Posted in art, play, writing on February 4, 2011 by Gray
Last night, as I was trying to get to the Red Umbrella Project, I had spent a bit too long chatting with the charming Arden. So my connection on the subway, from the A line to the B, was pretty tight. Getting off the A line, I ran down the stairs to what I thought was the B line and saw a train right there, doors open.
I ran, doing the traditional grand jete over the threshold, and as the doors closed behind me, I realized I had no idea what train I was on. I hadn’t bothered to look; the door was open, and I just leaped through.
Turned out it was the B, and I made it ok. But there was that moment of thrill, of the unknown, of just going for it.
It was a good reminder for life in general. Sometimes, to get where you wanna go, you just gotta jump.
As revealed to Graydancer, Ninja Sex Poodle & Ronin of Love
1. And it came to pass that in that land there were an abundance of people who did delight in sharing their kink one with another.
2. And while it was agreed that their kinks had oft been begotten by the Old Guard, verily all of their efforts to define that Old Guard fell like ripe seeds upon barren soil, bearing no fruit and causing much bitterness and strife and letters to the editor. And as none were happy with this, they stopped. And much rejoicing was heard amongst teh interwebs.
4. And while it was generally agreed upon that because of this nebulousness of form amongst our kinky forebears and foredykes and foredaddies and foreboys and forebois and thou gettest the idea, it was also evident to all that certain commonalities did exist among the communities.
5. Whereupon it came to pass in the City of Wind, amongst the flock of the prophet Howie and his many ministers and ministrixes, a small band of pansexuals did gather together to partake of the sacraments of sushi.
6. And amongst this group some did top and some did bottom and some did both, and there were players of the edge and they who of a surety were n00bs, and yet they did dwell together in that place of raw fish and edamame in harmony and laughter.
7. Verily the sushi was shared by Kimono Boy and Painslut alike, and from the cleansing power of wasabi their minds were collectively opened to revelation.
8. For while there is no one true way, yet there is still common experience shared by those who do kink in public.
9. And ten commandments were handed down from their collective soylent souls, “commandments” being defined as in any kinky endeavor as agreed upon by those parties consenting to play one with another.
10. The first of these commandments was caused by the envy of many for the member of their party whose dance card did begin with Saint Claire of Adams that night. And it was rendered thus:
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors play date.
11. And the second commandment was inspired by the travails of good Saint Jack McGeorge, who saith,
Thou shalt not out another’s kink.
12. New words were deemed necessary then to describe those who sin through disacceptance of another’s kink:
Thou shalt not commit judgery.
13. The fourth commandment, thus:
Thou shalt honor the safeword and keep it wholly;
Neither shalt thou utter the safeword in vain.
14. The fifth commandment was the shortest, needing no explanation:
Ouch is not a safeword.
15. When thou walkest amongst those who sceneth, remember well the sixth commandment:
Thou shalt not interrupt.
16. Of two parts was the seventh commandment, each the helpmeet of the other:
Thou shalt ask for what thee wants,
And thou shalt get what thee asketh for.
17. Many sad and sorrowful word formed the eighth commandment and were put therein:
Thou shalt not stand
in the corner of the dungeon
by thyself
and crack thy singletail all night long.
Verily the seraph Sheryn did find fewer words to fit in the eighth commandment, rendering it thusly:
Thou shalt not be creepy.
18. With much respect and honor for the past did the ninth commandment come to be:
Unless thy name is Chuck Renslow,
Thou art probably not Old Guard.
19. The final commandment of kind was directed to those who believe they are Gods, and have forsaken the knowledge that while that may be true, there have been many Gods before and there will of a surety be many after. The tenth commandment is for all who sceneth:
Thine ego must fit
within a 4000 square foot dungeon,
Lest it afflict thy fellows
with the awful stench
Of unwashed hubris.
20. And upon the uttering of the tenth commandment, those assembled were filled with the desire to leave the land of sushi and spread their floggers and cheeks wheresoever the opportunity presenteth, being mindful of the commandments and keeping them wholly.
21. And it was good.
Previously published in Protocols, a Variety of Views, edited by Robert Rubel, PhD.Apologies to those whose religious beliefs do not have room for parody, and will therefore be offended by this.
Tony Comstock is a pornographer writer sailor father husband filmmaker guy who cares about the state of sexual mores in our culture. And when I say cares, I mean more than just donating to Scarleteen and the NCSF and making movies about real people having real sex because they are really in love.
He is going to be putting his (literary) ass on the line:
“In late 2008 I began a deliberate campaign to take my ideas beyond the safe confines of my little corner of the internet. I began engaging on blogs and forums where I knew my films and the ideas they represent would be greeted with, at best, suspicion, if not outright hostility. This process has been hugely demanding — of my time, of my energy, of my emotions — with no guarantee that my efforts would ever bear fruit.”
But bear fruit it did. In fact, his writing (which is excellent in its own right) was noticed by none other than Atlantic columnist James Fallows. Which is why Tony Comstock will be covering for Fallows for the first half of February. Tony talks about what he plans to do with this suddenly huge soapbox:
By the end of the week, I hope to have laid out a case for the idea that while we live in an age where extremely graphic, often upsetting sexual imagery is but a mouse-click away, images that explore and celebrate love and sexuality in the same way that Valentine’s day celebrates love and sexuality are vanishingly rare.
“I am also going to talk about how law, custom, economics, and technology interact to enforce a wide gulf between the well-crafted, but oddly coy depictions of sexuality in mainstream film and television, and the poorly made, often cartoonishly vulgar depictions that seem to characterize the collision of sex and the moving image.
Along the way I’ll touch on subjects of more general interest, including: algorithmic morality, climax ecology, boiled frogs, what you can and can’t see from outer-space, boxing, Steve Jobs’ liver, Dick Cheney’s heart, gun-control, and dog fighting.”
I’m almost drooling with excitement. That list of subjects is like an aphrodisiac.
His sojourn as an Atlantic guest-blogger begins February 7 and runs through February 13, the day before Valentine’s day. I’ll certainly be following it, but I suspect that as a community of sex-positive writers and bloggers and freaks we should make sure to respectfully and openly support this foray into the mass media by one of our own.
Shooting with Michele Serchuk=Another Good Decision
It is the season for Wrap Ups, for Looks Back, for reflection and “what the fuck happened?” to mingle in the brain. I normally don’t do such things; arbitrary ends-of-years (you do remember that more than half the world doesn’t see this as the New Year, right?) don’t normally appeal to me.
However, I had a dream the other night. It was a class I was organizing, and the theme was “Best & Worst.” I think it came from the series of posts from people like Lochai and Voron on Fetlife about the “end result or process?” or the “most important safety rule“. And as much as I dislike hyperbole and dyadic choices (life is not the Kobiyashi Maru, in my opinion) I think there might be some value in exploring the questions:
What was the best kinky thing you did all year?
What was the worst?
Note the limiting factors: kinky and year. Feel free to expand and try and think of the best or worst thing you’ve done in general, or in your entire life, but when I did that my head either wanted to explode or to wander down a dark spiral of self-recrimination and regret. Neither really good things.
So…what was the best kinky thing you did all year, Graydancer?
Hmm…probably it was the decision to embrace my avocation and try to unite it with my vocation. I tried having a “normal” job for a while, for a little more than half the year. 9 to 5, insurance (sort of, though it didn’t cover the things I actually needed treatment for), overtime, vacation…the whole shebang.
But it was soul-deadening. The contrast between the people that I connected with through writing, podcasting, teaching, and performing, vs. the people I suckered into buying shitty properties on eBay at my job became intolerable. In the end, I had to realize that the only thing I was accomplishing at that job was making my boss richer, and that was at the cost of not only the sucker’s money but also at the cost of my quality of life, and the quality of life of those I loved.
So one weekend I walked in, packed up my personal items from my desk, sent emails of resignation to the two immediate superiors and the big boss, and left. I resolved that it was better to be poor, insecure, and happily contributing positively to the world (at least, as far as I can tell) than to be a dead soul with a steady paycheck.
Since then, life has been one good thing happening after another. I have been able to teach and do things with people I’d never expected or dreamed of, and 2011 is looking even better. Does my bank account suffer? Hell yes. But really, in the bigger scheme of things, having tried both ways…this is where I belong, doing what I’m doing. Best. Decision. All. Year.
Eh, that’s an easy one. What about the worst thing you did all year?
Ah, now, here’s the decision time. Do I open myself up to the teeming masses (ha) reading this blog and go for the intensely personal experience, or take the easy route and go with “well, I didn’t check that I tied that Gravity Boot correctly on the famous Oreo Cookie suspension…”
If you do this exercise, I warn you, this is dangerous territory. Regret and guilt are two of the most insidious and yet worthless emotions there are, because they really don’t accomplish anything. The past is the past, and you can’t change it, and more than that, there is no way to tell if the past is exactly what needed to happen to get you where you are right now – in my case, sitting in bed in my friend’s flat in San Francisco with a happily tired and snuggly DoNotGoGently next to me. I wouldn’t trade this for anything, so how can I be sure that anything I did to lead up to this should have been changed?
Well, ok, I’ll stop dodging the question. The worst thing I’ve done in my kinky life all year…it’s not really one thing. It’s more the area of my kinky life where I wish I was doing better, making better decisions, able to explore and develop it more skillfully.
It’s the area of dominant and submissive relationships. I still carry around a big huge hangup from my first real D/s experience, and while it has benefited me in terms of education, it has certainly stunted my own development. About all I know is that I am “wired” for that kind of relationship – but making that wiring actually function seems to be a very difficult process of talking things out and trying things out with my partners, whether play- or life-. These are some of the more difficult and clumsy conversations I’ve had, and mis-steps and mis-communications and mis-takes have led to a great deal of strife and pain for myself and those I love. So what have I done the worst in my kinky life over the past year? Managed my identity as a dominant kinky person.
There. Now I know what I can choose to work on in the future. Or not; sometimes you just do the best you can, and have to keep muddling through. I’m a big fan of “inching towards daylight” as the saying goes.
Now it’s your turn, if you care to take up the challenge. The comment field awaits:
What’s the best kinky thing you did all year? What’s the worst?
I suppose I should start out by explaining to those of you here hoping for a rope-and-steampunk post that this is not it. The title rather refers to a rather overquoted but nonetheless pivotal essay by Walter Benjamin called “Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.”
It’s a fascinating article in its own way, if you are one of those who likes wanking off in discussions about what is or is not art. I’ve found that the newer you are to this theory, the more eager you are to discuss it; having been through decades of such things, I usually just roll my eyes a little and fall back on Chief Justice Potter Stewart’s 1964 definition in Jacobellis vs. Ohio: “I’ll know it when I see it.”
However, I recently allowed myself to become embroiled in just such a discussion on FetLife, and while it wasn’t pleasant, it did give some food for thought. Among other things, it was amusing that I found myself defending the idea that kinbaku is an art form, requiring years of practice to do it well – much like playing a musical instrument. The OP (Original Poster) got quite frustrated by the fact that his post had not been about the whole art-vs-not-art debate at all; his original post had been about a person online who, looking for guidance, had wanted to know if there were tutorials online.
I was one of the first respondents in that thread, and had pointed out the tutorials at BeKnotty and Twisted Monk and of course Jack Elfrink’s stuff. I also noted, as a responsible citizen journalist of the rope world, that “there is a school of thought that one cannot learn shibari online.”
To my mind, that is different than saying “one cannot learn shibari online.” Because frankly, I don’t necessarily believe that some people can learn it one-on-one, either. I’ve tried with a few people who have studied and taught in that way, and found it frustrating.
More to the point, it doesn’t fucking matter.
Forget What You Think
Getting away from the “what is art” argument and to the original point: that person looking for tutorials wanted something. For the sake of argument, let’s say that he saw a picture like this online:
The Fabulous Ms. Berlin & Derrick Pierce
…and he wanted to put his submissive in a similar situation.
Why did he want to do that? Was it because he wanted to get into the wildly lucrative world of bondage porn?* Was it because he was a passionate photographer, and wanted to exactly re-create this amazingly composed photo?**
Perhaps. I don’t think so, though. I think it’s more likely that he didn’t want to duplicate the picture at all. He wanted the results. He wanted to make his sub feel the way Ms. Berlin feels in the picture. Or he wanted to feel the way Derrick feels in the picture. And that’s where the whole “mechanical reproduction” thing comes into play.
See, I did that tie. I took that picture, because this was a shoot that I was directing. So I know exactly what was happening on that set, on that day, in that place. And let me tell you, the orgasmic bliss that Ms. Berlin is conveying in that pic is far more a tribute to her acting ability than any skill on my (or even Derrick’s) part.
Probably more of what was going on in her head was along the lines of:
“Who the fuck is this no-talent rigger/director thinks he can tie me in this RIDICULOUS suspension? Jeez this is killing my lumbar vertebrae. Going to have to do some hot tub relaxing today. Wonder if Cherry’s up for coffee after the shoot? At least I have a good PA here to help out. Oh, here comes Derrick’s cock. He’s such a great guy, too bad he’s gotta work with this midwest hack too…”
That’s not to say that I know that was her inner monologue-Berlin and I are friends, but this was the first time we met and I was a hack, as this was my very first professional bondage shoot.
But I doubt that the FetLife poster was hoping to have his submissive thinking those kinds of thoughts when he reproduced the tie. No, he didn’t want his sub to feel the way the people in the picture felt.
He wanted his sub to feel the way he thought the people in the picture felt.
And that’s the crux of it. The proper response to that FetLife poster should not have been me listing the tutorials; those are just ways of duplicating the images. Nor was the proper response to say “You can’t do that; it’s art, and reserved for the Worthy.” It certainly wasn’t helpful to say, “Oh, that? Anybody can do that. It’s no big deal.”
What ends up happening, time and again, is that he takes either track – saves up the money, goes to Japan and studies, or just decides to “reverse engineer” the ties using things online, and gets to the point where she and he are in exactly the same position…and suddenly they realize: this doesn’t feel the way I thought it would.
Nouns Don’t Matter
To my mind, the most important question to ask, whether you’re an experienced rigger or a novice knotter, is not “What do you want to do?” but rather “How do you want to feel?” That determines the tools you use, the frame of mind, the setting, the technique – everything else. What is the tone of the rope bondage? I personally believe that with that as your goal, it doesn’t matter if you’re doing a one-column tie or a takate-reallyfuckinghawtakote with a side of hashirodokai sauce.
Most of the time when I do rope for enjoyment (as opposed to for performance, education, or photography, in which case fun is by-product rather than the objective) I don’t have a big idea of a complicated tie. I tend to go in and start working with the rope and the body and the way it changes over time, and at the end, if you want to call it smut or art or craft, it really doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me are the adjectives, not the nouns. Was it good? Was it fun? Was it beautiful?
We can re-create images in 3-d and record the steps on hi-def video and break them down into loop A over bight B around Nipple C. But as far as I know, there’s no way to accurately recreate the feelings involved – even between the same two people with the same rope.
I love that ephemerality. I love that “unique and special snowflake”-ness of it. And that’s why I’ll see you in the dungeon.
“What about the bottom?” DoNotGoGently asked me shortly after she read my post about The Mormon Pause. I’ll wait while you click the link and catch up on the reading…
OK, back? As you can see, she’s absolutely right. I didn’t mention a thing about the bottom’s point of view. Sure, it’s all well and good for the top to sit there and wait for the next thing to happen, to “allow” the space to open and present the right action, but what about the Bottom? Are they supposed to just sit there and do nothing.
Well, yes. And no.
In my opinion, the first part is a yes. They are supposed to “just sit there.” Or lay there, or writhe there, or dance there or hop there or dangle there…you know what I mean. However, they are far from doing “nothing.” In fact, I would argue that their task is far harder than the Top’s.
I view the “Kinky Mormon Pause” for Bottom’s as being Present. No, I’m not trying to go all “slashcappy” here, I capitalized that P because it does need differentiation. I have a friend who earned a Master’s of Fine Arts with a final dissertation on the ability to be “Present”, so it’s a pretty big deal. It involves being able to let go of anticipation. It means being able to open up to whatever comes next, to give up any semblance of control and simply accept whatever happens.
Yep, this is the Girl that was Terrified of Needle Play
This does not look like a sack of meat. Not reacting to a stimulus or emotion is another form of control, after all. Being present means letting yourself feel and express your reaction to whatever happens next, and then letting it go, ready for the next thing. In some that is a peaceful glazed look. In others that is a scream and a frenetic thrashing against the ropes. In some it’s a wave of orgasm, in others it’s a desperate, hopeless torrent of tears.
In every case, when it comes from that Present place, I find it amazingly beautiful. I am in awe of the bottoms I know who can go there, whether I’m playing with them or not.
It’s hard not to let the mind go wild. In fact, it’s so hard that it’s a common technique used by tops. “Just stand there and run the rope through your fingers speculatively,” I teach, “let the bottom’s mind do the work. Odds are, whatever they’re imagining is probably much worse than what you’re actually planning.*” It’s a time-honored technique in interrogation. “Go and get me three hamsters, a spool of copper wire, and a jar of peanut butter!” barks the interrogator to the subordinate, and then just looks at the prisoner with a semi-pitying smile, letting the implications sink in. After a moment: “And don’t forget the Coleman stove!”
If the prisoner/bottom is able to be “Present”, this technique won’t work. And that’s ok; it provides an entirely different canvas of the body and mind for the Top to work with, arguably a higher level of connection and sensation.
How do you cultivate this? Good question. The obvious answer is “zen meditation” but then people start getting all “cultural appropriation”-this and “woo-woo” that. Plus, having been a zen practitioner for over two decades, I can’t pretend I’m not biased towards it. I suspect that letting yourself fall into music might be a technique, or listening to a painting. Or dancing about architecture. Whatever the technique, I know it takes practice, because even after the aforementioned two decades, I only occasionally manage it.
But oh, how I long for it. That ineffable moment. And on someone else? It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Posted in play, writing on December 3, 2010 by Gray
long ago, in an event hotel far, far away…
I remember very distinctly sitting in a hotel room, angry and sad, looking across at my friend Mollena, who was also angry and sad. We were angry and sad at each other, in fact, due to some communication glitches that got blown into full-fledged perceived insults and ended…well, with us sitting there, completely aware of where the mistakes/misunderstandings had been, but still, angry and sad.
I think it was her who said it: “You know, we teach this shit. You’d think we’d be better at it.”
Over the past couple of days I’ve had a few situations that have not gone as I might have liked them. Possibly the only advantage I had was that there was a part of me able to step outside of the situations and see the big picture, to understand at least my own reactions. Ah, you are feeling X because Y happened and that’s a trigger for situation Z with a side of Q with P sauce…
In some cases I could even see some of the other side: Ah, they’re reacting that way to that statement? That reveals some interesting insecurities. Wonder what kind of baggage they’re carrying there?
In all of the cases I was able to, at a minimum, extricate myself from the situation and stop it from escalating. In some it even went on to much happier places.
But that didn’t do a damn thing about the feelings. The anger, hurt, self- and other-directed blame, the natural reaction I have to want to fucking hit something when I get truly pissed. Even with that nice birds-eye analytical view, I was still furious in all these situations, at some point.
You know, the kind of furious where you try to just breathe. To just get through one…more…second without breaking anything. Where you have to basically throttle your brain. No, that’s a blaming thought. No, that’s a guilty thought. No, that’s extrapolation.
Bringing myself back to the here, the now, over and over. While feeling the waves of anger, guilt, and shame just wash over me. Hearing my own voice, as I’ve taught in classes over and over, describing how to get past drama, past a scene gang aft agley, past the past.
You know, I teach this shit. You’d think I’d be better at it, and maybe, maybe I am getting better at it, just a little.
But in case anyone’s wondering: it doesn’t get any fucking easier.
There comes a part in every GrUE (or other Open Spaces event) which is totally mind-wracking for the facilitator. It’s the moment after they have explained to people that the agenda for the day will be created out of the participants’ passions. Every person there is invited to think about an issue, subject, discussion, or other form of interaction they care about deeply, and then take responsibility for making that a part of the Unconference.
It’s a great process for creating amazing experiences. I’ve done it nineteen times at GrUEs, and you’d think that it would be easy by now. But there’s always that one moment of fear, of uncertainty:
“What if nobody puts up anything?”
The temptation, of course, is to nudge, cajole, suggest, or otherwise try to influence things. You can’t do that. Quite literally, in the books and papers that describe the process, Harrison Owen suggests that the facilitator stick their hands in their pockets, or go get coffee, or do anything that will keep them from trying to push people. It can lead to some very pregnant pauses. People look at each other with expressions that say “Huh? Is this guy serious?” or “Well…that may be true, but I’m certainly not going to be the first one…”
It’s nervewracking. But it’s an absolutely essential part of the system that creates the Open Space. The facilitator can only open the door, never actually push people through. So, I just wait. And every time, without fail, people get up, write something down, and things go on wonderfully. Of course, if there are GrUE veterans there, it’s sometimes the opposite: a stampede of people with a horde of great ideas they want to share. Even then, though, there is the Very Important Task I have of Getting the Fuck Out of the Way, and trusting both the process and the people.
I was talking about this experience with DoNotGoGently the other day and she used a phrase to describe it that I was not familiar with: “The Mormon Pause.” She’d heard of it in her work in academia, and it was the moment after you’ve asked the students a question and you simply wait for someone – anyone – to say something.
Now, I was raised in the Mormon church, and I’d never heard of that phrase. But I could see a couple of places where it might have come from. It might be the testimony meetings where the congregation waits for people to become inspired to stand up and declare their faith. It could also be a technique used by the Missionaries, some of the slickest and most well-trained psychological manipulators in the world.
In a classroom, though, it’s a bit of a power struggle between the students and the teacher. It’s that moment between knowledge being given and knowledge being earned. There’s an entire narrative that tends to go on in that pause, something like this:
“Oh, sure, a question. I’ll just sit this one out. Someone else will say something.”
“Huh. Looks like no one else is saying anything. Oh, well, the prof will have something to say sooner or later.”
“O…K…she’s just sitting there. She’s gotta say something soon, right?”
“Fuck. It’s too quiet. Why won’t someone say something? This isn’t what I paid my tuition for!”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE NO ONE IS ACTUALLY GOING TO BRING UP THAT POINT THAT I THOUGHT ABOUT THIS MORNING IN THE SHOWER. DO I HAVE TO FUCKING DO EVERYTHING MYSELF? JESUS CHRIST SOMEBODY HAS TO SAY SOMETHING OKFINEI’LLTALKALREADY!!!”
Good teachers have the patience to let that inner dialogue play itself out. Thing is, it’s an essential tool for good tops and doms, as well. In my “ShadowPlay” workshops I quote Cheri Huber, a zen master, who says something along the lines of “Do you have the patience to not disturb the water, to see what comes up?” D.T. Suzuki said it even more succinctly: “Don’t just do something. Sit there.”
A Mormon Pause in a Sex & Submission shoot (btw, Kink.com has 2-for-1 subscriptions for the holidays!)
See, there will come a time in a scene, especially one that is longer, more involved with multiple actions and events and emotions – when you won’t know what to do next. It’s a moment of indecision, or at least appears to be. In reality, it’s a “space in between.” It’s a time for the the emotions and feelings on both sides to marinate, to simmer, to let the passage of time temper and fine-tune the whole process.
It’s ok to stand there and let that space grow. It gives the bottom’s mind time to go all sorts of evil places: “What’s she going to do next? Oh my god, I hope it’s (not) that thing that I (always/never) fantasized about, because that would be so (cruel/amazing).” Meanwhile, you’re just standing there, looking at them. It’s important to cultivate the right expression: speculative, evaluative, considering. Don’t finger your tools, or pace, or look away; that conveys indecisiveness.
I want to emphasize: it’s fine to be indecisive. Just don’t convey it. And with a little practice, you’ll learn to sit in that space yourself, to welcome it, because when you insert that kinky Mormon Pause the right next action will present itself. Janet Hardy once said in a very memorable Impact Play workshop “I look at a body, it’ll tell me where to hit it.” But first you have to take the time to look.
If you sit there and let that pause grow, something, some movement, expression, intake of breath, sound or shift of light will let you know: this is what should happen next. I promise you that if you do that, at some later point you’ll have them saying something like “I don’t know how you knew, but that was exactly the right thing to do…”
At which point you nod sagely, and say “I just know…” and thank the Mormon’s for their contribution to your kink.
In spite of my efforts to the contrary, the previous post, which was about hyperbole, seems to have inspired much talk about Breath Play instead. It’s very interesting, from a social media/sociological/psychological point of view, to see the ways people interpret my writing, my conclusions, and my stance on breath play. I accept entire responsibility for that; the failure to communicate lies in the writer, not the reader.
In an effort to clarify and directly address the subject, I present for you my four part Official Position on Breath Play:
I disapprove of every abstinence-only educational policy I have ever encountered.
I have engaged in and continue to engage in “breathplay”, sometimes to the point of unconsciousness with several different play partners with their full consent and knowledge of the current opinions regarding the risks involved. The following list is intended to be inclusive, not exclusive, of the various techniques used as either the top, bottom, or both:
Forced orgasm to the point of forgetting to breathe
Telling jokes so funny they laugh themselves to hypoxia
Leaving play parties into weather so cold it freezes the lungs
Running
P90X
Contact Improvisation
Swing Dancing
Ball-gags combined with making the pretty girl cry
I do not, nor am I interested in, teaching breath play, debating its safety, or taking any side in the ongoing dispute. I do enjoy watching* both sides go at it, as debate and rhetoric are passions of mine.** I am only interested in discussing breath play with potential play partners, and like any hard limit, respect their views completely regardless of whether I agree with them personally.
There is no Number Four.***
There we have it. Comments are welcome, however any attempt to draw me into a discussion about breath play that is not intended for potential play will be met with the aforementioned Number Four.
*Preferably while eating popcorn and/or Junior Mints
**Along with the occasional academic specializing in those subjects
**Well, I thought about making Four “I like boobies,”
just to get it out there, but I figured that kind of levity
might detract from the serious tenor
that I try to maintain in this post
and, really, throughout my blog/podcast/kink.
“Brinksmanship is…the deliberate creation of a recognizable risk, a risk that one does not completely control. It is the tactic of deliberately letting the situation get somewhat out of hand, just because its being out of hand may be intolerable to the other party and force his accommodation…showing that if he makes a contrary move he may disturb us so that we slip over the brink, whether we want to or not, carrying him with us.”
Thinking Strategically, Dixit & Nalebuff, 1991
(as quoted in the 33 Strategies of War)
I have a problem.
Raging Journey Dancing in Rope
Let me illustrate: once upon a time I really wanted to mindfuck my lover, RagingJourney. She was a brilliant and sharp woman, and I knew it would not be easy. I came up with a plan based on a bit piece in Closet Land. I was not a smoker, and she knew that. I thought that if I got her all bound up, pushing the edges of her comfort zone bit by bit, so that she just started to wonder what was going on, it would prime the situation…and then if I suddenly pulled out and lit a stogie, confidently, as if I’d been doing it my whole life, it would blow her mind, taking her out of the expected and into the WTF.
So I spent months, literally, learning to handle a cigar cutter, learning to light it, picking one out, holding it, all at events away from her. I enlisted the aid of people like Rita Seagrave, who was able to coach me. Finally the evening came at Sabbat de Sade: I had her down on the ground, securely trussed in rope, having pushed, pulled, slapped, and otherwise mauled her, and she was looking up at me with shining eyes and I oh-so-casually reached into my bag, pulled out an Acid KUBA, and lit up.
Her eyes widened as she was thrown into WTF…and then narrowed about three seconds later, as (she later told me) she thought “Oh, Gray learned how to smoke a cigar so that he could mindfuck me.“
You see the problem? On the one hand, yes, I value my reputation for being “safe”, for being someone who ethically and responsibly shares his kink.* However, it makes it harder to take things to the edge. In fact, the only time I’ve really been able to do it successfully has been through the illusion of incompetence – such as the kidnapping of my slave to a bondage B&B by convincing her quite thoroughly that I was lost for four hours and too proud to stop and ask for directions (note: this was in a long-ago time before GPS).
For the most part, though, I have such a strong reputation as being safe that sometimes it gets in the way. There have been times that I’ve tried things with Naiia that I was unsure of – kinds of suspension, or variations on needle play, or whatever – and she’s gone along gamely, because, as she puts it, “I trust you.” I value that trust, as long as it’s understood that sometimes it’s not “I trust you to know what you’re doing” but more “I trust that when things go balls-up you’ll be able to handle it and take care of me when it’s over.” Two very different skillsets, in my opinion.
In yesterday’s Toilet Paper (a newsletter I highly recommend) I read about Aron Ralston, someone who certainly takes his passion to extremes. In particular, I liked this phrase:
Deep Play
noun. 1. A term Ralston uses to describe the kind of outdoor activity where the risks are as extreme as the rewards.
Symetrie & I doing Dangerous Rope, 2007
Now, I’m not saying that we should all be doing kink that is so extreme that we end up amputating arms.** But I do think that the way we model our kink after leather and perverse practices is missing a bit of the point. Gay leathermen were risking their lives and reputations when they went to the bars or cruised a park, for example. Anyone who was claiming their sexuality across taboos of race, gender, class, or some other societal norm was risking far more than just “what if they don’t like me?“
Are many of us kinksters doing that? Risking that much? I know I’m not; I’m a middle-aged cisgendered white male with a computer, and my public face has been out for a while, through relationships with people young enough to be my daughter, of other races, or with people willingly subjecting themselves to wicked, wicked abuses and then thanking me for it as they beg me to fuck their ass.*** If any of that was suddenly on the front page of the Times – which is what Michele Serchuk warned me and Mollena about as we signed our photo releases – I would have, at most, some minor discomfort as I explained it to my parents, who I don’t talk to much anyway.
That’s not danger. That’s why I write this stuff, because between my reputation for being safe, and my being knot proud, I have to travel to more inner places to find the Brink, to play on the Edge.
If you don’t have that luxury – and believe me, I do not look at it as an accomplishment, I look at it as a privilege, a stroke of luck – then I hope when you play you will take a moment to think, next time you pull out the tools of your kink, about the full risk of what you are doing. How much are you really laying on the line, to embrace more fully who you are, what you love? How much more powerful does that make that act? Don’t let it dissuade you; take pride in your bravery, give yourself credit for just how much strength and passion it takes to be your authentic self.
And then dance on the brink, with passion and joy.
* At least, I hope that's my reputation!
** Unless you're into that. I don't judge.
*** With a tip o' the hat to #FuckToyFriday
