Tag Archives: day to day life

Angelus Novus- The Renaissance

Angelus Novus by Paul Klee

The last couple of weeks, I’ve written more than I probably have ever done in this blog. After catching up with all the posts from Shibaricon, it was easy to continue writing, because it felt right. One thing which I have not touched upon at all are the recent changes in my personal life, probably because it has been too painful. This is still very much so. Went out dancing the other night, a man looked like him so much I had to go out for some fresh air.  This will be a very introspective ‘memememememe’ post, so if you are not up for some egotistical soul-searching, click on another post or just scroll down to read something else. You have been warned.

I don’t think there has been a more difficult time in my life, ever. At some point this Spring, while juggling university, there was a shift, an emotional and rational shift in how I felt about my relationship with J. I had been with him for almost 3 years at this point but was not prepared at all when it started to dawn on me that although I care about him greatly, and am extremely grateful and lucky about the amazing time we had together, I did not feel that I could continue the relationship. It was for me, at least, about being honest, both to myself and to him. During the time this took to realise, it felt like my whole body and mind was in pain. How could I even consider hurting someone like him by ending our relationship? But somehow, I came to the conclusion that it was the only thing I could do, unless there would have been more sadness and more frustration rather than mutual affection, trust and love. I’m not used to this, not used to listen to emotion but I’ll rather rationalise and ‘think things through’. It is probably my one and largest difficulty; to listen and to trust my emotions while still reasoning. But somewhere, through the stress and the pressure of finishing my university degree, there were so many cracks that the emotional reasoning became so loud I could not ignore it. There was something there that needed to come out, to be listened too. Almost like an internal scratching, that did not stop until it was listened too.

I guess it is typical for all things to come crashing down in the same time. There is never a right moment,  but somehow, my situation just became the perfect storm; an emotional crisis; finishing my dissertation and three other essays; relationship breakdown; hurting someone whom I cared about greatly; a decision having to be taken in regards to remaining in London; giving up my apartment back home in Sweden, revising for exams; preparing for the presentation at Shibaricon and my first trip ever to the States. And so on and so forth. I guess it became too much in the end, and had it not been for my friends I would probably not have made it through the final weeks in May. I remember being so scared of exactly everything; of myself, of others, of being alone, of being amongst people, of eating, of sleeping (nightmares), of staying awake. It took a phonecall to a friend in Sweden who said to me I had to reach out to someone nearby that made me realise I could not stay sane on my own. Another phonecall later and in no time, two very special people wrapped me up in their care. No bullshitting, no morale speeches, just them reaching out and offering a safe haven. As I stayed with them, the days became bareable; as they gave support, but also space and time. We worked together, ate together, I was reminded of how to relax, could speak to them if there was a need. I was fed copious amounts of meat, watched TV, helped with proof-reading. Dreamt about what we would do when it was finally all over. Went jogging in the morning, cuddled with a dog. Was prodded into writing by being promised to be tied up after 2500 word more. Before moving on to the next chapter, I would like to repeat this; there is no way I would have made it through without you, B & L. Also, Thot who proof-read, cuddled, pep-talked and supported in every single way, with so much patience.

And the deadlines came, and the exams were done, and suddenly, I was boarding the flight to Chicago. There was a strange feeling, arriving to the massive conference hotel on a continent I’ve never visited before, a Lost in Translation moment, when just sitting in my hotel-room on my own. A hotel room is a strange space and as Electronic Doll describes it, also perfect for BDSM. But right now, except for having rope and latex hanging around everywhere, it was not about BDSM, but it was about spending time with myself. The room was big and airy, a strangely silent space, filled with past encounters and guests but still empty.  Strangely, I did not panic about being alone, I decided to take some time and spend it with myself, as that was something I had not done for such a long time. That afternoon, night, following morning and day spent in the room became like an existence separate from what ever it was that frightened me so. Spending time with myself and taking the time do so. Eating, relaxing, taking one shower after the other, working on the presentation, unpack, listen to music, iron (!) the clothes, un-coiling and re-coiling the ropes, thinking about classes and the program, where to go next after Chicago. Defeaning silence with music, or turning off the Ipod to look through the huge windows at the rain  that came crashing down from a grey sky.

And then: the convention started. Pushed out from the bubble of the room, into something else, something completely different. And loving so much of it. Not only was I first forced to spend time with myself, but after that I had to push myself to the limit socially, I could not hide myself, there was nothing to hide behing because rope does not conceal the self, it reveals every millimeter of your skin, strips you raw. At times it became difficult, especially after I’ve tied so much and felt like I was draining myself. But after a couple of scenes with remarkable riggers the balance was back. And during the week, I started to believe in DS again, on a personal level. It was all the amazing DS, the loving, sadistic, twisted DS that was everywhere. And here something started to dawn upon me. What kind of DS I seek, who I am and a re-start of what kink means in this life that I live.

I am a switch. But it is through the role as a bottom/sub that resonates the strongest. It is not until now that I’ve actually started to understand this. I am a submissive, and I switch; indeed I do, but it is the submission, the focus of my mind and my body that I wish to emphasise, it is through those mindsets I really understand myself, a continous becoming rather than solid being. As I have said before;

This is not about a ‘gift’ of submission, given away to be unwrapped/discovered/fostered and placed on a mantelpiece; but an active, ongoing relational action and reaction of dominance and submission, an act of submission in which the only thing that exist is that focus of knowing the self enough to just let go, knowing the self so well that the self is forgotten except for the action/behavior which is required.

And I stand by those words, except that I very much can understand elements of ‘training’ and a fostering of a DS relationship. And then there is the whole switch-malarkey  or switchcraft and how I allow myself to speak of what roles I take. I love the play I do, otherwise I would not do it, and there is certainly a sadist and dominant that is a part of what I do. But fact remains, that if I top/dom more than bottom/submitting a feeling of unbalance and anxiety starts to mount. This is not the case the other way around strangely. So here it is, I am a submissive who switch, a bloody sadomasochist that cannot get enough. There is nothing I regret about this, it is more about me being able to navigate and acknowledge parts of myself that has long been neglected.  Furthermore, kink is a central element in my life. It is a large part of how I know and feel myself and others. I don’t want to be a one trick pony or one dimensional obsessive, but it is so integral to my day to day life; thus pretty much non-negotiable. When I started this, all of this kinky shit, I knew what it meant to me. I knew it was a practice that I did, how it affected me, and who I was in relation to it: I am not my practices; I am not submissive, I practice submission. Now, this has been the backbone of my personal politics in relation to kink. But I’m not sure about this anymore, I’m not sure about who I am and that identity in relation to kink. What I do know is that the practices are a part of me, in that they make me find a ground where I feel like I know myself better.

There has also been a resistance from me in identification, because I feel like it comes with assumptions and labels which are not mine. Just the practical thing about putting ‘submissive’ down on a website or internet community such as Fetlife , it is a simple action, but immediately, I feel like I claim something which is not mine, nor ideas and assumptions which does not fit the person whom I am. This resistance is double, in that it is both about me, but also, how often how fucked other people’s appreciation of submission in relationship to dominance is. These are strange politics that are going on both in my own head, but also in the real world of public kink, both off and online. I know, I know, I think too much, newsflash…

The thing is, that there are safe spaces, such as much of the social group I’m lucky enough to be a part of. They know who I am and respect me. So tonight, I’ll be going to a party and stay within the mindset of bottom/submissive. Last time I did this it did not really work out, but that was mainly because I did not plan it or spill it out as well. Today, I know that emails have been sent, people have been spoken to, ‘negotiations’ been made and we are on the same page.

Tattoo with the quote from Walter Benjamin's 9th Thesis on History

This post has been extremely difficult to write, but thank you for reading. Now, it is time to prep for the evening.


Happy Thanksgiving!


Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!


Tomorrow, I am making use of the American so called Black Friday. I’m going to get two dresses from House of Bias and some other lovely thing, and since the dollar is so weak + the sale is on, it’s going to feel so good. And I’ve got something very blasphemous ordered yesterday.

Essays are getting written and I don’t really have the attention span to write on two blogs in the same time.
But I would like to make a quick note of a couple of awesome experiences that I’ve had lately:

A very rewarding beginners bondage workshop with London’s own Esinem. A full day of ropetalk and tying. What not to like is there, really?!
Esinem works from the codex of ‘tie people, not parcels’. That means that it is the interaction with the involved that matters, actions and reactions. Tying people, not on armlenghts distance but being close. Expressing, with rope, the connection. Not talking about Two Knotty Boys here, but the oh so wonderful ways of connecting with ropebunny.

So, while he was learning us single and double column ties, he also spoke and showed us ways to keep the connection, keep it flowing and basically, keeping it hot and exciting. There was tricks there that suddenly fell into place, but at some points I also fell flat. Because suddenly a two column tie seemed like the toughest thing in the whole world. I react in the same way when going to a dance class. I concentrate so much on following the steps that I can’t do it at all. Very frustrating.
But as the day went on and more and more jute fluff flew around in the room I relaxed. A very nice relaxed lunch was topped with some videos with the work of Osada Steve, but also some of the work that Esinem himself has done. Here is an example of what I see is a very strong performance, using bondage in a provocative,political, thoughtful, creative and downright amazing way.

Anyhow, after some well deserved lunch we continued, and in the end of the day there was even some time to try out a chest-harness. Before that I decided to do some self-bondage and it became something really nice that I know enjoy a lot as an activity. In regards to the chest-harness I must admit that I only came halfway, but that halfway through a chestharness gave me more thoughts and insights that any other has done so far.
I can recommend the course, and if you feel that a beginners course is a bit to simple for you ( I would love to do the same again so I could frame everything better and practice with more supervision!) there is alos a intermediate course and a advanced.  It’s well worth the money, Esinem teaches very well, give you tips, insights, inspiration, and you will have a lot of fun.

A couple of days later I attended a peer-rope workshop. Which was also amazing. A sunday afternoon and evening and the hours flew by all to fast. Watched some wonderful ropework being done, including a lot of suspensions.  Did again some self-bondage, got some help with that, then had a really beautiful spiderharness done, and in the end having very fun with an amazing woman. We hid a bit, found a calm space with dimmed lightning and sat down on the floor. And this is where I keep coming back to. Those 20, 30 minutes with her. Because afterwards, my legs were shaking, I was giggly and calm in the same time. And I had been the one doing the tying. Not since this summer I had felt anything like it (yes, I miss Korrosion) and it made me love the event even more. So, if you are in London, like rope, not busy on a sunday,  check if the peer-rope is happening and go.

Last, but certainly not least. A new shining star on the club sky in London. Crimson is so fucking good. With a focus on the playspace, they must be the most well-equiped playclub in th U.K with at least two suspensionframes, numerous crosses, spankingbenches, a spitroast, bondagebed, medical play area, etc, etc. There is always space to play, but still very easy to be social and feel relaxed. All in all, it feels like a very, very big houseparty that is so kinky that it would make your jaw drop. Next one will be in february and I will be there.



No Go Homophobia

A nice afternoon tea in a a clean suburb of London. I am actuallly outside zone 6 for real. Does not happen very often. Anyway, I’m meeting with relatives and we are pretty much done with the sandwiches as well as the cakes and the tea. The discussions has been many and I find myself in a situation where everyone around me is so safe in their middle-classness that they dare to claim that racism, structures and homophobia does not exist. Or, correction it does not exist in the U.K,. Only in places where there is Muslims (who, btw, just FYI, ‘are wanting to take over the world and destroy the way we live’, according to them). And, yeah, all of them know of both gay men and muslims, some of their best friends are muslims, so apparently that is a valid for them to act like morons.

I’m quite frustrated at this moment, because none of my points are going through, hitting in thin air, speaking to, well, a wall. My mother sits next to me and have a hard time keeping up because of language-difficulties (she is not english)

And then, we start to talk about my future. What I want to do, work with, who I want to be. I am open with whom I am, a non-straight queer-identified individual. I try to be as open as I can. And I am also fairly open with what I want to do with my life, aka working sexual rights/health rights. Immediatley, the conversation turns onto speaking about homosexual individuals, or no I take that back,it’s  about gay men (it is always about gay men). Anyhow, I bring up some of the recent development in Lithuania, what happened in Sweden during the summer, Tel Aviv, etc, as well as stating the weird case of Lt.Col. Victor Fehrenbach is the U.S airforce.

A man who has done everything he can to protect his contryI might not agree on war as a whole, I can’t do that, but I find the DADT-policy just wrong,. A policy that is the perfect example of institutionalised homophobia.

Anyhow, after talking about this man, the relative that has given me the most creeps so far start to talk about the evidence that show why gay men should not serve in the army. Which is apparently the same evidence that show that women should not serve in the army. And now, lo and behold, also the same reasons for why men can’t lead boy’s choirs. Yep. There it is. Homosexuals and peadophiles. He is seriously stating that  male sexuality that is so out of hand that a man that is interested in somethint just go and fuck it, no matter if is a woman, a man or a child.

At this point I had enough. I can’t breathe and I’ve had enough. I take my stuff and leave, right then and there. It feels like my whole body is convulsing as I walk down the road towards the station and for a split second I feel bad about running away, but then I realise I can’t feel sorry for putting down the foot and saying no way. No go homophobic, racist, sexist, misandrogynist pig.

When I moved to London I quite quickly decided to not have that kind of people in my life. If someone cannot respect me, my identity, my feelings and my life, the4y can bugger off, because it never seize to amaze me on how many amazing people there are. Why give time to idiot? They will hurt you anyway, no matter if they are your friend or not. But the likelyhood of them breaking you is smaller if you don’t let them be a part of your life.Which is easier said than done.

But anyhow.  I just went. And it felt like I was in a movie, like I could do stuff, like I am an important person. Which is something that feel very rarely. If never. But now I now, all that work I long to do, it is needed. Thanks a bunch, dear relative. I will fuck up your world and I will enjoy it. Because you know what? While you keep on pretending like your main source of news, facts and opinions do not come from Daily Mail and News of the World, an army will conquer this world. Inch by inch. An army of lovers, and an army of lovers cannot loose.

The female Oh-gasm

Hi, I know, Sorry, haven’t written for a while. I sort of started another blog that isn’t as secret as this one and sort of started writing there instead. Mostly about religion.

But right now I’m listening to a documentary about the female orgasm, and I felt like making a short contribution.

It’s interesting, because even if we are sort of equal now, and even though everybody knows that the female orgasm exists, people still seem to think that the female orgasm is harder to achieve than the male. This isn’t true. At all. It takes about four minutes for a female to reach orgasm when DIYing, it’s the same amount of time it takes for a male. What makes the female orgasm harder to reach, more elusive and all that BS, is that we have constructed our sex around the male perspective. The focus is still on vaginal penetration, one of the hardest ways to reach orgasm, if not assisted by clitoral stimulation (bar blow jobs, but you know what I mean.).

I know I’m one of those who have a really hard time to reach orgasm during sex with another person. Autoerotically, I get annoyed if I only get one, and usually get three. Yes, I do multiples on my own. But with another person involved, I can’t. This has nothing to do with inability physically. It’s all in my brain. It’s probably about techniques, but the mind is in the way for even getting that far. I know everything about everything that is to know about sex, but I cannot relax. Not that far. No. This is seriously sad.

I know one reason for this: I seldom take my time to actually get horny before I have sex. I have a hard time taking control over my own sexlife, I don’t want to be the driving force. This combined with all these heaps of men who actually don’t care about your orgasm, especially not if they have theirs first. I did have some great sex last weekend, with a guy who took the time to kiss me enough to make my knees weak. That worked. I didn’t orgasm, but I was closer then usual. I think that this guy might make me relax enough to let me actually explore, get horny, and have that damn orgasm.

I admire and envy all you who just orgasm away just like that, who can be that confident. I can’t. But give me a couple of years and I’ll join you. 🙂

I’ll be back in a week, I need to rant about the hymen myth aswell.

Let’s get it on….Dom of D00m

Okay. I admit it. It is blogging-desert in Ves world. When I finally can, there is absolutley nothing to talk about. At all.
Or not.

I am in a ‘crisis’. No. Not economic crisis, there is no Lehman that is crashing down upon me. It is a rather personal and strange
experience, that has to do with ‘WHO THE FUCK AM I AND HOW AM I GOING TO CONTINUE TO BE ME?’. I have been topping people since…
not so long time. Since april I would say, and it is great fun. I like topping, I like the rush, the concentration, the sweat, the power, the smell, the sound,
the pushing of boundries. You name it. But I thought I knew there was a dominant there as well. I think that I am in the middle of ‘something’, a bit like a
writers’ block, in which the ideas in the head are not ready to be written yet. Computer processing…

Why is this a problem then? Well. I’ve come to the stage in which I enjoy topping but I want more. And I’m not talking about the ones I’m playing with,
I am considering my own limitations. It is like they are making me to unaware. I have not felt really dominant since…October or November? I have not felt like myself in a long time
and I don’t think I am going to rush anything. It is just…a ache and a missing that I feel, an ache to be in that specific headspace.

The last couple of weeks has been quite full of commitments that not so much taken all the time, rather than the energy plus health issues that makes play not always being first on the agenda.
I not only long to use and to hurt, to be obeyed, but I long for to be used and to be hurt. That orgasmdenial the other week was fun, and the bondage felt so good in a weird way. My cunt was getting wetter by the minute, and the rope was burning in my neck.
Wanting it all… Do you know the feeling? To do more, be more, for a longer time. I think that is what I craved and still crave, long sessions that spin my mind because they provide different sensations.

On a complete other subject. I love safe sex practices. And I love youtube. So when Durex provides awesome commercials. I must provide the links so you can watch.


Planning to bad

My mind spins a bit. Once again, essaywriting is on the menu, and deadline in less than 12 hours. So why not get an email and a question about play? Thanks, a bunch ^^.

I don’t know about play for the moment. I’ve been in hiatus, and is still only starting again to get out. It has to do where I want to be in life, how much energy I have for the moment and if I feel I can do something good with it.  For the last couple of months, I really realised how selective I need to be in playing with people. Not that I don’t like them, (I don’t play with people I don’t like, a kind of old, yet still new resolution), but because how much it can take out of me. Even if there is the magical exchange, that give and take that make it all wonderful and so on, I can get so tired. I guess that is top-drop…
What I am saying is that just because a practice is fucking fun and amazing, coming down can sometimes be the reason for taking it slower. I am not in this to be constantly bad or have bad things done to me all the time. I am in this because it is fun.
And in stressed moments, the fun part can actually disappear, even if it should not.  So I stay cautious and aware of my day to day mood.

Many things are happening. Soon, school starts, essays will be far away and for a couple of weeks I will be having fun and relax more than I’ve done so far. And I plan on being bad. And very good. The gym is a doubleedged sword that I plan on sticking right in to my tummy and the food is going to consist of other things than sugars and additives.
But the bad parts..Oh. The bad parts.
I want to fuck cute men in the ass. There you have it. I don’t know why I am nervous, but thank heavens I have a couple of people who are more than willing to be guinea pigs…
I want cute, intelligent and funny men to suffer. In my head, I want one of those long flogging sessions, in which the backside I hit get more and more red and warm and I want to learn CBT.
I want to play more with women.  It’s kind of silly right now. There was this gorgeous lass who’m I dated for some time. I can’t do that any more, she is far to manipulative. But everytime I see her eyes and thinking about how we trembled together, trying to not touch eachother, I want to dial that number.
Met another woman, an amazing, smart, beautiful and fun one. I get nervous around her, in a way I usually don’t get. How much armour do I really need? She has already made me giggle, lying face down in her lap, with the dress and petticoat pulled over my head and getting spanked. I had been a bad boi. I really bad boi.

The Ethical Hedonist must have some lessons with me regarding the E-stim. Must learn. Must steal some day and wire up an innocent soul, then taking that poor one out in public, pressing the buttons and look suprised when the victim squirms.

And now, Ve needs to write the essay.



Mummies in town

Okay. I must agree, it is kind of nice that the mother (my mum) is actually coming to visit, but it is also a stressfactor. School, daily life and everything in between makes my head go *bang* every once in a while. Took me until the third week in uni until the brain was protesting against the new regime of getting up early, structure the day and read plenty and plenty of text. J has probably been in the line of fire (literally!) a couple of times and I’ve found myself more than once wondering “Where the fuck did that panicattack come from?!”

I’m trying to be a good person, trying to be a social one, fun, and in the same time knowing I don’t need to try, I don’t need to fulfill anyones wishes except my own. Constructing that place in my head is proving more than difficult, and now, the almighty wonderful mother and father will visit for a weekend.

And I think I know Silia is going to be a questionmark now, but one of my solutions right before the last seminar, when it piled up, when anger and frustration (and a realisation of that I had not read the correct text) made the whole body tremble and tears ripping in the corner of the eye…well. The solution was to think about l last time I was mummified. Or one of the times I was mummified. Last time was on my birthday and that was the first time I broke myself out of something because I came so hard. The second time, well. Check this out.

Getting wrapped in that special mumificationtape (it does not stick no anything else but itself! Well, if you are sweaty it does a bit, but that is easily helped) is a journey that I can only describe as katharsic and total relaxation. I don’t about you, but most often when being in bondage I transform into some kind of Houdini, and the let-go part is not really there.

The wrapping, the tape that get tighter and tighter, travelling upwards on my body,closer and closer and higher. The focus of the mummifier, the anticipation in me, the one who get mummified. Once we switched, and the rush of all that work was immense. But WTF has that to do with me having a panic attack?
Well. Being wrapped up like this is relaxing. From the beginning I thought it was going to get me in to panic mode and nothing good would come out of it. It did not happen, I tried it because it sounded hot and I had someone who could and wanted to do it.

And I let go.Of. Everything.

All senses except vision was sharpened, but I could let them go if I wanted to. J lying beside, stroking and following molded curves that fitted perfectly. This is the body that I wear, encaged in black plastic tape. Heavier and heavier, floating and breathing. Breathing sometimes controled by J, sometimes woke up out of the haze by a sharp canestroke over my thighs or a light canetap on my breasts. A time in which I am concealed and away, hidden deep inside.
And then, of course, the joys of discovering the fact that vibration travels really well through the plastic. That a Hitachi one place is felt over the whole body.

Or the element of fear when being cut out.  J describes it on his blog,

“How am I going to get you out of this stuff then?”
There was just enough tone in the voice to penetrate the floating and grab her attention…why that tone?
“How am I going to remove this plastic?”
Her heart rate rises now as she struggles for words – realisation is dawning as the tone becomes more purposeful…it is the carrier signal for a message of fear and stomach turning betrayal…
“I have one, here…” The villain of the peace is introduced in the arena of the mind…
My voice has taken on a pleading tone now…
“There is no other way for me to get cut) you out…” I joyfully, with an air of mock concern, appeal to the logic that only the knife can free her…all I need is her consent to use it…I leverage her consent.

I draw the edge of a leather paddle over her body as the fear is reaching fever pitch – I rip the tape from her eyes split seconds before she safewords…I show her the paddle and smile a loving smile.”

All these elements, associated with SM and Dominance are mere co-actors. The actions might be there, but here is something that don’t need all the other things in order for it to work.  I could happily lie wrapped up every once in a while, waiting or just floating. And that was what I started to think about today, shaking with frustration and anger.

So much for stress management 🙂



P.S Another very interesting account on mummification can be read here