11/11/2010

The Sneer Scale

I'm going to speak about the "sneer scale" in this blog; otherwise known as the kink hierarchy, the BDSM league tables or the incoherent and pathetic ways of attempting to "rank" kink and sexual practices.

Essentially, it goes a bit like this. Edgeplayers is at the top, because they are uber and really pushing the boundaries of kink and fetishism with all their fluid involving, dangerous play, right? Then BDSM, specifically DS, then SM, because the DS is "like, soooo much more powerful, right, cos it's *psychological*. For SM all you really need is a stick. Then the kinksters, who occupy the place in between BDSM and fetishism. Then Fetish people, with their curious obsessions and utter devotion to the sexualisation of objects.

And then, right down at the bottom on most of these scales is roleplay and CP.*

I'll be honest for a second. Even though I, myself, indulge in rp & cp a fair bit, I still occasionally see it all through the veil of the sneer scale. It's just so unfashionable. And I'm not entirely sure why, because to my knowledge, the majority of kinkster first fantasies originate in roleplay and CP. Possibly it's generational; not that many of the U35's do it because it's seen as something the O35's crowd have possession of? Or it's not extreme or exciting enough? Funnily enough though, a lot of the ultraviolence crowd I know despise canes for being too painful, too ritualised; ironic, given that this essentially means that the cp submissives can take a fair bit more than purported ultraviolent people at times. Maybe it's to do with the younger doms not having had masses of time to aquaint themselves with using a cane properly (I think this is a rubbish theory, but I'm putting it out there anyway)? Anyway, for whatever reason, CP is most certainly not "in" with the younger crowd.

Roleplay is also apparently the acceptable exception to the concept of YKIOK (Your Kink Is OK). I mean, I have genuinely lost count of the amount of times people have said to me "Roleplay? No, I don't do that, because essentially you're just pretending to be submissive, right? Not really being it." or "Hahahahahaha! You've got to be kidding right?" or "Nah, it's a bit weird, right? I mean, all that dressing up and old men wanting you in white knickers and the fact that sex doesn't even seem to come into it? Seriously, what's up with that?"

So, social stigma = 1, roleplay = 0

But, I'll admit, some cp'ers can lend themselves to such mockery. Some of the cp'ers I have known in the past have been *so serious* about the whole thing. And lets face it, when you are essentially whacking someone on the bottom for sexy time kicks, being uber can occasionally seem like the only way to gain credibility instead of being laughable.

What it actually gains is mockery, and rightly so. But, dear BDSM'ers; you've got your own twats. I mean, seriously. You really have. They are fucking unbearable and nauseatingly arrogant. So why are the roleplaying ones so much worse?

In bluntness, I'm occasionally uncomfortable with all of my friends, on both sides of the divide. The tutting about the recklessness and uncouthness of blood play etc, versus the mockery of the "hanky spanky" and general seriousness. But the thing is, they're all wrong. Blood play people are probably *the* most meticulous kinksters I have ever met on the scene. When I do a scene involving blood, the preparation and specific hygiene concerns are phenomenal. No recklessness there; just an immensely profound moment between two people. And that goes for most edgeplay. Equally, cp'ers can be fabulously silly, the gentlemen making happy fools of themselves, the ladies getting tipsy and giggly. And, holy crap, they play *hard* and punishments are real punishments. No pulled punches there, so to speak. Believe me; they aren't anywhere near as fluffy as you think. The stereotypes don't hold true, they have been proven not to hold true time and time again, and yet we all still persist in retaining the prejudices.

Why? I don't know. I really don't and it's starting to frustrate me. Play is getting more fluid, prejudice and MKIBTYK(My Kink Is Better Than Your Kink) is being stamped out; why does this divide persist?

Answers on a postcard please! I'm curious to hear people's opinions on this one.



*Ok, maybe not *right* at the bottom... That's obviously the vanillas. Which is a blogpost for some other time.

Bruise me.

Of all the marks, I think I like bruises the best. Frankly, I damn near fetishise them. I adore the colour cycle, the red, the mottled blues, ugly greens and ochres. The transient nature.

I never used to bruise. If I happened to be caned, there would be livid welts at the time, but no marks the following morning. It used to be a terrible disappointment. But in the past few months, they've been appearing more and more. Lewd, furiously coloured imprints of fingers on my arms, inner thighs, clean cut outlines of implements that lashed down upon my body, faint purple blushes along my jaw. I love it. I could quite happily while an entire day away just prodding at my marks, relishing the ache, the memory of how I gained them... Be it though rough and frenzied rope; or slammed into a wall, the ground, hands battering at me; or a delicate trace of needle or staple bruises, from where the sharp metal was pulled from my body; or bent over, caned or strapped, counting them off, thankful for the pain. All of it. I love it; but I'm starting to think that sometimes I love the bruises just a little bit more.

Mmmmm. Bruises. The ones from the weekend have faded completely and now I'm just craving more.

09/11/2010

...

Thud.

The boot connects with my cheekbone, sickeningly. How. How has it come to this. Again. I scream, scrabble across the floor. I wanted a beating, a caning, a spanking. Not this abuse. The sheer violence, in the actions, in the eyes, astounds me.

Grabbed by the hair, dragged to my feet. A sneer. A fist to the stomach, the sternum, the hipbone, the cunt.

I love you. Stop. Please. Please.

The floor, again, relearning how to breathe. God. Please god. Please, god, save me.

Back to my feet. My face connecting with the pristine white wall. Once, twice. Thrice. Fuck, fuck, only me turning my face at the last moment preventing a broken nose. Fuck. Hands in my hair, slamming my whole body into the wall. Fuck.

The floor. Again. Face pressed into the carpet, boot to the neck. Boot to the face. Again, again, again.

Stop. Please. I love you.

Laughter. Screaming as the whip lashes against my back, arms. I'm bleeding as I drag myself across the carpet.

Dirty girl. Cruelty in the voice this time; not that it wasn't there before, but explicit now. Angry now.

A glance at the watch, a twist of the lips. We're running late already. A business dinner, and me being oh so inconvenient, insisting I meet friends beforehand. I'm paying dearly for it. A sigh.

Clean yourself up. I don't want you embarrassing me.

A boot. Connecting with my cheekbone, one last time.

A room left empty, except for my sobbing body.

Update once a week?

Yeah, as if.

Hello blog. I'm back again!