I was reading.
 
Maybe that’s because they were “intro books” and How To Books typically aim to, well, aim and avoid things like broken bones and miscommunications. None the less, it’s important to talk about stuff like how Reactions on the part of the bottom are actions on their part and are integral to the scene going well; or Syncronizing your breathing can deepen a given scene; or A top might need a glass of orange juice, a cuddle, and some crackers with peanut butter after a scene to help with recovery, just as much as a bottom might.
 
I’d like to see the complexity of these interactions given more air time. I think it will make us all better (and by that I mean more satisfied) perverts if we have the chance to bring that stuff up and look at it in the light. 🙂
 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.

Gifted Leather (some musings)

So. Andrea Zanin has a post about earned leathers that went up back in 2007. Having just spent a weekend having a lot of discussions about leather identity (and also attending a writing workshop, which might have something to do with this, too), I’m inclined to talk a little bit about leather – as in leather clothing – within the context of Leather (as in leather culture).
 
One thing that came up in those discussions was that, as a culture, Leather has symbol sets, rites of passage & other rituals, and in some cases even straight-up religiosity built into it. This is a thing that cultures do, so it’s no surprise.
We have collaring (and un-collaring) ceremonies. People earn club patches or caps. And we give leather.
 
We take this stuff – these marvelously durable, frequently (though not always) practical, articles of clothing – and we give them to each other in ceremony, imbued with meaning that goes way beyond “these will keep your feet dry in the rain”.
 
You can read it a bit like this, maybe:
“You have worked hard. Here is some hard-working gear that can stand up to the wear you’ll put it through”.
“You have created something that lasts. Here is clothing to recognize what you’ve made. It will last, too.”
 
But… Look, kids, I’m a writer. I tell stories. Sometimes I even tell good ones.
Stories about who we are and where we came from and how we live (or should live, or can live) in the world, these are mythology (“In the beginning, there was the Old Guard…” and “Once upon a time, a plauge ravaged our village”), they are the cosmology and axiology that reiterate and reinforce our values and our understanding of how we (as individuals, and as a community) fit into the world. When we give leather, when we recieve leather, when we inherit leather, even when we buy leather (zomg) for ourselves, we are telling stories about who we are, where we come from, and how we fit in the world.
 
I can give you the leather coat he wore for forty years before the cancer or the depression won that war, and the story that goes with it might be “As long as you are wearing the skin that touched his his skin, he will never really be gone”.
 
I can put a collar on you so that you feel my hand on the back of your neck, the expectation and the protection both, even when you’re not sitting at my feet.
 
I can give you my old army boots and tell a story that goes “I am with you every step of the way”.
 
I can grant you the privilege of wearing a Magdaleine’s Army club patch, and the story I tell you is “You belong; You are one of us”.
 
I can wear my leather – my impractical pencil skirt that I found at value village, my “genuine leather” very high heels that I bought from a certain online mega-retailer, the jacket I picked up at last year’s MLO garage sale – and access the iconography of “this is what a leather dyke looks like”. It can be a beacon of acceptance for someone who is worried that her choking fantasies mean she’s a Bad Feminist. Alternatively, it can announce at the dyke bar, sure as a black hanky, that I would be up for doing something rough in the ladies’ room. Either way, I’m making myself known to My People.
 
When my wife gave me a hat – bought at a store on Church Street that sold mass-produced leather gear for the kinky crowd – it became something special. Whenever people tell me they like my hat, I tell them who gave it to me. Because on its own, it’s just a hat – maybe even a slightly pretentious one – but from her hands, it’s a physical manifestation of our relationship: a counterpart to the collar I put on her years ago.
 
I can gift you with leather, the simplest of vests or the most elaborate, hand-sewn, made-to-measure garment, even just (“just”) a bracelet, and what I’m saying is this:
“This is my pride and gratitude made manifest. This is my arms around you when you are far away.”

I was at Unholy Harvest over the weekend. As usual, the largest leather-dyke event on the continent was awesome. I sang at the opening cabaret (“Fly Me To the Moon”) in a beaded Barbarella dress (harness? I’m not sure how much fabric you need for it to qualify as a dress) that I’d spent the past week sewing. I ran a foot-fetish workshop that was as much an ideas-sharing discussion as a chalk-and-talk “lecture”, took in two discussions on leather identity and one on navigating the pitfalls and boundaries of being a kinky health-care and/or mental-health-care service provider (who may run into both colleagues AND clients at parties or other community events). I missed out on a D/s and Mental Health discussion; a workshop on sex with trans women[1]; and watching my lovely wife teach a big chunk of her community how to repair minor issues with their gear (think popped grommets and un-stuck soles) and give a dozen eager people speedy stitchers of their own. I stretched my sadistic, poly wings a little and played with a couple of people whom I’ve been interested in for ages but was only able to ask (have the gumption to ask) to play with me this year. (It went well. It sounds like they’d both be game for playing again, so YAY! :-D) I saw Jacqueline and Andrea break down in tears when they were gifted leather by Everybody at the closing ceremonies.
 
It was a good weekend. A weekend where we – not just me, but *so many of us* – disclosed our vulnerabilities (past traumas, current pain, deep-seated insecurities and fears about what it is or isn’t okay for us to be) and walked out again feeling heard and less alone.
 
That’s a big deal.
 
Let me be clear on this – none of this, that I know of, was Ordeal Ritual (although those came up during the Health Care SPs Circle, and someone came and talked to me about That Stuff a little later on. I suggested a book – not an ordeal-focused book, but The Twelve Wild Swans: A Journey to the Realm of Magic, Healing, and Action by Starhawk and Hillary Valentine – as something that might be useful for crafting some rituals she’s been working on).
But it’s still a Going Through with the arms of your community around you, and that matters.
 
Which, in a sloppy, abrupt way, does segue into what I want to blog about today.
 
One of the workshops I went to was about Leather Phamilies – it was facilitated by a couple of people who are creating an anthology about such things, and who were looking for further perspectives on the subject.
Some of the things that came up in the discussion (when we were trying to come up with a working definition of “Leather” before we went on to “Leather Phamily/Family”; but also much later in the car, on the way home, when the same question came up) were as follows:
 
Leather as a culture – with regional variations, a common value system[2], rites of passage (collarings and uncollarings, the gifting of leather, the earning of club colours), and even “traditional dress”.
 
Leather as a community that hangs out and/or interacts beyond the party circuit or the bedroom[3]; a community that is primarily queer or queer-focused
 
Leather as a grass-roots social safety net (Mama’s Family is one example, but there are also examples of social housing for trauma survivors, and less formal situations like: I moved cities and suddenly lost my job, and this community of people who I didn’t even really know yet stepped up and filled my fridge, helped me find new work, renegotiated my rent, held me while I cried, did concrete things that literally kept me going)
 
Leather as a (working) classed identity[4]
 
Leather as a community that is very centered on knowledge-transfer
 
 
And, perhaps weirdly, that’s the one I want to talk about right now.
Because I never thought of it like that. I just assumed that everyone was a huge nerd when it came to kink. But, on the way home in the car, one of the gals – who used to run a club that primarily catered to the pansexual bdsm scene – said that the leather dykes are all about workshops and education in a way that the pansexual bdsm crown… isn’t.
And, having since heard a quotation from that Robert J Rubel book (see [3]) siting the dual origins of the broadest iteration of North American kinkdom, I can’t help thinking that this makes a lot of sense.
We have in our queer, leather community a history and, I think, a mythology about knowledge transfer.
 
Weird? Maybe.
But think about it.
 
Pre-internet, you actually did have to know someone who knew someone to find out when the events were or where they were happening, or even to be allowed in the door. There was no fetlife. There were no youtube tutorials to teach you (oh, for example) how to do a brand safely. There was word of mouth and, if you were lucky, a newsletter on paper that you might be able to sign up for if you found out it existed. By that token, we have a real history of teaching each other in a hands-on, in-person fashion.
But we also have a mythology – and I mean this in the anthropology/religious-studies sense of the word where “mythology” means “our deepest truths; the stories we tell ourselves about who we are, where we came from, and how to live and fit in the world” – about kinky, erotic apprenticeship. Think Mr. Benson or The Marketplace series for example, but also think about the stories and protocols of the Old Guard, of learning to top by bottoming and doing your first topping scene under the supervision of your master.
 
So.
Hands-on thinky-types who learn by doing as much as by checking out the theory?
 
I hadn’t thought of it that way – or at least I hadn’t thought that we were unique in that way. Maybe that’s a better way of putting it.
Anyway. Those are some thoughts (or some more thoughts) on leather as a culture.
 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.
 
 
[1] I regret missing this. Apparently it was EPIC. It took seven years for such a workshop to be offered (and, yes, it was taught be a couple of trans chicks), but it was really, really popular when it was. I think this bodes well. 😀
 
[2] If I were to take a guess? Honesty, loyalty, pleasure (!!!), honour, kindness (and/or compassion?), respect, joy, endurance (meaning both “I can take it” and “I can make/fix something so that it doesn’t fall apart”), really good food (maybe that’s just the dykes?), trust, flexibility/willingness to stretch and grow (physically but also in terms of skills, experiences, and understanding), knowledge + expertise & thinky-thinking (possibly also just the dykes?), connection(!), DIY and/or self-sufficiency, and got-your-back-itude (support for community / helping when called and stepping up without being asked).
 
[3] Robert J Rubel (author of Master/slave Relations, fyi) offered a distinction between what he called “leather” and “not leather” (but which I’ve also heard described as “leather community” and “bdsm community”) that was based on history and origin – “leather”, by his definition, grew out of gay veterans communities and motorcycle clubs in post-WW2 United States (1945-ish to 1960-ish); while “bdsm / not-leather” grew out of the swing community (of the 1960s but also much earlier than that).
 
[4] Which, itself, does tie into the queerness and the motorcycle clubs in our history. Both of those populations have historically been working class and/or poor, have done primarily service-industry jobs, have been sexworkers (men and women), have been able to afford the cost of a motorcycle but not a car, have been working through multiple levels of trauma and/or marginalization and needed capital-C Community to help with that, have joined the army for financial reasons, have been Kicked Out and making a buck in the bars shining boots and hoping to hook up with someone at the end of the night for a place to sleep, have appreciated donated, second-hand, durable clothing like, say, leather jackets or boots or chaps.

Bootblacking 101 in Ottawa

Bootblacking 101 Workshop Wednesday, October 9th, 2013 7pm - 8:30pm Swizzles (246 Queen Street in Ottawa) Come and join us!

Bootblacking 101 Workshop
Wednesday, October 9th, 2013
7pm – 8:30pm
Swizzles (246 Queen Street in Ottawa)
Come and join us!


 
 
The poster pretty-much says it all.
 
My lovely wife, as she’s wrapping up her title year as Bootblack Ottawa 2013, is giving a bootblacking 101 workshop this Wednesday (that’s tomorrow) at Swizzles Bar, which is on the lower level of 246 Queen Street in Ottawa.
So. If you love leather and want to know how to take care of it, or if you want to know how to protect your boots against the salt roads of the coming winter, you might want to check this one out. 🙂
 
I’m pretty sure the workshop is free, although do bring a donation just in case (if it turns out to be free then, hey, bonus).
 
Hoping to see lots of people there.
 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.

Okay.
 
So here’s a thing. Sometimes I get FL messages from people – almost all of whom are male-identified[1] – who I don’t know, who open with something like “Hello, Mistress”, or similar.
I have NO IDEA (ahaha) whether male-identified dominants get unsolicited “Hello Master” messages from female-identified subs with any degree of frequency or regularity (although I can sure-as-fuck hazard a seriously educated guess), so this is a post talking 100% about approaching dominant (or, hell, NOT dominant) women on fetlife.
 
See… I think “Hello, Mistress” is probably supposed to be polite.
More accurately, while I’m pretty sure the majority of people who send me this message don’t actually give a shit about “polite” because, if they did, they’d be not contacting me in the first place, as per my very clearly stated expectations(see footnote [1]), but I’d also like to hope that at least some of the people who send messages like that, to anybody, are trying to be polite, trying to be respectful of someone’s identification as a dominant woman, and are sincerely hoping to interact with the woman they’ve just tried to engage.
The thing is… trying to be polite doesn’t really cut it, and “Hello, Mistress” isn’t actually polite unless the adressee has the words “You will address me as Mistress” written explicitely in their profile[2].
 
So here I am, wanting to explain the reason why it isn’t polite.
 
Have you ever been at a bar (or a bus stop, or a grocery store, or wherever) and seen a stranger go up to someone and address her[3] as “Hey, sweetheart” or some other term of endearment (“baby”, “honey”, “shorty”, etc) that is completely inapropriate due to the fact that they don’t know her at all?
You know how that’s creepy and entitled and presumptouous and, therefore, incredibly off-putting and gross?
 
This is the same thing.[4]
 
When you greet a stranger with “Hello, Mistress”, what you’re actually saying to her is “I’ve already slotted you into X position in my life, and I don’t care whether or not you’re okay with that. Your agency and desire are irrelevant to me.”
 
Which, clearly, is an incredibly shitty way to talk to someone, especially if you’re actual goal is to be polite and respectful.
 
So. I’m going to take a page from Captain Awkward, and offer y’all a (completely, 100% unsolicited, I realize) script for How to Approach Someone on Fetlife.
Caveate: You can’t control other people’s responses. While using language to try and manipulate someone into giving you what you want express your desires and make your case for wanting them fulfilled is totally normal and human, it’s also not actually guaranteed to work. None the less, treating someone as a unique individual with agency, autonomy, and desires of her own… that’s not gonna hurt your chances.
 
Onwards!
 
~*~
 
“Hi, [person’s name],
 
I saw on your profile that you’re into X, Y, and Z. I’ve been curious about Y and Z [for a long time / since I took a recent workshop & decided I wanted to know more / since reading that scene in Kushiel’s Dart / etc] and I’m wondering if you’d be interested in [talking about it / answering some questions / negotiating a scene] with me.
If you are, please feel free to get in touch. Also, if there’s a particular way you’d like me to address you, please let me know what it is.
 
Hoping to hear from you soon,
[Your Name Here]”
 
~*~
 
Now, I do have to admit to a bit of a bias here. The only person who has ever approached me like this? Reader, I married her. So clearly this works for me.
 
Regardless, there you have it. A handy script that is respectful, shows you’ve done rather more than just looked at someone’s sexy, sexy profile pictures, and suggests that you have some kinky interests in common, while also leaving the door open in case someone you approach actually would appreciate it if you called them Mistress during negotiations.
 
Modify as necessary, and best of luck. 🙂
 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.
 
 
[1] My FL profile says “dudes need not apply”, in an effort to cull the flow of random strangers propositioning me. I think it’s telling, and also upsetting, that damn near every woman I know who has an FL account ALSO has that disclaimer right at the top of their profile. I also think it’s telling, and even more upsetting, that there are still so many dudes who flat-out ignore that boundary and proposition us anyway. It’s fucking RUDE. Stop doing it!
 
[2] In which case chances are good that the Mistress in question (A) is a professional, in which case she’s here to find clients, not lovers, and you will be expected to pay for her services; OR (B) is potentially Lady Dommely-Domme (they do happen, occasionally) and… probably won’t be all that much fun to spend your time with. Just sayin’.
 
[3] Because we’re talking about “Hello Mistress” here.
 
[4] Yes, if their FL name is something like “Mistress Serengeti”, that’s different. Saying “Hello, Mistress Serengeti” is like saying “Hello, Josephine“. It’s someone’s name. That’s fine.

So!
Princess Kali (of KinkAcademy and PassionateU) is running a year-long online course called the Kink Leaders Program. It’s a minimal time committment (call it 4-6 hours per month?) that culminates in the organizing and running of a Fabulous Kink Event/Project/Service in one’s own community.
I’m looking at this because (a) it would be a handy skill-set to build on, (b) it would be useful in areas other than kink, (c) it would be a handy networking opportunity within the wider (North American? Global Anglophone?) kink community, and hey (d) it would give me a new project to work on (with help!) which would be awesome. 🙂
 
So I’ve sent off an email to Princess Kali asking a few questions (mostly around scheduling, to be honest), and am prepping to add this handy-dandy program to my personal 2013-2014 course of study on Leather, Power, Magic, and Religion.
 
Depending on what is or is not allowed in the conditions of the course, I may wind up blogging my homework assignments as I go along. We shall see. 🙂
Either way, I’m excited! 😀
 
[EDIT: I have now enrolled in the course. Here’s to a year of learning! :-D]
 
 
TTFN,
Ms. Syren.

Today marks three years of the service-arrangement that I share with Ghost.
Along the way, she has become my friend, my lover, my sweetheart, my partner, my property, and (most recently) my wife.
Tonight, my altars are (finally) burning, we have an out-of-town friend staying an unexpected extra day, I’ve smoked the house with myrrh (purification and blessings), and I have a duck roasting in the oven. The three of us are drinking red wine (yet another bottle from the wedding, as it happens).
 
A year ago, I posted about what I had learned about myself as a dominant, among other things. This year has been one of learning how to… not “share” power, but learning how to hold power and share my submissive – both with her vanilla partner and with someone over-whom she holds power.
 
The whole year hasn’t been taken up with this, I realize, but it’s been something that, one way or another, has been on my mind.
 
A while ago, I wrote a post called “H is for Honour“. Learning how to share, without dropping my submissive’s reins and without “losing” my Place in her life (or letting resentment develope due to feeling like that’s what’s happening) is a way of living with honour, I think. Certainly, it’s one more way in-which I strive to live with grace as a dominant.
 
Happy Anniversary to us. 🙂
 
 
TTFN,
Ms Syren.