Tag Archives: switchcraft

The City

It is windy. Very windy. At my left I can see the harbor and the lights from the The City. At my right, the open waters. Right in front of me, I see the Golden Gate Bridge. It is the last evening of a whirlwhind 48 hour short visit to San Francisco, where I travelled after Shibaricon. It feels like I could stand at this spot for the rest of my life. The air, the wind, the sea, the breathing that is possible to do, how every breath fills the lungs with such intense life. It is strangely grounding, a moment in time where everything else stops, except for time itself, as it keeps on getting darker and darker and colder and colder. My trip in the US is coming to an end, and it is here that I’m reminded of the experiences I’ve been lucky enough to have, they move through my mind like flashing images, or a brief reminder of a sensory experience; skin twitching or a muscle aching slightly, remembering the sound of a creaking rope or leather gloves, slowly closing over my mouth.  Not even 2 weeks in the US and it feels like I know who I am again. Like the skin is fits around the body and the mind can distribute itself over the thoughts in an even fashion.

The 48 hours in The City were made possible by two people whom I am honored to have met and eternally grateful for their hospitality; Bus Driver and Pink.  They happened to be two of the first people I met at Shibaricon on the first day, and Bus Driver also helped at one point to spot during a demanding suspension. They, together with other awesome and wonderful people, made the con even better.
In the end of  Shibaricon I was looking for somewhere to go as I would have a couple of extra days before the flight back to Europe, and had thus put up a note on a notice board saying something like Busty Swedish Blonde seeking Bedspace. With a limited budget, crashing at someones’ couch seemed like the best option. Not before long, I was suddenly invited to stay at Bus and Pink, an offer which was impossible to refuse. Said and done, ticket bought and bag packed, leaving O’Hare landing in San Francisco. Slightly dazed and rather confused due to tiredness from Shibaricon but  in the same time on a strange adrenaline high  I made my way through the airport and was met (after getting lost…) by my hosts, and their adorable Peanut.

When visiting people who generously open up their home to a Busty Swedish Blonde they have only met a couple of days earlier, I was hoping intensely for not being one of those annoying guests and pointed out I could be fairly self-sufficient so they would not have to interrupt their day to day life due to the Busty Swedish Blonde. Lets just say that I had no idea they would have none of it, as the following two days I was so well taken care, showed all the sites, taken to the kink-shops, parties, et cetera et cetera. After meeting the housemates, having a good night sleep and taking it slow in the morning, Pink showed all the kink-shops, including  MR S and a visit to Good Vibrations, which was fairly awesome to say at least. During lunch time, we spoke about the kink scene and leather and her and her partners involvement in the community. It is organised on such a different level that would make London look pretty much like a bunch of party obsessed perverts. Which we kind of are, but that is beside the point :). Pink  also showed me the SF Citadel, a great permanent BDSM space which was really huge and well equipped.
I the end I visited Wicked Grounds  more than 3(?) times in less two days, had one great lunch, a huge milkshake and just hanging out. After a quick change of clothes, I was dropped off at Wicked Grounds one more time, waiting for Bus who took me to Bondage a Go-Go (BaGG). Now, if there is something that is awesome, it is to experience different kinds of scenes different parties. I become like a horny sociologist, trying to take in as much as possible. BaGG had a great feeling to it, although I must admit that we spent most of the time in the play area so did not see much of the rest of the club. What I did gather though, was that BaGG managed to fuse a couple of things together which another club in London has tried but not succeeded  in doing: fusing the industrial/goth scene with kink. This was mainly done through the awesome music (as an industrial chick, it was heaven to get to play to so many great tracks). In either case, it was a really great place, with a small albeit very well managed play area.

As I had expressed an interest in Bus’ flogging skills (with Pink  politely pointed out that he is a sadist..) I felt slightly nervous, but also strangely centered as we entered the play area. Was strapped to the cross, and not before long the falls of the floggers started to rain over my back. This was one of those floggings which takes you so far away you are in lala-land. A warm up which was exactly that, not just a short interlude before the ‘real’ thing, but  carefully tempered and ministered. And it was the tempo and the sensations that got me;  florentine flogging at its best, moving with the music, but also creating music on its own; syncopations, emphasised beats, the sounds coming out from my mouth all of a sudden. It is like letting bodies do the talking, instead of the vocal chords it is the warm skin, the muscles, the un-planned guttural sounds, goose-bumps, the breathing, the pulse, skin involuntarily twitching, the back arching, moving away from but still drawn towards the pain. You simply don’t want it to end, but it always does. Something which was very special during many of the experiences in the US was that it felt ok taking time. Taking time sitting down and talk properly for a starter, but also, when in that state of bliss after play, it could take the time it took. Not always, but sometimes, it feels like I has to get myself together in a orderly fashion not too long after the play has finished, especially at parties (not on the private parties, but regular ones). But here I was, in lala land but also sitting at the floor, with Bus assuring me there was all the time in the world. Everything was like it was wrapped up in cotton, even the music was muted. And sitting there, at the floor, was like the most natural place to be in. It became a reminder to the self; to stay present in the moment. Around us, there were others playing, and the passion and skill people showed made my warm body feel even warmer.

A while later, when having landed, there was this little itch; I needed to tie someone. Was introduced to a lovely lass and we spoke a bit. She felt like playing, and I was borrowed a suspension ring. We set up, first rope is out of the bag, heart pounding already. People are busy chatting, standing next to the playspace with drinks, dancing. The suddenly, there is a stronger light and a voice announcing that a guest from abroad is here to demonstrate some of her rigging skills; and obviously people turn immediately around. For a brief moment I think something like: “SHITFUCKITYOHDEARGODSAVEME”, while pretending like I’m tying something really important behind the lovely girls’ back in order to hide what is probably written all over my face. Then one of those VNV Nation tracks comes on; a steady beat and a baseline,  a deep breath and then go. The adrenaline hits, the light makes it harder to see who is watching, and her body become the only thing that matters. With the adrenaline and the pace of the tying, it is almost like trying to scratch into her, dig deeply, removing layer after layer. It is not really pretty the rope, off centre and unbalanced, but god damn, it is so fun. Encasing her in a cocoon of rope and then just physical rope and bodies in motion; toying with her mind, moving in like an attack, forcing her off balance; a fistful of hair, her neck exposed. As the wham bam adrenaline wears off, I want to continue with the rope but with a less barrage of the senses, so the untying takes place on the floor, while sitting down, the rope is warm and so is her body, resting my cheek against her shoulder, controlling every movement, pushing her with my chest, adding tension rather than removing it even if the ropes are coming off. The last wrap around her wrists comes off; we have both forgot everything about the crowd. The evening continues, with more awesomeness, and when we walk back to the car, it feels like being wrapped up in cotton.

On the second day, I get showed around a very special and interesting place; my jaw dropping for each and every door that was opened. Suffice to say, I did not think about anything else than what horrible acts could be committed or was being committed. Those really abject, filthy, degrading, sadistic…..see, it is even hard to type anything about it!
Pink then fetched me and showed the touristy things, including Lombard street. We also found some sushi, and dear me, that sushi was basically perfect. Also walked on the Castro, which felt strangely touching. All this queer history and activism, the significance really struck, especially when visiting a LGBT-history museum. I am so grateful for those who paved the way, who fought back and stood their ground.

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That evening then finished with a visit to view the scenery described in the beginning of this post but also biting someone very cute in a dark parking lot.

I would like to thank Pink and Bus Driver who made the visit so unforgettable with your generosity and kindness. There is probably not words enough to express this gratitude, so I’ll just stop waffling.



The Gut Feeling- Shibaricon 2011

It is Saturday, and all smiles after a wonderful cabaret. I think this is something wonderful about a lot of ropey people being in the same place and sharing; it is fun. Even if it is also serious and scary sometimes and the scenes you can see are heavy and pretty awesome, it is still fun, there is still laughter and a mutual enjoyment (always to some extent, and perhaps to someones extent more to someone else).

The drop earlier in the evening had made it clear to me that there was a somewhat of an unbalance. The switch in me had flipped towards the desires of being bound. A forthcoming post will discuss the arts of switch-crafts a bit further, but suffice to say, there needs to be a balance between everything.  And it was Saturday and I just needed rope on my body, not tied by myself or tying someone else, but tied by someone else. When in that mode, it is strange, because it is almost a desperate feeling. I did not even bring my ropes with me, just to mark that it was not that kind of evening. For those of you who know me well enough, that is somewhat unusual even for me. People around had started tying, and then suddenly running into Tatu.  Sometimes, asking for what you want is so god damn difficult, but asking him if he wanted to do some rope now or later felt easy.

We ended up in one of the smaller play-rooms to focus on some floor-work and as I peeled off one layer of clothing after another, it felt like I could not stop feeling, thinking, and everything I always hope to shut up is running amok. There is no control over thoughts, barely over body, the jet-lag is running crazy, suddenly thoughts of someone I must have hurt so much appear, then the pain of not being in control over potential fucked up feelings reminds me again that despite how ever much I want to be in control over my life, I never am and I never will be, because I must feel, I need to feel. Note: this is while we undress, no rope has even taken place yet. I take deep breaths, trying to move into the space of rope and empty minds, ground myself.  I’m not sure if he felt the mind running amok, but we sat on the floor, just looking at each other for moment before his hands started to move over me. There was something in the movements that tempted the emotion, tried to lure it out, like small pieces of glue on his fingertips lightly touching scraps of paper. He spoke, perhaps I did as well.  But as it happened, when he placed his hand on my belly I cracked. It was like everything in me had nested in there, like a stiff, hard, tired ball of fear, adrenaline, self-doubt, stress and conflicting emotions. And when the nest was pressed upon, moved, all of its content started to bleed, first trickling, then pouring. No rope yet, but I was crying and could not stop crying. He started moving me, started tying, and instead of trying to shut the brain up, I just let everything enter into the system, running amok, a crazy assault of disjointed thoughts and feelings not processed, no point in fighting it, no lock down, no focus, just exist. And Tatu tied, moved with and against me, and it felt like where ever the rope went, it allowed this to happen, because I was there, I had to feel, I had to go through it. His breathing was following the pace of the rope, and the rope made sounds, so safe to hear, so familiar, so grounding. All the time is spent on the ground, maximum focus on the bodies, on the energy, the connection. And everything can just happen, without controlling it. When he is untying, there is a stillness and a peace, mind has accepted the feeling body, allowing it to take charge, and now, the landing becomes a regaining of focus, but a kinder focus, a more grounded version, acknowledging those who are around. We sit, first not talking, then slowly starting to coil all the rope up and chatting about everything and nothing, all of those things that matters, and that which does not. As we, after some time, hug one more time and then part ways to continue experience the wonders of the play-spaces at Shibaricon. As I walked away, the thing that most came into my mind how the the body is not a vessel for the mind, but a primary link to the self and others, or in the words of some smart person who said something like: “We know ourselves and the world through our sensing bodies”.