I was asked today at my psych why I enjoyed rope, why I enjoy being confined. For once, I actually came up with an answer, so I'm writing it here for posterity.
Sensorily, I love the feeling of rope. I love feeling it's constriction around me, I love the feel of rope, I love testing the boundaries of rope around me.
But it's not just the sensation. I could get that feeling just from tight clothes.
I love rope because being tied up feels safe. It takes me back to games with my brothers, where we would wrap each other in blankets and rugs, like big burritos. We'd inch around like worms, laugh, sometimes we'd even put two of us in the same rug. Being confined with rope takes me back to that place in my mind. When I'm wrapped in rope, I feel like the little rugworm again, unable to anything but inch around. I guess unlike a lot of people, being tied up never had bad connotations for me. When I was teased as a kid, I was never held, never forced down. The attacks on me were always social and psychological, never physical, so physical restraint just doesn't have a negative colour to me. So, being physically restrained always brings me in mind of childhood games, and all the positive feelings of play.
I get the same feeling when I'm caged. When I was little, my favourite places to hide from the world were always little "caves". Either the cave made from the beds in me and my brother's bedrooms, or a little hole in the hedge where my mum played netball, or the hidden little walkway at the basketball stadium, or the boot of a car, I've always had positive associations with small, hidden spaces, and cages bring that feeling into mind, because my cave is the place where the rest of the world isn't. It's where I can be, and I don't have to deal with the world while I'm there.
And then, there's Daddy. My Daddy is possibly the world's most responsible Dom. If he ties me up, or puts me in a cage, he doesn't just leave me there, and walk away. When I'm wrapped up, or in the cage, I know that Daddy is always somewhere giving me attention, keeping me supervised, making sure that I am safe, that nothing will go wrong. I know that when I'm confined, I have my Daddy's attention, and while I know he'll give me attention if I ask it of him, it's just one other thing that makes me feel good inside, to know that when I'm confined, Daddy's always there.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
Not gonna be a bro
A few months ago, Daddy had a rant to me about how much people raised as women are dealt a whole lot more restrictions about interaction, and "being on best behaviour". I'd just come back from the family Christmas lunch, with my very, very straight and non-queer family.
As my Daddy pointed out to me, at family gatherings, men aren't expected, really, to do any of the cleaning, or hosting, etc. Now, I used to buck that rule a lot, and you'd often find me in the kitchen with the women helping to prepare the meals, or working to help clean up the house. But the last few months have seen me stop that, and become a lot more slack at gatherings.
And as we talked about this, I realised more and more that this was not the kind of person I wanted to be. I don't want to be on the couch while the wimmin do everything. That's not who I am, and not really who I was raised to be.
It lead to a new little slogan, which I am now trying to incorporate into my life: "I don't wanna be a bro". The term "Bro" is often used with all the man-child connotations, with all the lack of responsibility that men are given because they just don't know any better. Well screw that. I am not a bro, I refuse to be a bro, I will not be a bro. Not the least because it goes against everything the Leather culture teaches, but it also goes against the submission that I strive for. I am there to serve, and while only me Daddy gets the right to be served, my service is a gift that I wish to bless the world with. I will not be a man who just lets the world serve him, I will not be a boy who lets his parents clean up for him.
I will not be a bro. I will be a Boy.
As my Daddy pointed out to me, at family gatherings, men aren't expected, really, to do any of the cleaning, or hosting, etc. Now, I used to buck that rule a lot, and you'd often find me in the kitchen with the women helping to prepare the meals, or working to help clean up the house. But the last few months have seen me stop that, and become a lot more slack at gatherings.
And as we talked about this, I realised more and more that this was not the kind of person I wanted to be. I don't want to be on the couch while the wimmin do everything. That's not who I am, and not really who I was raised to be.
It lead to a new little slogan, which I am now trying to incorporate into my life: "I don't wanna be a bro". The term "Bro" is often used with all the man-child connotations, with all the lack of responsibility that men are given because they just don't know any better. Well screw that. I am not a bro, I refuse to be a bro, I will not be a bro. Not the least because it goes against everything the Leather culture teaches, but it also goes against the submission that I strive for. I am there to serve, and while only me Daddy gets the right to be served, my service is a gift that I wish to bless the world with. I will not be a man who just lets the world serve him, I will not be a boy who lets his parents clean up for him.
I will not be a bro. I will be a Boy.
Songs of Aspirations
Sometimes we hear songs that don't exactly describe who we are, but do describe what we want to be. Songs which call to the higher parts of our soul, and focus our mind back to what we could be, what we desire most in our lives. A lot of times songs make us feel by connecting with our flaws, sometimes, despite themselves, a song will connect with the dreams we wish we were embodying.
The song that made me write this post is a song by Tim Minchin, called "Not Perfect". It's a song about the world around and within us. Most importantly, it's a song about accepting ownership of your world, accepting that, despite it's flaws, it's where you live, and even if you work to improve it, to love it, warts and all.
It's a beautiful (if long) song, but it's been haunting me this morning, and I wanted to spread it to everyone out there.
The song that made me write this post is a song by Tim Minchin, called "Not Perfect". It's a song about the world around and within us. Most importantly, it's a song about accepting ownership of your world, accepting that, despite it's flaws, it's where you live, and even if you work to improve it, to love it, warts and all.
It's a beautiful (if long) song, but it's been haunting me this morning, and I wanted to spread it to everyone out there.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Touch
I am a beast of touch.
Touch rules my life in a lot of different ways. I have noted several times that I'm a big sensation slut, but it goes further than that, I think.
I'm generally an anxious person, and many of the ways that I deal with my anxiety is by engaging my sense of touch. Either by poking a bruise, by biting the inside of my cheek, by licking my teeth, by feeling underneath my fingernails, by hugging myself, etc. When I'm really anxious, all it takes is a hug from my Daddy to start calming me down. When I see someone in emotional distress, my first instinct is to hug them, to place a hand on their shoulder, etc. The language of my intimacy is in my sense of touch, much to my Daddy's displeasure, as it often means that I talk far less than he'd like.
I like massage, but massage to me is an intensely intimate experience. I have discovered that I can't go to shopping centre masseurs, because I feel extremely odd getting a massage from them. It seems that only my partners can use massage to help me relax.
When I see animals and pets, one of the first impulses is always to pat and touch them, and this is probably why I tend to get along with dogs and cats so often, because we both enjoy touch a lot.
Simply, my skin is my preferred method of contact with the world, especially doing so intimately. Hugs, pats, sensual touch, are all definitely my favourite things!
Touch rules my life in a lot of different ways. I have noted several times that I'm a big sensation slut, but it goes further than that, I think.
I'm generally an anxious person, and many of the ways that I deal with my anxiety is by engaging my sense of touch. Either by poking a bruise, by biting the inside of my cheek, by licking my teeth, by feeling underneath my fingernails, by hugging myself, etc. When I'm really anxious, all it takes is a hug from my Daddy to start calming me down. When I see someone in emotional distress, my first instinct is to hug them, to place a hand on their shoulder, etc. The language of my intimacy is in my sense of touch, much to my Daddy's displeasure, as it often means that I talk far less than he'd like.
I like massage, but massage to me is an intensely intimate experience. I have discovered that I can't go to shopping centre masseurs, because I feel extremely odd getting a massage from them. It seems that only my partners can use massage to help me relax.
When I see animals and pets, one of the first impulses is always to pat and touch them, and this is probably why I tend to get along with dogs and cats so often, because we both enjoy touch a lot.
Simply, my skin is my preferred method of contact with the world, especially doing so intimately. Hugs, pats, sensual touch, are all definitely my favourite things!
On This Day
Five Years Ago, me and Daddy decided to become a couple.
Around Two and a Half Years ago, Me and Daddy realised that we were a Daddy/boy couple, and chose to Embrace it.
Two Years, Two months ago, I was collared by my Daddy.
Today, I feel nothing but gratitude for my Daddy, and all that he has done for me, and all he has allowed me to do for him. Without him... I don't know what I'd do without him.
Happy Anniversary, Daddy!
Around Two and a Half Years ago, Me and Daddy realised that we were a Daddy/boy couple, and chose to Embrace it.
Two Years, Two months ago, I was collared by my Daddy.
Today, I feel nothing but gratitude for my Daddy, and all that he has done for me, and all he has allowed me to do for him. Without him... I don't know what I'd do without him.
Happy Anniversary, Daddy!
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