boundaries

Gallery

Sometimes I miss the days when you’d come over and we’d keep our clothes on. When you’d rub me through my shorts until I leaked right through them because within a few minutes we were helplessly skirting the boundaries we’d set. 

Those were the days when you brought over a six pack to keep at my place because I didn’t have beer to offer you, when you left your hat behind so I hid it and wouldn’t give it back. It was a time when we were doing little things like that in an attempt to articulate power with each other, in an attempt to understand how intimate we were allowed to be.

We weren’t even sure who was making the rules at that point. But, usually, we broke them.

Gallery

Last night, Craftsmate spanked me two hundred times over his knee on my couch.

There’s something about getting spanked on your own couch.

I know it was two hundred swats because he had me count and thank him for each one. Which got difficult when he would deliver a few hard ones in a row and I would have to quickly account for the ones I had not had time to count right away. And sometimes it hurt so much that I could barely get myself to speak.

But, I’ve been trying to build my tolerance to this kind of stuff. Usually, I just throw out my safeword and then realize a few moments later that I could have taken much more. Because Craftsmate respects my safeword and my boundaries, he’s not going to push it. So, it was up to me to push myself this time and see if I could actually make it up that high.

Originally, he stopped at one hundred. I was already sore, but I asked him to keep going. And then the same at one hundred and fifty.

By the time he reached two hundred, I was clinging onto his leg and gritting my teeth. But I was proud of myself and caught myself smiling when he had me look at how red my ass was in the mirror.

Gallery

I’ve always been a bit shaky on boundaries.

So come a little closer.

It’s not crossing the line when I’ve redrawn the line.

Gallery

“I think I want to kiss you,” Craftsmate said one night about a month ago while in bed with me.  

The last time that I had happened, there was a little bit of an episode, as you may recall. So we had agreed to be play partners and not kiss or be emotionally intimate. Which was all fine and good until there would be nights he would sleep over and we would wake up curled into each other and I would feel some little pang of something growing in my throat.

That night, the lights were already out and I couldn’t see him. “Are you sure? I’m not sure my ego can handle you freaking out over this again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “yeah, I’m sure. I want to kiss you.”

I climbed over him to get out of bed. “I’m going to the bathroom. Think it over and when I get back if you want to, maybe we will.”

When I returned, he confirmed that he was still on board about it. I was a bit embarrassed at how nervous I suddenly felt. It was too dark in my room and we bumped noses. The entire kiss was awkward and reminiscent of a middle school playground. 

Somehow, that felt about right.

Gallery

This was me. All this week so far.

And so I’m taking care of myself tonight and going to bed now.

Peace.

Gallery


Fuck Baseball, Part Six

Craftsmate and I determined that I was hung up on the rules of “baseball”. That there was a decided order in which things were done and in which people engaged with each other.

“I can’t help it,” I said, “you ran straight across the field to second base, you probably had to knock over the pitcher.”

“Nah,” he replied, “when I was a kid, I was the catcher. Because I didn’t mind balls flying at my face.”

I laughed. I don’t know why I get hung up on standards prescribed by a society of whose counterculture I seem to belong to in more than one way. I don’t know why I would give in to the obligation to kiss someone when I didn’t want to.

Craftsmate is a play partner. Him playing with my nipples is an expression of a play dynamic and not the progression of a romantic relationship which neither of us have any interest in. Because I’ve never had the BDSM without at least the semblance of a traditional relationship frame, I had a little trouble categorizing Craftsmate and determining what was appropriate.

But I think what’s appropriate is what makes us feel good and what is mutually enjoyed and respectful. And that’s a lot of stuff, but it’s not kissing and it’s not sex, coital or otherwise, which I determined in going over my boundaries with myself.

So fuck baseball. Seriously. I don’t even like the game, so why would I follow its stupid rules? If I want the base to base progression, I’ll do it out of willingness, but not obligation.

keepingitinthefamily:

Daddy, when is it baseball season again?

chipwillis:

libraryvixen:

swing batter

source needed

Jonathan Leder for Jacques magazine I believe.

http://jonathanleder.blogspot.com/?zx=3a5b3e3b0021f44

Gallery

On Friday, we crossed a few boundaries with each other. Not disastrously, but Switch and I both sort of took the dominant role too far in an effort to please the other. As a result, we both wound up with a little bit of overkill on the cruelty end of dominating something. Fortunately, this wasn’t irreparable. 

We talked a little bit about it afterwards to check in and neither of us were completely shattered. In fact, we’d both enjoyed it, but knew there were a few problematic things lingering that had gone on. Mostly, this was in reference to a few acts of degradation that I had put him through and then a few he had put me through. They were just maybe a bit too degrading.

But then last night we actually sat down and discussed the nitty gritty of limits, boundaries, etc. We developed a safe word that works both ways. We admitted our mistakes.

And then we had a really awesome night.