Happy Frilly Friday! Introducing Dear Ribbons, A Nonexpert Advice Column

 

I have a shoulder injury that makes me leery about getting back to ropes, so darn I'll just have keep getting frilly! 

Friends, I’ve been having the nicest week helping a friend of mine get their mind ready for an anticipated date! They are going on a picnic! I absolutely adore giving out advice and cheerleading when asked. Plus helping my pals steer themselves toward their slutty dreams helps me steer my own life better, too!

So if you would like some heartfelt and experienced-but-nonexpert advice on love, etiquette, grief, self-compassion, and/ or what emojis to use, please write to me! Email thekittencalendar@gmail.com and put Dear Ribbons in the subject line. I promise to love you and your story, and to steer us both/all towards optimism, self-love, liberation, hope, and hotness!

Knotty Thursday: Pretty Armor for My Heart

 

Last night was my first try at a new tie in a while, and it felt so good! I need to practice weaving on some less-curvaceous part of me, because it keeps looking bunched up! Plus I had to keep it loose because it's so close to my neck and I was on my own. But still, I felt gorgeous! Here's the how to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfuGMaqXyKo

Because it was a neck one, it wasn't a lounge-around-for-a-while situation, but something even more exciting happened!! While I was puttering around afterwards, having a snack and getting ready for bed, I had the "I love you" thought--and it was directed at myself! I'm not sure when's the last time I felt that way about a self-date, but it's been at least months. It feels pretty great to be reunited with myself and with my friends the ropes. I've already got something picked out for next Wednesday night!

After I got everybody untangled and put away, I gave myself a treat: Paid for a month of Feeld so I could see my likes. Maybe I'll find a nice casual good boy to practice on? That would be a treat! :D

I'm sorry the back picture is blurry! But I like it anyway!

Knotty Thursday! Messy Corset, VERY Neat Homework!

 

I'll have to go back and retry this corset sometime! It's meant to be a quick release design, but I just wasn't in a tutorial-watching mood. Still had a wonderful time of course!

And THIS treasure really aced his hishi karada homework! Today was a day of getting texted BEAUTIFUL photos. 

Knotty Thursday: Heart Harness and Princess of the Orgy

After! Blurry again sorry, I have no discipline.

The Song Sender is SO much fun to show off for. The pictures I've taken for him show me a different version of myself, prettier, more brazen, more bold. I have no idea how he does that but I've LOVED IT.

Monday night, I was supposed to have a date with The Chef but he rescheduled, so all of that energy had to go somewhere! I decided to get ahead on the week's ropework, and asked The Song Sender if he was available for praise. He was running the projector for the local weird movie club, but he could manage both.

I love the before picture I sent him so, SO much. His version has my face, 

After I sent him the after picture, I asked what should I do now that I was all tied up.

He typed back, "You should cum for me. And tell me what you were thinking about when you did."

I don't always hang on to text threads, but friends, I might have to keep the transcript on this one. Oh it was BEAUTIFUL. I'll keep most of it for myself, but there was this:

"I tell them you are a good little slut. and that you are mine.

And because you are such a good girl you get to pick two to play with you.

...

While I hold you down and tell you how pretty and good you are."

And THEN:

"I can be meaner with you later. (kiss emoji)

You get to be the princess of the orgy."

There are still some kinks (ha) to iron out, but so far The Song Sender is an absolute treasure. I am the luckiest slut/princess/whore/good girl in the universe.

 

A Month of Adorableness With/Not With The Shy One

 

We’ve only had two dates (Unless phone calls count as dates, in which case it’s five!) but so far, The Shy One is being a dream come true and is letting me be myself in some very spot-hitting ways.

He had to be apart from me during Ramadan, but here’s how we’ve kept in touch: In the morning, I check the sunset time and set an alarm. When it rings, I send him a sunset emoji and a kiss emoji. Sometimes we send each other pictures of whatever flowers we’ve seen that day. I’ve always wanted a sweetheart I could send flower pictures to, but it didn’t really occur to me that anyone would send flower pictures back! (Possibly I could’ve been dreaming a little bigger?)

Cute two-person Bitmojis. (Mostly) chaste flirting. Sweet goodnights. Time apart has given me a chance to do romance in a way I’ve often wanted to, but which can sort of seem out of step with my generally slutty ways and DEFINTELY out of step with the hookup-culture-infused present day I’ve been trying to navigate.

“Maybe this gives you a chance to get to know each other first?” is a thing my therapist and a few friends have suggested, but I don’t think that’s exactly it. If this were a summer-Ramadan year and we’d been snuggling all month, if I’d have been kissing him and tying him up and getting spanked for these weeks, we still would have been getting to know each other. He’s definitely someone you can get to know while naked!

Still, I’m grateful for all the flowery sweetness, the “I miss you,” the (at least on my part!) sunset-counting.

And! There’s only about seven sunsets left until I get to TOUCH HIM. We’ve already sort of made a post-Eid snuggle date and definitely already made an out-in-the-world date for later on in May. I can’t overstate the HOTNESS of him already having planned that one, the swooniness of getting two date-ticket QR codes in my inbox. I can’t predict what will happen when we’re back in-person, but if I get my way there’ll be so, SO many kisses!

 

A Bad Date, A Good Hookup, and a Helpful Google, Part One

 

It’s been a long time since this many (mis)adventures happened in one day. I guess it was really only two, but yesterday felt 3-5 Sundays long.

I should probably be a better friend to myself. When recently-divorced Sunday Morning First Date started Bumble-texting me a couple of weeks ago, he mentioned being leery of my bi-ness because his wife had slept with his sister. (And like eight other people. Not, I don’t think, in an ENM kinda way.) (My only regret about this particular morning is that I didn’t get more details about that (sounds made-up) story.) If a friend had fielded such a conversation, I would have been livid, like WTF kind of bi-phobic bullshit is this?

Instead, I let tenderness and compassion take the wheel. I reassured him, giving a vague outline of my still-beginning dating life. Before a first date! This seems excessive in hindsight. I don’t even know anymore.

We met up at a local nature preserve on just the most beautifully paradigmatic fall morning you can imagine. I even packed us a picnic for after our mini-hike. I’d chosen him because he was sweet and artsy by text. I watched him take a beautiful photo of the trees’ reflection on the water. He had a lovely Georgia accent and a cute Ron-Funches-but-grumpy vibe. I liked the way he pronounced the Great Blue Heron’s name as we passed one from not too far away: herr-RON. I love it.

It was chilly so I was quick to slip my hand into his pocket with his. We didn’t get to hold hands for very long.

“There’s just too much feminism these days. Nobody can say ANYTHING.”

I pushed back in a measured way, but things only got worse. When I called BFF later (like five minutes later) she explained that a lot of what SMFD had to say came right out of Dave Chappelle’s latest standup special, which has apparently been making her Twitter feeds miserable lately. She recommended this article and I read it later in the car with lunch: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/13/opinion/dave-chappelle-netflix-trans.html

Anyway, back to the end of this short nightmare: SMFD and I were standing on a boardwalk platform in the middle of the wetland, next to a placard about an invasive species of turtles. He (the date, not the turtle) launched into an impassioned talk against “too much division,” saying the left and the right were equally to blame, equally hateful. (It’s this kind of false equivalency nonsense that makes me swipe left on every singly guy who identifies as “moderate,” in his profile even though many (WRONG) lefties would accuse me of the same.)

“Okay, we’re done.” I pointed to the other side of the bridge. “You go this way and I’ll go that way.”

As wrong as he was, I sort of understand the impulse he might’ve had. I know I’ve thrown my own conversational firebombs when I haven’t been ready or a match for someone. But it’s really not the same—never have I ever resorted to semi-quoting a famous transphobe/homophobe/misogynist as a Get Out of Date Free card. I guess Chappelle goes in the folder with the Bern and all of the other snuggle-wreckers.

It felt weirdly like a relief to be so clearly not a match, after a month or so of grey-areas, which aren’t my specialty. BFF was happy to join me on the rest of the hike by phone, debating with me about the categories of clouds in the pictures I sent. Lots and lots of pictures of water and leaves and clouds. I ate my half of the lovely picnic lunch in the car with the window open, catching up on Dear Prudence and How to Do It. I think this counts as reading outside, one of my most important (And most neglected!) fall goals checkmarks.

I was proud, slightly relieved, and ready for a nap. When I got home, there was an over-succinct “Hey” in my texts from Hookup Guy, who is so fucking beautiful I can’t even deal. I’ll tell you that part tomorrow.

Staycation Sext Fling Part Two: I Need an Ass Photographer

Part of my staycation festivities was a visit to the record store for car CDs—I’m trying to be more album-y lately. So that’s how I ended up listening to Nirvana’s Nevermind three times, smiling big and screaming along, on my short roadtrip to see some out-of-town art. No BFF to judge me for playing “Drain You” like a bazillion times, just me, a dramatic sky, and Kurt Cobain’s fucking perfect caterwauling and boss-of-me guitar.

So, through the combined influences of Kurt’s rasp and The Coach’s pre-trip forwardness, all the doors of my body and spirit were flung open by the time I got to my hotel, changed into my coziest PJs, settled amongst the many pillows, and lay down for a nap. Of course I couldn’t nap and of course I couldn’t wait and see if The Coach would send his eager-grin-emoji version of a “You up?” later. It sure didn’t matter that I hadn’t packed lube. I was soaked. I’d been soaked for days.

Even by myself, I could feel him all the way in me. I could feel his eagerness to please. I could feel myself holding him down. I could predict some sunny future where he’d get a little too rough with my nipples. The Coach has never been inside me, but also now he’s in there anyway, permanently, with the rest of them.

Maybe I started to feel the tender feeling creep in that night when he did text and got me into a helpless bliss and then (Pause to look up fuckboy in the dictionary. Not really but kind of.) fell asleep without saying goodnight. (The hotel bedding was REALLY soft.) Maybe in a just-got-off-hard-twice-and-about-to-see-some-amazing-art haze of happiness, the daydream machine whirred to life.

Or it could have been a couple nights later when a teensy bit of regular conversation preceded another nice smutfest. Or when he texted “Wide awake baby!” when it was taking a long time to get an ass-angle I liked enough to send him. (He put on The Dark Knight while he was waiting. For some reason I’m glad it was the Heath Ledger Joker and not the Jared Leto one. Not sure why that matters!)

I’m not sure how warm feelings happen with someone who texts “Oh can I cum on your tits too?” (Obvs yes! Hooray!) (Point of grammar though--I think it should be “cum” for the noun and “come” for the verb, but at least autocorrect didn’t wreck his “your” game!)

But yep, warm feelings. Smutty as all those gorgeous sentences were, it did feel like a sticky, slippery, phone-getting-all-messy kind of intimacy. A weird Miranda July kind of intimacy, but still. It took a lot of trust to keep writing and writing and writing to him, letting him know my fantasies without physics or even much friendship to ground my body, heart, or mind. Just naked, momentarily-uncomplicated desire. The ungroundedness would eventually make this playpalship unsustainable, but I’m glad for a little while it got to be exactly what it was.

Just Some Sexy Fat!

 

Please note: I did use a pink filter. I'm not really this close to the color of an Animal Crossing peach!

It's not a CURE for a body-size freakout, but some time between the covers with no PJs on sure helps. I couldn't quite get the angles I wanted--I either need a selfie stick or a photographer or both. 

Fell in Like with The Drummer, Part Three: Hot Nap Pic

 

**********Incredibly sad synchronicity alert: Pagan Boy, who was next in line in my ersatz High Fidelity thread, my friend of 28 years and one of my most formative boyfriends, passed away of complications from Covid over the weekend. I found out while this draft was on the desk waiting to be typed. I say synchronicity because The Drummer woke up such a hankering for chatting through bad movies that I drafted Pagan Boy into the madness. Before he was gone, I got to mock Dear Christmas (my choice) and Five-Headed Shark (his) over messenger with him.

 

The Drummer has gently ghosted by now (Well I HOPE he ghosted and didn’t, you know, die.) but even aside from the copious cuteness he provided, I’m so, so grateful he led me to those good hours with Pagan Boy. I miss them both a bunch and I’m basically pining like Wonder Woman over here.***********

 

Back to December:

 

One of the side effects of being underemployed, traumatized by America, estranged from part of my family and also possibly being part bear is that I’ve really ramped up my nap-taking. With that comes a little bit of nap-guilt, especially while I was in touch with riskily not-underemployed The Drummer. Ask me about my NAPS FOR ALL platform.

 

Nap-guilt notwithstanding, I asked The Drummer one Friday afternoon if I should do something productive (I WAS, despite all of the above, nonetheless in full Virgo goalsetting/Tidying Up/budgeting mode) or take a nap.

 

“Nap! Nap! Nap!” he wrote back right away.

 

Inspired, I typed “Hot nap pic in the works”

 

I got into my longjohn-style, vaguely Christmas-themed pajamas, cocooned in the covers, then set about learning portrait mode. The blankets were pulled up over my head, you could only see a fraction of my face, but my vulnerably unglassesed eyes definitely said “Wish you were here.”

Possibly I also typed that.

 

It was a silly, cute, bundled-up picture, but as I noted his kiss emojis and headed toward snoozetown, I felt such a warm wave of joyful desire. It was as if I had just texted him all of the quadrants, naked outside in the sun. It felt new to be so easily and thoroughly turned on in such a time of scary touch-desert. It was an EXTREMELY good nap. Might have to stop writing and go take another.

…

 

Okay I’m back. That weekend, the weekend before Christmas, The Drummer and I had our second text-though-a-bad-movie date, this time with blue speech bubbles instead of Bumble yellow. I thought we had already agreed on Left Behind (Y’all! It’s so much like The Leftovers except really bad and boring and with disconcerting references to “globalism”!) but he seemed taken aback that I was actually willing to go there. This poor guy, he must’ve felt like dating me was a dare.

 

For all the fun and happiness and quipping, bad movies are REALLY LONG without eventually switching to making out. So when he asked me what my choice was for next time, I said a six-feet-apart walk in the woods. And so, after the holidays, that would be our plan.

Happy Friday from Sex Pajamas!

As always, wish you could see the smile that goes with!

One of the joy-sparking things in my life are the pajamas (and other lacy things!) I have just for sexytimes with myself. Just thought you might enjoy a peek.

I haven't taken very many sexy pictures since I gained a bunch of weight, but I see no reason for that to be so! I'm even flirting with the idea of booking a photo session with Fireguy, or at least getting a tripod for my iPhone...

I have a lot more to say about my warm relationship to the camera, but for now, enjoy some nipples. Happy Friday!

Best of a Happy Fat Girl

Thanks, #FatShamingWeek, for inspiring me to a. Leave the gym early and b. Spend 15 minutes ogling myself and making a "Best Of" collection from the past two years. Wish I could show you the smiles that come with all these pictures.

My First Sexting

I may have mentioned this once of twice, but I’m enjoying Mr. Sweetheart so much. Last Tuesday when I was walking home from work, he texted to ask how I feel about sexting. I told him that it was on my goal list for June. (I do monthly goals with check-boxes. Some of the goals are all virtuous and gym-related, and some are…not.)

So he sent a picture of his lovely junk (First time I’d received such a text—he’s so many firsts!) and I was so happy to see it. I wrote back “For me? What shall I do with it?” but since I’m the sex-blogger he insisted that I be the one to tell most of the story.  (“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be the dominant one?” “I’m instructing you to amuse me with your creativity.”)

Clearly he is a full-service muse.

I got home and started dinner as I started to spin the story. I think I did a pretty good job. I was making tortellini. As I put the water on to boil, I told him about some fictitious Hello Kitty underpants already complete with a wet spot. As I grated the cheese, I tried to convince him to tell me what to do, but he insisted that I tell him what he was telling me to do. As the water started to boil, he sent me an evil grin, and I texted back a bratty eye roll and let that sit while I ate supper. He was excellent dinner company.

After I was done eating, I sent him a picture of my nicely-made bed and got in. Just like he did in the story I was telling him, I pulled up my shirt and down my bra. My nipples were sticking straight up, ready and bright, bright pink. After a few tries, I got a good picture of them and sent it over. I played with my boobs while I waited for the next text to come.

He sent back a try at dirty talk and I rewrote it so it was nastier.

I was conscious of trying not to borrow from scenes I’d already had and written—it was fun to try fiction, to write a fantasy just for him.

It occurred to me that it would be awkward for Sweetie to come home in the middle of this so I called to get her ETA and give her a heads-up. Also I accidentally dialed Mr. Shiny Eyes in the process. #togetherness

Sweetie was a half hour away and I was soaking wet. My fingers slipped around inside my plain flowered undies and inside myself—I was ready for him. There was plenty of time for me to come but I kept losing track of time—texting, playing, texting, playing. It’s kind of magical that I could be that turned on by him even though he’s such a long way away.

Sweetie came in before I was finished but was unfazed—she just closed the bedroom door and went to make herself supper. Mr. Sweetheart asked me where I wanted his cum.

“Well, I tried to swallow for you but you pushed me away and it went all over…”

He texted: “As your reward, I lean in, lick your cum covered tits, then offer you a creamy kiss. :) <3 <3 xoxo”

It was a good reward. I was unsure of the etiquette for ending such an exchange, other than to let him know that I’d come. I told him that next time we’ll have to think of a way to metaphorically snuggle afterwards. I’m excited to write him some more stories.

Yay, Sweetie Learned a New Harness!

Last Saturday we went to a rope class, a discussion, and a play party, all given by the same group. So much happened in that one night, I'll try to write out all the complicated stuff this week, but first, a pretty picture! She's been moved up to the intermediate class! *proud*

Sweetie’s Knack for Ropes Part Two: Nice Safe Room

Getting ready to go out to the rope class and play party last Saturday night, I wonder if Sweetie and I were nuts for going to a play party together. Though we’ve been expanding our repertoire lately, we’ve always treated each other pretty gently in bed. Even a good marriage accumulates its share of sadness and anger, and until recently we’ve been over-careful of keeping hurty or aggressive aspects out of the bedroom. We were both worried that doing a public scene might make us cry.

Also, I was superscared of running into Fireguy and Varga Girl, Varga Girl especially—I know there’s absolutely nothing I can do about her hating me. Sweetie said she would protect me, but I knew there was really nothing she could do, nothing they could do either, for that matter. I wanted to get back out to a party before the fear built up too much, see if I still had a place there.

Packing up my suitcase gave me a little boost of confidence, a little swagger. Especially since I’d packed my favorite fluffy blanket and a pack of fresh socks. Back when he and I had possibilities, Fireguy balked at the idea of me bringing my own blanket, but I think I always will. Only having to depend on Sweetie and myself was comforting and empowering. As I was curling my hair, I declared:

“Know who I’m collared to? This girl.” And pointed to myself. I’m not sure if it’ll be that way forever, but it will for at least a little while.

My fears were dispelled as soon as we walked up the stairs to the banquet room where the party was being held. Sometimes when I walk into a play party, I feel the stress just whoosh out of me, and this was one of those times. There were various pieces of furniture for spanking, tying up, and suspending people arranged all around the room, but to me it just felt peaceful. I walked in and knew Fireguy wouldn’t be there that night, and he wasn’t.

The rope class leader was at the welcome table doing the release-signings. There was a thing on the release saying I couldn’t write about the things that happened there, but he said I’m okay because I don’t use party or person names. Otherwise, I guess Sweetie and I would’ve had to go home and play. Another release, another membership card. I put my mom down as an emergency contact, and so did Sweetie. People looked at us funny for that, but really, if I’m hurt, what’s my mom gonna care where I am. she’d probably just be glad I was there with Sweetie. But also maybe ask me what she used to ask me during my high school mosh pit days—“Why do you like hurting yourself?” Still a good question!

Anyway, The party/class leader is an ex-Marine, but an easygoing, down-to-earth guy’s guy. His energy kind of reminded me of my brother-n-law’s. His partner/bottom, (one of them) a gorgeous brunette about my age, promptly stripped down to her body stocking to help him demo.

There’d been homework that Sweetie hadn’t gotten to work on, the Somerville Bowline knot, but she picked it up quick enough. Most people were suing their own leg to practice on, but I stuck out mine for her. Next to us, not on the same knot, there was a Domme with a very subdued guy for her bottom. She kept tying and re-tying him in different configurations. I heard two words out of him the whole night: “It pinches.” and she responded harshly “I’ll get to it in a minute.”

There was a cute switchy couple practicing their knots on their own legs. Some couples weren’t practicing at all, just snuggling. As I’d seen at other parties, there was a range of ages and sizes—what most people had in common was the fact that they were making lovey-eyes at each other.

When there wasn’t a task at hand, Sweetie looped the ropes around me, practicing. I held out my wrists together and she wove them together looping and pulling through over and over to make a loose and very pretty cuff.

One part of the lesson that I liked was when the teacher said “One thing I always tell you is “Don’t break your toys.” Well, you know one thing that won’t break? Her mouth. You fuck up, she’s telling everybody.”

I don’t know why, but I found that comforting. It made my bratty heart sing.

Next: Our Pretty Pink Scene

Sweetie's Knack for Ropes Part One: A Pretty Picture and Two Lists

Sweetie and I had a great time this weekend with the ropes both at a play party and at home. I can't wait to write a whole bunch of smut about her, but for today, just two lists:

What She Learned Online and in Class Over the Weekend:

Simple Shinju
No-Knot Two-Column Weave
Double Butterfly Knot
Somerville Bowline Knot

What Goes in My Suitcase

change of clothes (In this case, pink pajamas)
pack of fresh socks
water
pretty ribbons
my own fluffy silver blanket

Proof of Spankability

Continuing on the theme of showing off...This is another picture from my photoplay story... Fireguy wanted me to see just how spankable I am--he's helpful like that.

Momentum Con Part One: The Winner for Best Epiphany

(The photo above isn’t something that happened at Momentum. It’s a picture from my FetLife profile, taken during my photo play session with Fireguy. I’ll get to why it’s relevant in a sec.)

Momentum Con was exactly the right thing to go to. It really helped me to understand how I can contribute to the overall project of sex-positive feminism. Getting to meet some of my sexpert idols filled me with courage and, yes, momentum.

I liked my first foray into live tweeting: you can see what I said at @kittencalendar and what everybody said at #mcon .

I’ll say more about the larger themes of the conference later in the week, and I’ll post a reference list, too, but the experiences that are most relevant to this project were both very personal. They both happened yesterday as the conference was starting to wind down.

The first was: I skipped the fist set of sessions to take advantage of the big, fluffy hotel bed with Sweetie. As we were getting started she said “Remember, we’re in a hotel, so….”

And I said “So?”

We had a fantastic time and I was just as loud as can be. (If we’d been in the host hotel, it would have been even more fun.) While we were spooning afterwards, Sweetie said (all mocking-affectionate)

“You’re just a show-off.”

And what else could I do but tweet about it to the con’s live feed?

The second thing was this: One of the things I was most excited to go to was Cunning Minx (Polyweekly.com) giving her talk on “How Not to Be a Douche on FetLife” I’d heard parts of it already on the podcast (and, in fact used it in building my FetLife profile) but I love etiquette talk of all kinds and I was excited and starstruck to meet Minx.

When she asked for volunteers to share on the big screen and use as examples, my hand shot up. She’d mentioned being a smiley sub, and I wanted to show her that we had that in common. It felt so, so good for my profile, and especially my picture gallery, to be up there in front of all those nice polyamorists. It was a moment of pure joy and recognition, especially when someone in the crowd piped up “Great ass!” Thanks. It also makes me superproud that Minx pronounced my profile “adorable.”

She thanked me for volunteering, and people kept being really sweet and saying I was brave, but honestly I’ve never felt so indulged in my life. That burst of joy from being a show-off was such a big epiphany.

I was thinking about those two experiences on the way to therapy this morning, and I realized that wanting to show off is a big part of my earliest sexual experimentation. When I first started getting boobs (around 12) I was completely obsessed with them. (That sure hasn’t changed!) I couldn’t get enough of touching them. When my family was away from the house, I would stand in the upstairs window, pull up my shirt, and just play with them for hours.  We lived in the middle of nowhere and it was extremely unlikely that anyone ever would’ve seen me.

Once or twice, I even wrapped up in a sheet, went outside, dropped the sheet and walked around naked in the middle of the day.  Apparently I was close to my inner Bettie Page before I even knew who that was!

My childhood was not a sex-positive one by any definition. Our house was full of anger, shame, criticism, fear, and abuse. The fact that young me was able to find enough inner safety to want to be exposed, to take so much pleasure in it, seems like a miracle to me. I am very proud of that person and so encouraged by the way pleasure can overcome such adversity sometimes.

The power of pleasure was one of the overarching themes of the conference. It’s a wonderful blessing to feel it so deeply within my own body. Thanks.

Photoplay Part Three: Some Thoughts on Some Spankings

So after I got out of the cozy cuffs, Q asked me to pose with a riding crop in my hand. Toppy things aren’t my superfavorite, but how could I not feel how anyway? He had me pose looking over my glasses like a strict librarian, which came kind of naturally.

Next he asked, “So, do you know submissive position number one?” No, but of course I wanted to learn it. It’s not that different from yoga. I took off my pretty shoes and knelt on my feet, hands resting palms up on my knees like you are supposed to do when meditating. It was a lot like meditating, if while meditating someone happens to tell you to “spread your legs more.” (Seriously, swoon.) He had me sit up straight: “This is a gift, it’s something to be proud of.” When I looked in the camera, I sure had the badass expression I’d been hoping for. And then, hooray, he asked if he could pull my hair.

He took hold of the hair right at the back of my head, and pulled, snapping a picture as he did so. If I’d’ve known him better, I would’ve said “Harder.” Of course I was smiling too much to have a serious expression in the picture. Then more joy from a little string of bites along my shoulder to my neck.

After that, it was time to change into my PJs-they could conceivably work in an author photo, but mostly I’m just obsessed with them. The photo above does not manage to convey just how SOFT these pajamas are. I climbed up onto the table in the secret room and did my best to look like a pinup. I said I was going for spankability and he took a picture of my ass to show me just exactly how spankable it was. A lot to very if I do say so myself.

Now comes the time to muse about spankings. It was never something I liked before Bill—I always thought it was kind of ridiculous, but the way Bill did it was compelling-swift and arbitrary. He’d pull me into a cuddle and then surprise me with a smack, or make me hang over his lap with my head upside down. I laughed the first couple of times, but after a while it got less funny, it started to be one of the things I thought about when he wasn’t around.

I’d seen Q testing out a paddle on H at the munch and I liked their style (and, okay, her ass) so when he said I could be spanked if I wanted to, I was like, yes, please. When I was closing the door to the secret room, a shelf came loose and I broke a little figurine, so there was even a reason. He took me be the hand and led me to the couch.

This whole time, I’d felt more and more peaceful. I felt like settling in for a nap. Lying across his lap made it all the more cozy. He started with a series of light slaps, alternating between the cheeks and from harder to softer. then he asked if he could take my pants down and I said sure. He did it so gently and deliberately, arranging my pajama bottoms and lacy pink undies artfully around my butt. All the while he was telling me I was a good girl, which Bill had done exactly once. By email. The smacks got harder and he said “Take a deep breath” then smacked as I was exhaling so that the exhale turned into delighted giggles.

I was just about to ask for more hair-pulling, but he declared us finished. After that I got a nice little cuddle. Sweetie was on the way to help with the fire, but first, pretty ropes!

Next: Ropes! Fire! Sweetie!

Photoplay Part Two: A Secret Room!

After Sweetie left, I drank a nervous beer and chatted with Q, and then it was time to go downstairs for pictures. E told me she was doing a Wal Mart run in a little bit and asked if I needed anything. Chocolate-covered strawberries, maybe? I laughed and said no thanks and told her again how adorable she was. And if we needed some cute food, I’d brought cupcakes.

While I’m walking down the stairs with a near-stranger to have my picture taken in his basement, a few words about being submissive. Most of the appeal of submitting, most of the intoxication of it, comes from trust. With Bill, that wasn’t it. It was more of a helpless feeling, like I couldn’t get away if I wanted to, and also he scared me/turned me on so much that it turned my brain into a test pattern. Fun, but not trust. With Sweetie, there’s mountains of trust that comes from knowing each other so well for so long, and plus it’s just kind of easier for me to trust a woman.

Walking down those stairs, I felt closer to the trusting-a-guy that’s been my goal for a while. It was just a simple matter of listening to my body telling me I was safe, or pure physical intuition. So even though it was kind of a scary/awkward situation, I relaxed into it, and it felt like a relief.

While Q set up the backdrops and such, he asked if I could find the entrance to the secret room. (Of course there’s a secret room…) I looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary besides the table of various safe-sex things left over from the party and some lovely framed photos of people in various states of loving hurt. He said, “When there’s a secret passageway in a movie, how do people get in?”

Oh! The bookshelf! All I had to do was take one book off the shelf, just like in Scooby Doo! When I moved that book and the doorway opened, I was flooded with delight and optimism. It was seriously one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.

This was the room where we’d do the fire portraits later, he explained. It’s probably pretty close to what you’d imagine a secret room would look like. There was a massage table, a tool rack on the wall of paddles and various other spanking implements, loops on the wall to attach people to, and (for photography, I guess) a lot of outlets. And, offering a smile of encouragement, was big poster of Bettie Page dressed to kill in red leather and smiling like my heart’s desire. So happy to know about this room.

Author photos didn’t take long. I’d dressed in sort of a librarian-ish outfit—pencil skirt and a cute black and white cardigan, my favorite ribbon necklace. Also, fishnets and heels for no particular reason. I liked it when I took off my glasses and he told me I have beautiful eyes. Things started to get less author photo-y when I was standing in a doorway that happened to have a pair of bondage cuffs hanging down. He asked if I’d like to get in them and I was like “Um, yeah!”

They were fur-lined. “I like my subs to feel comfortable when I torture them.” It was hard to imagine feeling tortured, I was so darn happy. I never do too well at looking trapped and helpless because I’m generally so pleased about being restrained. I tend to have a big smile across my face when I’m in situations like this—not that I’m in many situations like this!

Next: A riding crop in my hand, submissive position number one, some musings about some spankings.

Photoplay, Part One: I Arrive in the Suburbs With a Gingham Suitcase

After the munch, I made friends with H and Q, --how could I not, with imaginations like those! Exchanging messages on FetLife, he told me that Amy and I should get to know his lovely wife as well, and that we would all get along swimmingly. He said that if there was anything I’d like to try at a party, he’d be glad to demo it for me. I must’ve seemed like I was hitting on him in a romantic way, because he told me a couple of times that his dance card is full, and whenever he said that, I’d cry, not out of jealousy, just from missing the connection I’d had with Bill so much.

Q and his wife run a photography business, and after this several-part series, you’ll see why I would highly recommend it to anyone. Feel free to email me for information on how to get in touch with them.

Tears notwithstanding, I do like a photo shoot for big life milestones. In high school, I came out of the closet by staging a photo shoot in which I made out with my crush and encouraged my girl friends to make out with each other. I developed the negatives in Photography class at school, and they got confiscated. All of our parents got called in and the whole school found out. Even though I got hollered at and smacked around by bullies, I spent the rest of that school year feeling like a badass.

So, okay, I had ulterior motives when I asked Q to do my author photo for my book that’s coming out this summer. I knew that I wanted some pictures to happen that wouldn’t be appropriate for the back of a book. Learning to goof around in a friendly way is one of my goals, and I thought it would be a good way to heal from Bill and start my kinky life with flourish. Ulterior motives seem silly now. I could have just said what I wanted to do. I guess I can work on that.

He agreed to do the photos in exchange for me “posing with fire” for his portfolio. I wasn’t sure what that would be like, but it sounded like exactly what I wanted to accomplish.

I took the day off of work and so did sweetie. I was nervous and not sure what would happen, but I packed up a few outfits, including my favorite pink pajamas, in my gingham suitcase, put on my favorite undies for luck. The photography couple lives out in the suburbs, so the plan was for Sweetie to drive me there and then go to a nearby diner to do some design work.

When we got out the car on a street that looks like the ones my in-laws live on, the air smelled like springtime. Their house was perfectly new and pretty, with a little stone angel statuette sitting on a bench on the porch. E, the wife, opened the door, unsurprisingly as adorable as can be. She reminds me of Hope Davis playing Joyce Brabner in American Splendor, except more friendly and effusive.

They told us the house was recovering from Q’s birthday party the previous Saturday. There was a round mattress on the floor covered in a red satin sheet, and a person-sized cage dismantled on the living room floor and ready to be put away. E told me that three girls had gotten in there and then gotten creative with some chocolate covered strawberries. I found the house so comforting and safe and wanted to settle in for a good, long time.

Q got to talking to Sweetie for a few minutes, and E told me that she and Q had been together for 30 years, since they were in school together. E has a girlfriend who’d made a plaster cast of her bosom at the party. It was downstairs waiting to be painted.  This is clearly the polyamorous constellation to emulate. Their warmth and generosity really drove the point home:

People who are well-fucked sure are nice.

Next time: It feels perfectly normal to go into a near stranger’s basement.