Sunday, March 30, 2014

Unsure *Possible Triggers?*

I need to talk a bit about rape.  Rape, consent, and what those aren't.

I can admit with full honesty that I have been raped twice in my life.  Once when I was six, and again when I was twenty-two.  Both times I told the other person "No" told them to stop, fought back, and was very clear in how much I didn't want it to happen.  It however, did, and I have lived beyond it, and try not to let it affect me.

However, it does.  In what might be the best way possible.

I never want to exist in a situation where me clearly and straightly saying "NO" doesn't end what is happening.  It doesn't matter what space I'm in, or what the scene I'm a part of involves, I will come back to earth if something is a problem, and it will be very noticeable.
And if you can't respect that, well, I probably shouldn't have played with you to start.  Have fun getting your ass kicked as soon as I have the chance.

Sometimes though, for everyone, we make a decision, and then wake up the next morning wondering if we should have made the decision we did.
Whether it be a scene, or trying out a toy, or fucking someone, or a simple kiss.  We've all had days where we feel like we made the wrong decision.
Welcome to humanity.

Does this mean rape occurred, or your consent wasn't given?  Nope.  Not in the slightest.  It means you had a reason at the time, and it's managed to leave your grasp after a few hours.  The point is to learn from this, and simply be more careful and logical in the future.

Trying to bring peace of mind by claiming it was rape helps no one.  It gives you guilt, makes you a false victim, and makes everyone view the other party as a villain, which is harmful to them in the long run.
Don't spread drama and lies to justify your own guilt.  Really.  It's just not cool, and if you get found out, no one will trust you.

If it happens, confront the other person.  Tell them why you feel uncomfortable, and see if you can talk it out.
Or this is why we have these things called one night stands.  Cut the other person from your life, and let them simply be something to learn from.

Our minds can be these magnificent machines, capable of absorbing and processing so much, and growing and evolving from them.  Think of every decision you make as a gateway to making even better ones in the future.
Remember, even if nothing else, you've learned what you aren't comfortable with.
We only regret the decisions we don't make, and the things we don't do.  Everything else is just experience and lessons.


Thursday, March 27, 2014

What's in a Name?

I've always gone by many names.
My "real" name is actually the least common of all of them.

The most common one however, I never thought I would consider putting away.

Many of my friends have their own names for me.  We consider it a term of endearment, and I tend to use alternate names for most of them.  Names we have adopted to be more fitting to who are.

At certain venues, I use names I've chosen.  My stage name has become something I use at all faires and events of similar nature.

If on the rare chance I use my birth name, I prefer to use it fully.  I dislike how it shortens, and find it childish.  There is one particular shortening of it that I absolutely despise, and have hit people for calling me by it.

I even have a name I give when I simply don't want to exist.  My name when causing trouble, so it doesn't get linked back to me.

Whether it be Aislin, Demon, Spike, Jocelyn, Vlos, Chaos, Trouble, or a myriad of others, the most common, the one I have been given time and again, for different reasons, and sources, and for the longest amount of time, is Loki.

And recently, I find myself wanting to introduce myself by it less and less.

Even if I identify with it completely.

I received it the first time when I was ten.
Certain friends just called me Demon.  I was emotionally distant, loved violence, and incredibly intense as someone who was already an adrenaline addict.

One day, I asked that if I was truly a demon, which would I be.
So we researched, and I found a database of demons from different mythologies, and cultures.
There it was.
We all agreed.
Loki was a Babylonian fire demon.
Something ancient, and wise, but made of chaos.

It... Fit.
And so I had a name, with those few.  Something just they held.

A few years went by, and I started reading runes while the rest of my friends who practiced whatever magick they chose tended to look at tarot for their divination of choice.  I felt too many people played with the cards, and so I wanted something a bit more natural.
So, I went further, as someone who loved to learn.  I taught myself about the Nords, and picked up the style in my own art.
Then the Norse pantheon came.
And we all looked at it.  We saw the great Gods the Nords had come to discover.

Then while looking, we found Loki.
A shape-shifting, trouble making, God of mischief.

And they all looked at me, and told me they'd found who I was.

I laughed, and said I'd gotten the name from elsewhere, but I'd certainly take it from another source.
I took the name now, and ran with it.  It became something I used everywhere, and soon I had more presence by this name, than my own birth name.

Unfortunately, pop culture can destroy what we have.
When I introduce myself now, I worry how the other person will react.  If they will see me as just a fangirl, or if I will get the snicker and comments that so many decide to give when they've just seen movies, and recognize a name.

But it's more than a name, and I'm not a fangirl (well, not in this case anyway).  It is my identity.  Something that feels more right than the name I was given by my parents.
I will continue to use it, because some day it will stop being a fandom, and I will still be Loki.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Love Languages Part Two

While I may give love through service, it's not how I prefer to receive it.

Having people do things for me makes me uncomfortable.  I hate asking for help, and I dislike big gifts without being able to do something in return.

How do I prefer to be shown love?

Touch, and time.

I want to be able to curl up in your lap, and feel your hand on my back.  To feel your arms around me, and just to hold your hand.

Simple, small touches mean the world to me, make me feel like I'm actually desired, and bring me peace of mind.

And while we're curled up together, I want to make memories with you.  Memories of time spent just with you.  Not on our phones, or sucked into technology.  Maybe a movie on in the background while we have a conversation that bounces around a million topics, full of horrible comments we couldn't (or rather, shouldn't) say in public.

Go on adventures with me.  A car ride to nowhere, or exploring somewhere new.  I want to share these experiences with you.  Not worried about taking pictures or videos, just something in our own minds, special to us.  Whenever I will think back on it, I'll remember the memories we built together, and how much fun we had, and how you shared that part of your life with me.

Our lives are short, and there's only so much time to them.  Knowing you make the choice to share it with me is something I absolutely appreciate, and makes me feel loved.  Every time.

I don't want gifts.  Anyone can look through my wishlists and spend some money on something I want.
I've had too many experiences where a person's actions didn't match their words, or they tried to use those words to manipulate me.


Just put aside time for me.  Time for us.  And hold my hand, or wrap your arm around my waist as we venture off to cause mischief together.

By the end of the time we have, I'll look into your eyes with all the love in the world, and do whatever I can to express it.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Love Languages Part One

I often find that I just don't fall into categories for personalities, and can't fall into any sort of boxes like most people do.

I'm just a little too weird for that apparently.

Affection is especially difficult for me.  I've been stabbed in the back so many times, and had the way I show affection, or have it given to me turned around on me, that it's destroyed me a few times.

Still though, there are ways that I prefer to receive and give my love for others.

Sometimes falling into a box isn't such a bad things.

So there are these love languages.  There's five of them, and everyone is supposed to have one or two that works best for them to feel love, or how they express it.

The love languages are supposed to be:

1. Touch
2. Gifts
3. Acts of Service
4. Quality Time
5. Words of Affirmation

Mine don't quite fit with how I give and receive love.

When I show someone I care, first and foremost, I do it through acts of service.
I like helping to take care of someone.  If you've had a bad day, let me curl up with you in the quiet.  I will be your shoulder to cry on, and your rock.  I will cook you dinner, rub your back, bring you coffee, and remember all the little thoughts and preferences you let me be aware of.
Making things if you need them, or just if I think you'll enjoy it.  Walking past some small item, taking a few steps back, looking at it and thinking of you, I'll pick it up.

I forget to tell people how much I appreciate them.
I may not have time to properly show just how much I care.
I don't have the money to spoil someone as much as I want to.
Not everyone wants to always be touched.

Whatever it is that I can do to make you feel like I've been thinking of you though, I'll do.  All the small gestures that will make you relax, and feel loved, I want to learn them, and do them for you.

And no, that doesn't just make me a submissive.  I'm still incredibly dominant.  I firmly believe that to show your love for a submissive, you should do all the little things for them.

Bring anyone a well made cup of coffee first thing in the morning, and I guarantee they'll be perfectly happy.  Make them breakfast too, and they'll be showing their own appreciation in whatever way they can, and for a submissive, they'll be at their knees completely surrendered to you.
Trust me, I know this.

I know I don't have to do any of it.
It's how I show I care though, and seeing the look on your face, hearing you sigh, and watching you relax because you appreciate what I've done makes it every bit worth it.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Walking on Glass

Sometimes I forget how useful being a switch is.
I find communication during play to be incredibly important.  That level of self awareness on the part of the bottom to inform the top what is going on is vital for play, especially when pain is concerned. 
Sure, if there is power exchange, one person is putting themselves into the hands of the other, however at least in my case I trust the dominant involved to want me to enjoy what's going on.  I know that if I say something, they can choose to keep going, but I trust them to move, or make changes as necessary to have the most fun possible.
Even as a top myself, I am very keyed into the responses of the bottom I am playing with, to communicate, and steer the session in the most fun way for everyone.  I want to not be the person people are only going to play with once and never again.
Now, especially with my pain tolerance, I need to be clear about how I signal the top I'm playing with.  They need to know when to hit me harder, when to change, and when I need a break.  This is for my safety, and I absolutely know this. 
I know when I can push.  Sometimes you just need those last couple smacks to get the release of endorphins you need to be able to take more.
Sometimes, you need to ask for a different implement.  A different area of focus.  Total honesty about what is going on, so I can get hurt in the most fun way.
I will never try to diesel my way through something I know I can't take.  If something hits my limit, I know to signal in whatever way possible that this has happened.  Throwing up the red flags, and cutting off the next strike before it hits.   I trust my top to notice this, and check in.
I also trust my top to know that if I'm throwing that many signals up, not to continue with what they were doing after checking in.
As a bottom, it is my responsibility to consistently inform the top of how I'm doing.  If I'm signaling bad pain, and still want to go further, I need to ask for five minutes and not say to keep going.  This self awareness is vital for good, safe, happy play.
Likewise, as a top, I need to notice the severity of those signals, and if the bottom does miscommunicate, I need to step back, look, and make the decision of what needs to happen.
Then there are the much scarier bottoms.  The ones that space out, and will beg for more when they've obviously hit their limit.  Those ones require such massive trust when it comes to playing with them, and so much knowledge of what they can actually take that being a new partner with them can be scary.
There is so much trust and awareness required for play.  You have to know yourself, and your partner, and be as honest as possible.  Breaking any part of that can be dangerous, in a not sexy or fun way, and kills the vibe for everyone.  The more comfortable you can make your top to know you'll tell them the truth, the more fun ways they will try to hurt you, and really, that's what everyone wants.

Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Hunger

There is a side to my kink, that while more familiar, is a bit less constant than my masochism.
It's not quite that desire for force that I have whenever I'm playing, or fucking someone.

It sleeps.  For a while anyway.
When it wakes up though, it is an unshakable craving.  You can see the fire for it in my eyes, yearning for it.

Oh the fun of being a switch.
I'm just as much as, if not then more of a sadist than I am a masochist.

My sadism is where I am most obviously primal.  In lieu of toys and tools, I prefer to tear someone apart with my bare hands.  To dig my teeth into their flesh until I know they'll wear the marks for weeks.  Ripping through their skin until they bleed for me.   Devouring them whole, like a monster.

And knowing they put themselves in my hands for this purpose.  That they trust their lives to me, knowing I will leave them broken to pieces, bruised, battered, and left in shreds.  That they will ask for it.  Want me to unleash on them in a way they care barely comprehend coming from me.

Then they come back for more.

And I feel that grin form on my face, knowing that I have someone I can destroy.

It's not at all like my masochism.  There is no clearing of my mind.  No emptying of stress.

No.

This is just a hunger.
To see them writhe under my hand, and scream as I take them to their limits.

I want to see the panic in their eyes when they realize the satisfaction their pain brings me.
That they are truly vulnerable to me, and at my mercy to let it end only when I am sated.

To see them a quivering mess, not even human anymore, and knowing I did it to them, and they asked me to.

I love every moment of, drinking in their cries, and their fear.

It gives me a high like nothing I've ever experienced.
And sometimes, it's addicting.  I never feel quite sated, and will go from one victim to another, craving more from each one.

That's where my masochism can act as an equalizer.  Feeling pain hit me knocks me out of the bloodlust I feel, and brings me back to earth.

And so my sadist rests for a while longer, until I feel it's pangs again, and need to feed my craving.

Sunday, March 02, 2014

Processing Reset

I've always had an incredibly high pain tolerance.

It's something I'm rather proud of, and love getting to show off.

Beatings that would put others out of commission for a few days, I take as a warm up.  Nearly all kinds of pain I enjoy, and chances are that even if my limit gets hit, a moment later I'll be running around acting perfectly fine.

My friends think I'm a mutant.  I'm alright with this.

I've always been stubborn, and this counts into it.  I won't give up until I absolutely have to, and I will push myself to go as far as I can every time.  Top that off with a background of a lot of martial arts and getting into fights, and I was basically built to take pain.

Here's the kicker though.  I don't feel gentle touches really.  Obviously I'm aware of them.  They still register to me, but don't provide real sensation.  If something is going to really feel good, it's gotta have force.
I was made for masochism.

Pain wakes me up.  It shuts down a lot of my brain, and has other parts firing on overdrive.  I stop talking as much, stop thinking ahead, and focus on what is going on at that moment.  All the little things that have been bothering me get tossed in the processing of all the sensations lighting up my body.  It removes the stress, and the worries, and all the shit, and has me thinking clearly.

Then I start generating all the adrenaline and endorphins, and it lets me take even more.  At this point, I'm floating in painspace, running purely off the chemicals all the pain is creating.  There's no more outside shit to my life.  All the things I needlessly worry over and consider are gone, and I'm so focused on the pain as it radiates through me, that the edges of my vision blur to keep my mind working primarily on the pain.

There's one thing I never miss though.  One thing that doesn't blur over.
The look in the eyes of the sadist when they've really started unloading on me.  It's this amazing glimmer, and I know that I'm giving them the challenge they look for, and it just inspires me to take more.  To be able to absorb every bit of pain they want to give me, until I can't even hold myself up.

And once it's done, and the pain ends, everything is so over sensitive that I can feel all those little touches, and I think that's what other people feel all the time.  It feels amazing, and almost electric.  It brings me back to earth, as sort of a step down from the intense pain, with sensation that is like a pleasure overload.  After that, my mind wakes back up, and puts all of what I had felt aside, and I'm thinking clearly, with all the endorphins still active.

Needless to say, at this point, I feel amazing.  I feel refreshed, giddy, and bouncy with all the energy that's still burning off.  All the tender skin is sore to the touch, which I enjoy, so I'll randomly start pressing on welts, or heavier marks, to enjoy what's been left there.  Then it's just riding out the buzz until I level out, and crave it all again.