So the past few weeks have been extremely busy at work and at home and I really haven't had a chance to post about something in the lifestyle. So I will give it a whirl today and see if I can energize you.
I have been asked before, "How do you know when a submissive has had enough in a scene?" Well, there are many variables to consider when scening with someone. Body language never lies. Let me give you an example or two. If I have a submissive over my knee and I am giving her a bare handed spanking, I will vary the areas I spank. Trying to avoid the same area with consecutive swats. I always feel for body tensing, relaxing, jerking etc. If the submissive is clenching their ass cheeks together, that is a good sign. Means they can still feel it. They are expecting a swat. Check the heat radiating from their skin every so often. The hotter it is, the more then skin is stinging. If the skin is cold, there is no blood circulation. And I am not talking about it being cold because they have been sitting on ice or the room is cold. Gently touch the skin. I am constantly checking for welts. Looking for broken skin. If I see a welt that is purple, then I will avoid it. There is blood under the skin. If a sub can take it until I am welted her entire ass, I will then stop. No use in causing more harm. And yes I have ended a scene or two because of that. Watch and feel the body language. If your sub is gagged, they can not use a safe word. If the body goes limp, typically they have zoned out or gone into subspace. Listen for sobs. Listen for the sniffles.
If I have a sub bound to a cross, or whipping bench or some other object, I will check the sub more often then when they are across my knee. I am unable to feel the twitches in their body or skin. Seeing is always believing. Watching their reaction is always a good sign of more or not. But sometimes, you have to physically touch them. Maybe whisper into their ear. If using a flogger, make sure to not wrap the flogger and hit some place you shouldn't like their face or eyes. Avoid the kidney area if possible. A swat here and there is fine. but don't concentrate on that all the time. If all else fails use common sense.
Of course all of this is dependent on the prenegotiation between me and the sub. Sometimes it is a quick spanking lasting 20-30 mins or an intense flogging that leaves me dripping in sweat. Only once have I had a sub truly safe word out. I have had a few that have used a safe word after the 3 or 4th swat. Those don't count. I'm not bragging saying I am the best because I know there are others out there who will disagree with me. My point is, I am constantly analyzing the scene, the submissive, myself and everything else around me. If I am in a public setting carrying out a scene, do NOT disturb me unless you are stopping me. I need concentration on what I am doing and who I am doing it with. interrupting me to comment or compliment on something can wait until I am finished. Most often if you interrupt me or someone else in a scene without provocation, you will get a dirty look either from the Dom or sub, if not both. If you are watching me carry out a scene and you are not involved, then be quiet and be still.
These are just a few things I am always looking for. If you are exercising common sense, then things should be ok. If you are acting in a wreckless manner, someone could and will get hurt.
My final thought is this. Always be aware of whats going on. Don't just step up and swat swat swat away for the hell of it. know what you are doing or what you are taking, Know what your limits are. Know what the other parties limits are. If you don't know how to pick up on body language, then be patient. Take your time and observe. Don't be abusive. If you are unsure, then speak up. Ask for advice or help. The only stupid question is the one you DON'T ask.
Me
I will inflict the pain, but I will kiss away the tears.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
The 2 darkest nights in my life.
The past few days I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my past. Yesterday I wrote about a friend of mine. Thank you all for your kind words and offers of support. As usual though, no one posted anything here. I'm starting to think no one reads this blog. Anyhow, I am not going to step on my soap box. A few of you have expressed how I keep things inside me. I am a tough read. I am a secretive person. Well allow me to tell you a little about my past.
My mom and dad married young and before I was 2, they divorced. I never knew my dad. The only relationship I had was the monthly child support check mailed in. My mom remarried when I was 6. He was a local police officer. My sister came less then a year later. We moved about 6 or 7 times between the age of 6 and 13. When I was 12 we had one of the worst winters on record where I am from. The month of January, I spent most of the month home since schools were closed. On Jan 20, we had the coldest night in history. 24 below. That January I truly bonded with my step dad. The previous years we never really spent a lot of time together. We went to football games, or fishing, but 3 or 4 hours together every once and awhile just wasn't cutting it. He was always supportive when I played sports. Always making sure he was there when he was on duty. Don't get me wrong, he wasn't a bad guy. We just never had time together. A couple of nights later, while outside playing with the kids in the neighborhood, I was blindsided by a snowball thrown by my dad. A brief snowball fight was ended when I threw one and nailed him in the nuts. After we laughed and wrestled a little, we made our way home. He told me he would be home tomorrow and we could continue our snowball fight. "I will even make pancakes in the morning." One of the last things he ever said to me.
The next morning, my mom took my sister and I to our grandparents house because dad got a call in the middle of the night to go to work. Waking up to voices downstairs, I looked outside and saw more police cars with their lights on then I could have imagined the whole city had. Walking downstairs, the sight of so many police officers in uniform, guns at their sides and tears in their eyes. My mom sitting on the sofa, tears streaming down her cheeks, a man comforting her. "I knew something had happened with him when he didn't call." Those words are forever burned into my memory. I ran back upstairs and hid under the covers. I didn't know what was going on. My sister climbed into bed with me and tried our best to listen to what was being said downstairs. We both fell back asleep, only to be awaken by my grandfather opening the bedroom door. His large stature looking above me, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He put his hand on my shoulder, gently shook me and through the lump in his throat, he whispered...."Frank is dead." I started crying. The man who was my father figure was gone.
The next several days were extremely difficult on me. Watching my mom cry. Looking at my sister who really didn't understand what was going on. At 5, she didn't have a father anymore. I remember the visitation. I remember the funeral. I remember seeing the flag draped coffin. I remember the scores of people who attended the graveside. The news reported that was the longest funeral procession that they had ever seen. I remember sitting next to my mom. Her arm hooked with mine. I was being a gentleman. I had not cried since being told of his death. I was the pillar that mom leaned on. I was strong. I was stoic. After the flag was folded and handed to my mom, that is when I broke. I don't remember anything after that until going back to school a few days later. One of my classmates, her name is Carrie, came to me, hugged me and told me I looked handsome on TV. I was on TV? One of my teachers came to me with tears in her eyes, hugged me and told me she was sorry for my loss. I broke down again. I was tired of crying. After some time alone, I finally made up my mind I would never cry in front of anyone again. I decided it was best to keep my feelings to myself. That night, I asked mom if we were on TV. She handed me a video tape and said this is from the news. I put it in and after a few seconds, the news reporter was on, the story told and then video footage of the funeral. The cars. The officers. The mayor. The sheriff. Mom, granddaddy, my uncles. My sister. My mom and me, sitting next to her. The stone faced, strong, upright young man I turned into over night. Then there I was, on my knees, hugging the coffin.
Fast forward in my life to Jan 13, 2004. Sitting at work, the time was 1:42 in the afternoon. My cell phone rings and the number was from back home. The only person who called was mom. It was not her number. I answered it. The voice on the other end told me how he had found my mom, unconscious in her apartment. The ambulance was there. The EMT's attending to her. The voice said it wasn't good. "I am on my way." I made 3 phone calls. One to my sister, telling her to get to the hospital. The second to my fiance. And the third to my boss telling him I had an emergency. Normally the drive home was 2 and half hours. I made it in 2. At 3:20 am January 14, I was awaken by the nurse telling me mom was not getting better. I went into her room, looked at all the machines. The monitors. The blood transfusions. Her bloated body due to the internal bleeding. The doctor tells me there isn't much else they can do. Mom and I had had the conversation many times about how neither of us wanted a machine to keep us alive. for 12 hours, I went against her wishes. I didn't want her to die. I finally looked at the doctor and said, "She doesn't want this. Unplug her from the machines." I stepped out of the room while they did their work and in 10 minutes, I was sitting next to my mom. Holding her hand. Stroking her hair. Talking to her. Telling her it was time to go. Time to be with Frank. Tell Frank hi for me. Tell granddaddy I miss him. I held her hand and at 4:20am, she took her last breath. Her heart stopped beating. She was gone. I cried for the first time in front of a stranger since I was 12.
Now you know more about the inside of me. Now you know why I choose to be dark and hard to read. Now, you know.
Me
I will inflict the pain, but I will kiss away the tears.
My mom and dad married young and before I was 2, they divorced. I never knew my dad. The only relationship I had was the monthly child support check mailed in. My mom remarried when I was 6. He was a local police officer. My sister came less then a year later. We moved about 6 or 7 times between the age of 6 and 13. When I was 12 we had one of the worst winters on record where I am from. The month of January, I spent most of the month home since schools were closed. On Jan 20, we had the coldest night in history. 24 below. That January I truly bonded with my step dad. The previous years we never really spent a lot of time together. We went to football games, or fishing, but 3 or 4 hours together every once and awhile just wasn't cutting it. He was always supportive when I played sports. Always making sure he was there when he was on duty. Don't get me wrong, he wasn't a bad guy. We just never had time together. A couple of nights later, while outside playing with the kids in the neighborhood, I was blindsided by a snowball thrown by my dad. A brief snowball fight was ended when I threw one and nailed him in the nuts. After we laughed and wrestled a little, we made our way home. He told me he would be home tomorrow and we could continue our snowball fight. "I will even make pancakes in the morning." One of the last things he ever said to me.
The next morning, my mom took my sister and I to our grandparents house because dad got a call in the middle of the night to go to work. Waking up to voices downstairs, I looked outside and saw more police cars with their lights on then I could have imagined the whole city had. Walking downstairs, the sight of so many police officers in uniform, guns at their sides and tears in their eyes. My mom sitting on the sofa, tears streaming down her cheeks, a man comforting her. "I knew something had happened with him when he didn't call." Those words are forever burned into my memory. I ran back upstairs and hid under the covers. I didn't know what was going on. My sister climbed into bed with me and tried our best to listen to what was being said downstairs. We both fell back asleep, only to be awaken by my grandfather opening the bedroom door. His large stature looking above me, he sat down on the edge of the bed. He put his hand on my shoulder, gently shook me and through the lump in his throat, he whispered...."Frank is dead." I started crying. The man who was my father figure was gone.
The next several days were extremely difficult on me. Watching my mom cry. Looking at my sister who really didn't understand what was going on. At 5, she didn't have a father anymore. I remember the visitation. I remember the funeral. I remember seeing the flag draped coffin. I remember the scores of people who attended the graveside. The news reported that was the longest funeral procession that they had ever seen. I remember sitting next to my mom. Her arm hooked with mine. I was being a gentleman. I had not cried since being told of his death. I was the pillar that mom leaned on. I was strong. I was stoic. After the flag was folded and handed to my mom, that is when I broke. I don't remember anything after that until going back to school a few days later. One of my classmates, her name is Carrie, came to me, hugged me and told me I looked handsome on TV. I was on TV? One of my teachers came to me with tears in her eyes, hugged me and told me she was sorry for my loss. I broke down again. I was tired of crying. After some time alone, I finally made up my mind I would never cry in front of anyone again. I decided it was best to keep my feelings to myself. That night, I asked mom if we were on TV. She handed me a video tape and said this is from the news. I put it in and after a few seconds, the news reporter was on, the story told and then video footage of the funeral. The cars. The officers. The mayor. The sheriff. Mom, granddaddy, my uncles. My sister. My mom and me, sitting next to her. The stone faced, strong, upright young man I turned into over night. Then there I was, on my knees, hugging the coffin.
Fast forward in my life to Jan 13, 2004. Sitting at work, the time was 1:42 in the afternoon. My cell phone rings and the number was from back home. The only person who called was mom. It was not her number. I answered it. The voice on the other end told me how he had found my mom, unconscious in her apartment. The ambulance was there. The EMT's attending to her. The voice said it wasn't good. "I am on my way." I made 3 phone calls. One to my sister, telling her to get to the hospital. The second to my fiance. And the third to my boss telling him I had an emergency. Normally the drive home was 2 and half hours. I made it in 2. At 3:20 am January 14, I was awaken by the nurse telling me mom was not getting better. I went into her room, looked at all the machines. The monitors. The blood transfusions. Her bloated body due to the internal bleeding. The doctor tells me there isn't much else they can do. Mom and I had had the conversation many times about how neither of us wanted a machine to keep us alive. for 12 hours, I went against her wishes. I didn't want her to die. I finally looked at the doctor and said, "She doesn't want this. Unplug her from the machines." I stepped out of the room while they did their work and in 10 minutes, I was sitting next to my mom. Holding her hand. Stroking her hair. Talking to her. Telling her it was time to go. Time to be with Frank. Tell Frank hi for me. Tell granddaddy I miss him. I held her hand and at 4:20am, she took her last breath. Her heart stopped beating. She was gone. I cried for the first time in front of a stranger since I was 12.
Now you know more about the inside of me. Now you know why I choose to be dark and hard to read. Now, you know.
Me
I will inflict the pain, but I will kiss away the tears.
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