This is what my ballgag looks like.
Due to the demands of blah blah academia, I haven’t had the opportunity to wear it in a while.
This is simply unacceptable.
shame
Powerless
StandardA little over a month ago, Craftsmate and I got into this really uncomfortable argument in a semi-public setting about what we were doing. Basically, he sort of just dropped the bomb out of nowhere about not wanting to do kinky stuff anymore and I was upset because he wouldn’t provide me with an explanation.
There were a few explanations. It was a little awkward that I had just returned from Penthouse Land. He wanted to see if we could actually just be normal friends. He wasn’t sure what to make of our dynamic. And, he topped it all off with a “you make me feel powerless”.
“Oh yeah?” I replied, taken aback, then added with more than a little bitterness. “I am so sorry that I make you feel powerless.”
Although I had never considered it in those terms, I felt the same way. He had seamlessly worked his way into my life. My friends like him a lot. My roommate adores him. And the whole shame episode still felt fresh to me and the fact that he was suddenly living in a world that I had tried to keep completely separated from my blog had made me feel entirely powerless.
So, I think, in an effort to try to retain some power in the midst of being too vulnerable, I put up a bunch of walls. I thought he had seen too much of me already and as a result I wasn’t really being open with him at all. Sometimes I even got a little mean. I realized, in feeling like I was the victim, I assumed I was blameless and that I would be justified in taking whatever moves necessary to protecting my vulnerability. Especially after the really awkward kissing debacle, I did not want to show any of my hand or let there be any way I was more invested in this than he was (or even at all invested).
After I had expressed this to him, he came over that night. I was stressed out about other things and we were going to attempt to talk further, but Sunshine was home and awake. At one point, I walked out to go move some laundry to the dryer and he came with me.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said. “But it makes a lot of sense.” We hugged.
We wound up falling asleep on the couch together, my head on his chest, his hand on my hair. The next day, he tied me up while Sunshine was still asleep in the other room. With my arms pulled back stringently, I realized that kink was very much a controlled outlet for my vulnerability. I could shut it down at any point I wanted with a safeword. There was power in this sort of powerlessness.
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.
Daddy, when is it baseball season again?
swing batter
source needed
Jonathan Leder for Jacques magazine I believe.
Fuck Baseball, Part Five
I was really, really enjoying what was going on with Craftsmate. On a lot of levels. I was blindfolded, tied to the bed, having my nipples played with, and being condescended to. Just about every part of that is an A+ in my book.
Except that stupid creeping feeling came up again where my brain went “well, he didn’t even try to kiss me, so he must not respect me at all”. Except, I didn’t particularly want to kiss Craftsmate. He’s a fun friend and an interesting activity partner, but I just didn’t feel too terribly inclined to kiss him.
But I’m lying there and thinking, “well, here’s the natural progression of stuff and we’re not doing the natural progression so this is wrong and I am a whore”.
Which is, uh, how I felt with that guy from my frat that time we hooked up. Even if kissing did kind of clash with the intended activity.
But I asked and he kissed me. Awkwardly. We were both uncomfortable and it was plainly obvious that neither of us particularly wanted to. And so I made him untie me and I proceeded to freak out about how sleazy I am.
So, uh, sorry to put a damper on the sexy for a moment. But, yes, it’s honestly how that went down and I wasn’t particularly proud. But, I think it’s important to share this stuff with the sexy. And, we got to talking and, yes, I promise, there’s a happy solution.
Ultraviolet Tells All, Except for the Things He Doesn’t
I started this blog because I am bad at kink. I am bad at accepting my desires. I am bad at articulating my desires. I am bad at listening and truly comprehending exactly what people are saying. I am also a naively trusting individual in a lot of ways, which has caused me a lot of problems. Basically, I’m pre-“self respect” Scott Pilgrim, but without the awesome video game fight sequences and Mary Elizabeth Winstead. I don’t even get Brie Larson as a consolation prize.
I wish I could press a button and have it make it so I’m cool with my identity, my desires, all that crap, but that button just doesn’t exist. And even on this mostly anonymous blog, I’m still self-censoring a lot of my kinks. Some of them I haven’t shared with any partner of mine, ever, and despite the fact that only one follower (I hope) even knows what state I’m in, and none of them know me IRL AFAIK, I haven’t said anything on here that past partners haven’t already known.
Goddamnit, Ivy, you make it look so easy.
Also same.
“Goddammit, Ivy, you make it look so easy.”
Except it’s not. I’m sorry to break it to you. It’s not easy. I guess I just fake it until it looks that way.
I was talking to Penthouse when this came across my dash and I told him about it. “You’re a hero,” he said.
“I’m a fumbling one,” I replied.
And so he clarified: “Not the hero Gotham dreams of. But the hero it needs. You’re the Batman, Poison Ivy. Not bad.”
In all seriousness, it’s not easy. I fumble all the time. I say the wrong thing or stuff gets awkward. There’s an example of it, a series of posts, chilling in my queue right now that will shed some light on that. Because I’m not some Kink Goddess. I’m figuring out stuff as I go along and I make a lot of mistakes. Sometimes I don’t articulate what I want and sometimes I don’t give myself the things I deserve.
I started this blog out of my own weakness and shame about the things I liked and the things I wanted. I never thought people would start asking me for advice or holding me up as some standard of kink-positivity. And while I am immensely flattered, I do need to clarify that I’m not always good at accepting my desires, I can be incredibly naive and trusting, and I’m not always 100% on self respect.
As I’m finishing up this post, Penthouse has texted me once more, adding that I should “go pose on top of a skyscraper at dusk. The city deserves to not see its hero in person.” So, uh, sorry for just getting super vulnerable there and doing exactly that.
But, I suppose I’d like to leave it at this: things are never going to be perfect, but there are going to be those moments where everything falls exactly where it should. And these are the moments to be treasured.
Rock on with your bad selves, kink like nobody’s business, and stay classy.
<3, Ivy
The other night, I was at Craftsmate’s place just hanging around. It was later at night and I had originally intended on just going to sleep, but he invited me over to hang out and so I came over in my pajamas. We were chilling when there was a knock on his door.
Because I was in my pajamas, I just stayed in his room while he went to go to the door. I was sort of tired, so I pulled up his sheets and when he came back in to say something about people, I just sort of told him I was going to sleep.
In my defense, I’d had a really, really, really long day.
I woke up about an hour later to hear voices in his kitchen and finding that I had to use the bathroom. Naturally, I felt super awkward just walking out of this kid’s room in pajamas. I heard that they were planning to leave soon and so I tried to bide my time, but I eventually just had to walk through rather quickly to get to the bathroom and hope I wasn’t seen.
On the way back, I was sort of awkwardly stopped and said hello. The Prodigy was there and I tried to awkwardly be like, “haha yeah we’re not fucking I just needed a nap” but that’s never really, uh, convincing.
And I know I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. We’re not fucking and it was just a weird moment with some people who, besides the Prodigy, I’d never seen before. So, it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world, but I still felt sort of crappy. I knew it was silly to. However, the feeling kind of crept up and afterwards Craftsmate and I had to have an awkward “okay that was uncomfortable but not awful” conversation.
Oh, shame. You’re a dick.
Like a Brisket, Part Twelve
While I was hogtied on the floor and the Prodigy was tying up Craftsmate, I got really subspaced. I attribute to this to a few factors:
- I was pretty stringently hogtied and feeling tied up and helpless like that gets me pretty fast.
- Craftsmate was feeding me grapes from the farmer’s market out of his hand which sort of emphasized the feeling of helplessness for me.
- At one point, Penthouse asked to duct-tape my mouth and I consented. It stayed like that for a fairly short period of time, but that only added to it.
- Penthouse knelt down next to me and was asking me if I was subspaced in this vaguely condescending tone that I like which pretty much cemented it.
- The group was discussing hemp and Craftsmate was like, “wait, you can’t buy that here?” And I started subspacedly mumbling about the FDA banning it. Penthouse reached down and petted my head while I was talking which, uh, yeah. Cement sealed.
Of course, the whole time I’m yelling at myself in my head not to get subspaced. I thought it would make everything awkward and I even apologized for it once I came out of it. I guess I just, even around the people I should be most comfortable enjoying it around, was unsure if it would be weird to actually enjoy myself beyond the academic “ah this is very fascinating” sense of enjoyment.
But, subspaced Ivy knows her US History. So, there’s that.
Like a Brisket, Part Nine
When I was out of the hogtie, Penthouse cracked some joke, asked everyone if they wanted to see something funny, and threw me over his shoulder. I flailed a bit, mostly because I was wearing a dress and I had accidentally flashed my butt enough that evening.
“Be careful,” I said when he put me down. “I can kick your ass.”
He chuckled, “fine. Come here and kick my ass.”
Welp, I made a conscious effort to do that. Honestly. But I wound up over the kid’s knee pretty quickly. I squirmed and fought and tried to sit up, but he had me down pretty well.
“I think Ivy needs a spanking,” Penthouse said. “What do you think, Prodigy?”
“I defer to Craftsmate,” The Prodigy replied.
Craftsmate snorted, “and I defer to Ivy.”
So, here I am, over this guy’s lap, in a group of kinky people, having to decide whether or not I deserve to get spanked. And, tumblr, it’s damn hard for me to articulate when I want something like that. It’s part of the whole shame thing. I would rather have someone else impose it upon me and pretend I dislike it than admit I want it. Yes, even in a crowd of kinky people I was ashamed to admit I enjoy it.
But, part of it was the issue of tone. I wasn’t sure if the entire day was supposed to be entirely demonstrative and academic or cross into something more playful. Thus, I am over somebody’s knee attempting not to get turned on. I am literally going over in my head and telling myself not to act like I liked this when it was pretty obvious that I did.
“Well,” I answered to Penthouse, “I guess I defer to you.”
That spanking hurt like a bitch. In a good way. But what didn’t hurt in a good way was how anxious I was getting and unnecessarily insecure around the people I should have been the least insecure with. Oh, shame.
Like a Brisket, Part Two
Naturally, the old shame reflex kicked in fairly soon into the afternoon when Craftsmate took out a cuff he’d made to show us at the table during lunch and I all but ran away right there.
When, after lunch, we went to a sewing supply store to pick up supplies for the kinky arts and crafts component of the mini-munch, I essentially put my sunglasses on and tried to hide when Penthouse and Craftsmate stood there and loudly discussed d-rings. I nearly died right there when Craftsmate took the cuff out again to compare.
“Oh, would you calm down?” Penthouse said when he saw me hiding by the iron-ons. “We’re right near (neighborhood synonymous with some pretty alternative lifestyles), everyone here’s kinky. For God’s sake, they keep the rope next to the clothespins and rubber straps at the Home Depot near here. They know their customers.”
And, yeah, logically, I can look at the situation and know that nobody cares. But, I still felt out of my element and I felt a huge tug on my impulse to feel ashamed and anxious. Craftsmate had joked the other day that online I was a “gung ho goddess with a rapper attitude” about all this, but in person I was awkward as all get-out about kink. With almost all of my kinky interactions being incredibly private and in the context of a relationship, I was very much out of my element in this setting.
So, I was endlessly relieved when we left the store to head to Penthouse’s place.
I found this post through a tumblr I follow.
There’s something vaguely calming to see these sorts of things spelled out in a very simple list and to feel like what I go through has some logical progression.
It’s also the most concise summary I have ever seen of the things that
I’m not going to get into the specifics of what happened and where it came from, but my shame – over kink-related and non-kinky things – was one of the big reasons I started this tumblr, though I was not consciously aware of it at its inception. I saw a bunch of other tumblrs being able to express themselves and I wanted in on that. Essentially, I saw people being shameless about some of the things I was ashamed of and I wanted that, too.
I didn’t expect the overwhelming support and the following I’ve gotten, and that’s certainly helped. I’ve been on this journey for nearly a year and a half now, sometimes less consciously than other times, to try to conquer my shame. Because I’ve started to realize how much it factors into my life and how willing I am at this point to be rid of it.