REDIRECTED TO MAYBEMAIMED.COM: Maybe Maimed but Never Harmed

I recently attended a bondage class by the excellent, and incredibly knowledgeable Lee "Bridgett" Harrington on Speed Bondage. I learned a few great new tricks, a couple of extra ties, and a super-quick rope bondage chest harness. And, god, it reminds me how much I absolutely love bondage.

How appropriate then, that Lady Julia recently linked this article from Fox News stating that bondage may make men happier. The good things from the report:

…says Dr. Richters, men into BDSM scored significantly better on a scale of psychological wellbeing than other men.

“This seems to imply that these men are actually happier as a result of their behaviour, though we're not sure why,” she said.

“It might just be that they're more in harmony with themselves because they're into something unusual and are comfortable with that.

“There's a lot to be said for accepting who you are.”

At the other end of the spectrum – least happy – were men who reported being attracted to men but had never acted on their desire and didn't regard themselves as gay.

Researchers said the study helps break down the reigning stereotype that people into bondage and discipline were damaged as children and were therefore “dysfunctional”.

“We really found that BDSM is simply a sexual interest or subculture attractive to a minority, not a pathological symptom of past abuse or difficulty with 'normal' sex,” Dr. Richters said.

“They've just got a broader and more unusual sexual repertoire than most.”

I have very little to add to this except for yay, a positive portrayal of BDSM in an extremely right-wing, conservative media outlet! That has to be good, right?

Yet there is still a huge misunderstanding of what BDSM is or is not, and the incredible amount of misinformation out there can be damaging. Case in point, from the same article:

“There will definitely be more men and women who have sexual tastes in this direction but won't call it this,” said Dr. Juliet Richters, of the University of New South Wales.

“They might not like sex magazines but they just happen to like being tied up and spanked as part of foreplay.

“Ask them if they're into BDSM they'll say 'Yuck, no'.”

"Yuck no" to being tied up, but "bondage may make men happier" in the same vein? This is misinformation and misunderstanding at its best. Such hipocracy is an earmark of social stigmas. One very good book that I enjoyed a few years back was Bound to Be Free: The S&M Experience by Dr. Charles Moser and JJ Madeson (a 20-year veteran of the San Francisco BDSM scene). They talk about this issue at point-blank range, and is a highly recommended read for anyone interested in some more personal viewpoints.

Naturally, the best attacks on stigmas and misinformation is quality information. Now more than ever, the Information Age is best poised to tackle these issues. That's why this next point is completely unsurprising:

In women, BDSM was most popular among under 20-year-olds…

I am encouraged by reports like this. They validate to the rest of the world what I already feel every time I kneel in front of my girlfriend; that I am stronger through my self expression than I could ever otherwise be.

I think I figured something out just now, in the shower. I was thinking about the whole issue of professional BDSM and what the deal is with prodommes and what not, how money plays into the equation and the economics of the situation when it struck me: the men are the whores.

What I mean is, the reason I get so pissed off at the other submissive men out there who are willing to pay for domination is because in my view they are cheapening something that I find to be priceless, namely my own submission. How dare they willingly say, "Dominating me for an hour is worth two (or three, or four or whatever) hundred dollars to me." I could never say that and mean it the way they do, because frankly, my submission is earned. I don't just give it away to the prettiest girl or the strongest man or the cheapest dom I can find.

I can't understand why these men sell their submission the way they do. It's insulting to me, as a proud human, bottom, and submissive, that they even consider the thought. No wonder I have such a hard time respecting them. What's there to respect about someone who so willingly sells such a deeply important part of themselves, and furthermore, cheapens the entire idea by placing finite financial value on the thing?

These men are the most unethical of sluts I can imagine. They are more unethical than the prodommes because the prodommes (usually) know what they're doing emotionally and they make conscious choices to protect themselves. But these men…they know what they're doing and they're doing it on purpose anyway (and if they don't, they're just too dumb to be respected on any level other than the basic respect I'd accord a fellow human).

I'm not sure if that made any sense to anyone except for me. Whatever, it's just my two cents anyway.

A long time ago a friend turned to me one night and said, "I'd play with you."

"Really? Thanks," I said. This reaction clearly surprised my friend because he stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me quizically.

"Thanks? I just told you what amounts to 'I'll have sex with you' in our scene, and I'm straight!" he said.

"Is playing really the same thing as having sex with someone?" I asked.

I think it's still a good question. The distinction between sex and BDSM play is often a funny one. Some people insist there is no difference, some people insist the two should be distinct and always separated, other people insist one is the other, and I've gone through so many different phases I forgot what I think right now. I do know, however, that never before in my life have I so closely linked playing with sexual activities and that is a direct result of Eileen's influences and our opportunities for play.

Case in point, the entire kink of orgasm denial is intensely sexual. It's not something I've ever done—or even mentioned, actually—to anyone I knew in person until I met Eileen. Thankfully, she broke the ice on the matter. I was all too happy to let the floodgates open.

Today, teasing and denial (or T&D as it's sometimes known to those of us for whom it's a common kink) is a central and integral part of not only our relationship but of our life. After all, how could something so fundamental as the freedom of sexual gratification not affect your life when you begin to play kinky games with it?

Which brings me to the point of sex and kink, and what lines, if any, are drawn between these things. It's obviously a very gray space, very few bits offering themselves as either black or white. Each person has their own take, informed by their personal interests and kinks.

A good friend of mine has recently confessed to wanting to top me. This, I think, is awesome, both because I think we would have a great time but also because I have never actually seen her switch with her boyfriend and would love the opportunity to do so. Of course, this was just a remark and I don't intend to read too much into it, but it did get me thinking. Is wanting to top me the same thing as wanting to, in some form or capacity, have sex with me, even if the sex is limited to something as commonplace as mentally undressing someone in your mind's eye? I'll confess to having had such thoughts myself.

It also wouldn't actually be the first time. About a year and a half ago, Eileen and two of her close friends (who are also my friends in their own right now, and yayness for that!) all triple-topped me one night in a very mild, practically introductory sort of breath play. I think if we were to actually play together again, it might help her if Eileen was there for part of it, or all of it, at least at first.

Of course, all of this needs a roundtable discussion, as is—and I believe should be—the way of things.

Sometimes it's strange that it's actually difficult to write about this kind of stuff—kink, I mean. You'd think it would be easy, you know, comes from the heart and all that, but it's not. So many personal things hinge on the acceptance of this sort of writing. What would she think? What do you think? What will I think, looking back, reading my own words a minute, a week, a month, a year, a decade from now?

I can't help but think, though, so I do it all the time. It's shocking, sometimes, how central kink is to who I am, to what I do, to why I do what I do. It doesn't just manifest in the bedroom (or the club), either. It's everywhere, all the time, involving itself in my relationships with friends, even employers in some indirect ways. (When thinking about living choices, one of the first questions I ask is, "What's the scene like there?")

That is not what I sat down intending to write tonight, but it's certainly worth thinking about. I'm sometimes amused at the directions my thoughts wander when I let them. I sat down wanting to write about some of the recent experiences I've been having.

Last weekend was the first time in a long time that Eileen and I made it out to the club. I used to hang out there religiously every Friday and Saturday night, long before I knew her. I used to miss the club because it was the club, it was my hangout, where everyone knew my name. But for a while, I was missing it—we were missing it—because it meant play, the kind of play that works better in noisy dark spaces with (I'm almost ashamed to admit it) onlookers you know are watching because you can feel their eyes but you can't see their faces. There's something delicious about that space, so fun, so personal, so intimate, yet so public.

It was an absolutely amazing night for the most part. I was chained to a metal frame and took lash after lash of the singletail 'til I bled. I didn't bleed much at all by our typical standards, but I bled. It felt good to bleed from a whipping again. Strangely, she thought, and I concur in some ways, in part of the scene I kept saying, "I'm not a masochist!" only to breathe in deep and obvious pleasure when she would strike me again.

She is getting bolder with the whip, which I like, making it dance on my back in the way she knows I enjoy but also starting to let her crueler side out a bit more. I noticed it most when she picked up a fast and hard rhythm that seemed to purposefully stay at the same spot on my back stroke after stroke. It hurt, a lot, but I was so happy to have her hurting me again that I wanted more of it.

I'm really not a masochist in the way the dictionary defines what a masochist is. The definition I've seen most often is:

Someone who obtains pleasure from receiving punishment.

Wikipedia, naturally, does a better job:

The counterpart of sadism is masochism, the sexual pleasure or gratification of having pain or suffering inflicted upon the self, often consisting of sexual fantasies or urges for being beaten, humiliated, bound, tortured, or otherwise made to suffer, either as an enhancement to or a substitute for sexual pleasure.

Without being baited by these definitions or going down the dark path that is defining "punishment" or even "sexual pleasure" for that matter, why was I saying I'm not a masochist? Well, because I don't like pain. To put it bluntly, it really hurts. It's uncomfortable, it's painful (duh), it's not a state I really enjoy being in for the sake of being in that state. It certainly doesn't turn me on in the make-my-dick-hard way most often associated with "sexual pleasure." However, I have found no equally intimate experience to share a moment with a loved one in any other way, and that's probably one reason why I enjoy being beaten so much. I cried a little by the end of the scene. It was from joy though, not from pain. It was just…so loving.

The whip marks are fading by now (I've been told I heal like Wolverine, apparently an invaluable trait for a sub as far as a dom's concerned, though rather annoying if you, like me, enjoy the visuals of the marks), but they're still there. And hopefully I'll have more in a week or two, when I'll be the demo bottom for a singletail demo again. Now that brings back memories. It's how Eileen and I met.

Huh, how very much like me. So apparently I got THUMKED by Tom Allen over at The Edge of Vanilla quite a while ago and I failed to really notice. Not that I didn't read the post or anything, but I didn't actually get that the thing was a meme, because I'm silly and care little for memes of that sort.

However, I also completely missed this week's Wednesday Wanderings, so I figure now's the perfect opportunity to make up for it by participating in this conveniently appropriate little meme thing.

So in accordance with the rules:

The rules (if you choose to play by them) are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,


2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,


3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn’t fit your blog).

So, who makes me think? Lots of people, but narrow that down to people with lots of content on their blogs and it gets very difficult to name folks that haven't already been named.

1. Without a doubt, Richard's blog at Down on my Knees is incredibly thought-provoking and writes about so many topics (in so many places) that I get lost trying to keep up. What I like most of all is that he shares even the briefest insights, and he makes his experiences that much more valuable for doing so.


2. Of course, Alexandra, aka. the Sensual Sadist is often the other side of the coin to Richard's musings, and I would be remiss not to mention her blog here as well. It's so nice to see writing from dominants and being able to cross-reference their writings with the other point of view. Few couples do this so openly as these two do.


3. I think I need a little Bitchy to temper my thoughts, too, so that's why I've really been enjoying Bitchy Jones's Diary more and more lately. I'm not always such a realist, even though I want to be, but she seems to be dead-on-balls consistent when it comes to things like that.


4. A lot of the time things that people do make me think just as much, if not more so, about things than the stuff they say, which is why I've very much enjoyed reading Mistress 160's blog recently. I love the way she writes about the play she does with her submissive husband, Sol, and just her creativity alone is enough to spark lovely and devilish thoughts in my mind.


5. Who else? Well, I'll bend the rules a little and list Eileen, even though her blog isn't chock full of entries or anything yet. She's the one that makes me think more than anyone else, and the one with whom so much of my experience has been growing with. That's the stuff real insights are made of.

Oh my god, I could rant about this forever (via Femdom Blogs), but I won't because I'd quickly become incoherent considering the current time. That said, I will say that this is precisely the difference money makes, and it's one reason why I believe I've consistently found so many professional dominants to be longing for submissive interactions in their private lives.

When thinking about professional dominas, so many people often focus on the second word. The real heart of the title, however, is the first one, professsional. To be successful and worth half your salt, you need the same kind of dedication to the craft as a surgeon might have to his. Yes, it's fucking hard work, because professionals are hired to perform a very specific task, and the harder that task is to perform the more valuable their talents are.

When a client pays you to do something, you're expected to do it. That, right there, changes the equation. When Eileen and I play, there is no expectation from me but rather acceptance. Yes, there is some give and take, and the truth of the matter is that there is far more one-sidedness in the prodomme's circumstance than in mine. All I can see the prodomme getting, besides an experience (which you can argue the real value of 'til the cows come home), is a paycheck.

And damnit, your job should never just be a paycheck, 'lest you be miserable for your entire career. It's the overestimating of the value of the "prodomme experience" that is the single most common reason I've seen prodommes quit that line of work, and I can think of at least four I know (or have known) personally right off the top of my head. 'Nuff said tonight.

Update: Just wanted to make a few ammendments to this post now that I'm more rested. These were actually comments on Bitchy Jones's take on the Pandora's Box article that I left on her blog, but I like how I said it and wanted to add them here.

This is one of those things that I have too many thoughts about and as a result can't write anything coherent because every time I look at the situation my mind kind of explodes inside my skull and I feel like it's oozing out of my ears. So, so frustrating.

However, let me try to get a few points across:

1. Prodommes, for the most part, are about looks and not about skill. I am always utterly depressed when I see how awful their form and aim is, how ignorant they are of safety techniques, and how generally uneducated they are about BDSM 101-type things. So it makes sense that it's their looks, not their skills, that are economically viable and that they are the ones supplying the demand. And who demands it? Why, lonely, usually socially awkward or emotionally unintelligent submissive men who can't or don't know how to get what they want except with the one currency they can actually bargain with: currency.


2. Prodommes are supposed to be first and foremost professionals. There's not a single prodomme I've spoken with (and I've spoken with quite a few, mind you) that doesn't try to draw a very distinct separation between their work and personal lives. That right there makes their professional interests a lot less interesting to me as a submissive male, because why would I want to be with someone who is proactively separating me out of their personal lives? Again, it comes down to the fact that there are just too many pathetic men out there. Makes me ashamed to call myself male sometimes, really.


3. Ultimately, the situation is the way it is because it's "correct enough" in that it works. The only way to change the system is to beat it economically. And believe you me, this is something I've been trying to come up with a way to do for a long time. Create something truly better that proves itself as such by completely destroying profit expectations of these abysmal esetablishments, and you'll change the system and remake it in your own image.

End mini-rant. I guess I'm tougher on the customers than the suppliers because I'm a sub male and I get a lot more upset about seeing the worst of my breed displayed than I do about seeing the worst of someone else's breed. I've gone to dozens upon dozens of fetish parties and whatnot, and at each one, the prodommes there didn't know what to make of me or how to react to me or even what the hell I was about because the first thing out of my mouth was never "may I rub your feet?" Blech! I'm pissed off that most dominant women expect that to be the first thing out of my mouth.

I was surprised to get a number of comments and questions on my latest post showing a photo of my marked-up back over the weekend and early into the week. It seems that everyone wants to know what kinds of instruments were used. An anonymous reader wrote privately:

…those marks are so gorgeous in the photo—what implements were used?

Thanks…. :) I love marks, and one of the reasons I play so "hard" is because it seems as though the harder I play the longer I can enjoy the aftermath. (I'm sure you understand what I mean.)

So, there a number of things going on in this photo. First, and most obviously, there are single-tail marks. A single-tail or, more specifically, a signal or snake whip is a type of whip originally designed to control teams of sled dogs. It is, in fact, the type of whip most commonly associated with BDSM play. (That whip prop they sell with dominatrix costumes, yeah, that's a horrible facsimile of a real signal whip.) There are, however, many different kinds of whips with one tail (thus "single-tail"), but my favorite by fair is the signal whip, a short 3-4 foot whip that is typically weighted at the butt end.

I own a nylon snake whip, which is what made the majority of those very red welts and cuts on my back in the photo I posted. Nylon is an interesting material, because it requires a lot less care than other kinds of whips such as the traditional leathers and kangaroo hides, is much lighter and thus easier to throw, and provides a slightly different sensation. It's far more poppy, very stingy and not nearly as heavy-feeling as the thicker materials. It's also a lot cheaper. :)

Underneath the whip marks, you can see some knife marks in the shape of angel's wings. I think these were made with a butterfly knife, a few days before the nearly hour-long whipping scene that produced the previous photo. In fact, I happen to have a picture of these marks as well.



Knives and whips are too often considered "edgy" toys to play with, but they're also a lot of fun. There's nothing quite as painful as a whip that can be wielded with such (relatively) little effort by a top. Likewise, few things (except perhaps firearms) are as scary as knives when pressed up against your skin. Of course, as is always the case, whips, knives, firearms, and every other implement you may use during sexual play such as a BDSM scene should be carefully researched and practiced before its use is sanctioned by yourself or your partner. Please be careful. There is a real possibility for serious harm when using such tools.

Finally, in the photo, the remains of an extremely severe caning Eileen had me endure while bound in ropes the previous week, evidenced by the sunset yellows and blues in a semi-circle on my ass, is also showing in the photograph. This was actually caused by repeated hits with a clear acrylic rod an inch in diameter. Not a cane, per se, but a pervertible that Eileen found at an art store. She bought two, and after that scene only ended up with one. (The other broke.) The feeling of this thing is seconded only by a broken-off table leg a friend of mine beat my thighs and ass with more recently. It's intensely painful.

What instruments were used more recently?

Just the whip. Unfortunately, Eileen and I ran out of time at the club before the violet wand made its appearance.

On a compeltely unrelated note, the week has been surprisingly busy and somewhat stressful, both emotionally and otherwise, so my lack of posting should be considered a result of that thing that real life does when it swallows you up and makes you pay attention.