Although I’ve had a couple of short, fun, play-type situations in the last two years, it’s been just over two years since I’ve had a full scene. When I played prior to that, it was typically pretty heavy, a bit of edge play, usually there was blood, always there was heavy impact, lots of whip action (my favorite thing), and deep energy exchange. Coming out of a consensual non-consent relationship, it’s been a struggle to figure out what my boundaries actually are, what I want from play, and what my limits feel like they should be. Outside of the typical limits most consensual players have, my only true limit has been no sensory deprivation – I can’t have my face covered or I can have a panic attack. But redefining limits is something I’m struggling with a bit.
I’ve also been filled with some anxiety over play. Since it’s been so long, just exactly how much will I be able to take? Being a heavy player, an edge player, there is some ‘thing’ within me that drives me to see how far I can push past that point where I feel like I can’t take one more second. It’s not a challenge for the top to see how far I can go, but it’s an internal thing, a growth challenge for myself. Plus, I just enjoy where the pain takes me when the energy exchange is good.
I’ve been negotiating for the past few weeks with a dear friend to be my first step back into play. We’re very close friends, he knows me very well, and knows the things I’ve been dealing with for the past couple of years. So we set up a play date for Behind Closed Doors. There is also a newish friend whose energy has been a draw to me since an event we attended together about a year ago. We got a little teaser of play at that event, but the energy dance has been going on since. I have yet to figure out what that dance is about, but it’s there and very palpable for me, and it turns out for this other person, too. I’ve kept hoping that the stars would all align and the two of us would be able to dance. Oh thank you, stars.
And so BCD arrived. I had been fighting anxiety for days. Not major anxiety, just tickling anxiety. Will I wimp out? Will I have a cathartic breakthrough that leaves me a sobbing, snotting mess on the floor after 5 minutes? Can I take my clothes off again in front of all those people? Niggling doubt and anxiety at the edges of consciousness. Niggling insecurities about my body, weight gain, and aging.
South and I checked in with each other Friday night to make sure I was ready for our play date on Saturday night. Yes, I’m ready. Anxious, but ready. Negotiations were basically that I’m not ready for canes yet, no genital play but boobs are always up for grabs, no blindfold, and I changed my mind on restraints, I think without is best this go round. No real medical issues to worry about. I just need to play on a piece of equipment that allows me to lean on it and grab it. My ideal – the star, but a cross is okay, too.
Saturday afternoon I decided to skip a workshop so I could take a nap so I would be well rested for the evening. Just as I was lying down to sleep, a text from South – “How would you feel about Leenie joining us tonight?” My first thought was, “Are you freakin’ kidding me? How do you think I feel?” And thus, it was set. The dance would happen.
I repacked my toybag so that toys I would like were there for use should one of them so choose. I stuck a sarong inside for after, slipped into a loose skirt and tank, and off I went. I was quickly frustrated – all stations were packed and it was clearly going to be awhile before we could get started. I was afraid that we might start so late that Daddy Crone would change his mind. We got lucky, though, and the star became available.
South and I had talked a bit about some of my thoughts going into play again. I’ve gained quite a bit of weight in the last few years, and so my psychological habits have reverted a bit to eating disorder stage and body image has been affected. The thought of getting back out there almost paralyzes me because of that feeling of unattractiveness. But the night before, I met someone in the bar I’d known online for awhile and we had a fun time flirting. That helped me remember, okay, people do still find you attractive. Just breathe and own it. While our play wasn’t intended to be sexual, we had negotiated some sensual play to be part of it. I needed to feel sexy, sexual, and desired as much as I needed play.
It’s funny, and I would never recommend this to someone else, but Leenie and I didn’t really negotiate. We didn’t talk about what was okay and what wasn’t. I actually think that was a good thing in this situation as it left things wide open. It let us all go where the energy took us. And for me, the flow was beautiful. I know that the two of them spoke briefly, so information was shared. It’s important, though, to say here that I don’t use safewords. I use normal communication. I’m very verbal, even when I’m floating high as a kite. I can still verbalize everything I need to. But trying to remember a specific word just isn’t something I’m capable of doing. So I say things like, “I need a second,” or “my hand is numb,” or even, “can we move this thing” when something’s in my way. So I was comfortable with the fact that we hadn’t really negotiated, just said, yes, let’s dance.
South and I set up. I got naked, not looking around, just breathing. I handed South my glasses, and faced the star. I was nervous. A little shaky. His hand touched my back, he leaned in against me, and just breathed with me. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing and his breathing, and relaxed into it. He stepped back and began. My eyes were closed as I focused on the strokes, on my breathing, and on myself. I could hear my breath and the thwack of the flogger. I could feel the falls as they touched my skin. I felt a presence and opened my eyes. Leenie, standing inside the star, grinning that Cheshire cat grin, with that eye twinkle that makes me giggle. And I smiled. In that moment, in that energy, all anxiety gone. I giggled again. A word or two was exchanged. The dance had begun.
There are few things that really just trip my trigger. It’s funny when you haven’t told someone about those things, they haven’t seen you in those situations, and yet, all those little triggers just happen to appear in the right moments. Leather gloves. Leather gloves on my face. Leather gloved hands slapping, grabbing, hitting. Choking. Slapping. Face covered. Leather whip wrapped around my neck, biting into flesh, sliding oh so slowly along flesh. Gods, I wanted to lick that whip. Bite it. But it wasn’t mine, so I didn’t. Oh, I wrapped dry lips around it, but nothing that wasn’t easily wiped away. And that same whip, cracking in my ear.
And then, South bit me. On the shoulder. Hard. Oops, forgot to tell you about that. And she came. And came some more. Lifted eyebrows, hmmm. Revelation for those tops, both the sensual one and the sadistic one. I think I have about 7 or 8 bite marks today that are still making me tingle when I feel them. Or write about them.
“Are you willing to face me?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Daddy Crone. I so often play with my eyes closed or blindfolded. I knew South was there, I knew exactly where he was. I could feel him, not just implement against flesh, but feel his energy. I knew the steps he took, where he was at all times. My eyes, though, were glued. There was a connection happening between those eyes. It’s kind of an amazing thing to realize in the aftermath this person you’re connected to isn’t looking at where that whip or fist or boot is landing. But they know exactly what they are hitting. “Eyes are the windows of the soul.” Our souls were connected through those eyes. Until…
Fist in hair, shove downward onto hands and knees. Boot shoving shoulders down. Whips from the front and the back. On each side. Boot holding down hair. Face shoved into crotch. Heavy thudding, kneeing. Boot slammed against mons, edge of heal just slipping over clit. Oops, coming again. Kneeing. Punching. Biting. Grasping. Growling. Grunting. “Fuck you, Sir!”
This dance. One masochist, finding home again, that place, centered, grounded. One sensual top, who knows all the baggage and the crap. Whose style is not heavy but is sensual and loving and protective. One sadistic top, with whom a teasing dance has been occurring for awhile. Who knows a little, but reads energy really well. There was sensual. There was primal. There was sexual. There was beating and whipping and choking and slapping and biting and kicking and punching and grabbing and shoving. And it was fucking hot.
There was also safety. Security. I knew in the hands of those two tops that nothing bad would happen to me. It didn’t matter where either of them took me. I knew, without a doubt, I was safe. It was also exactly what it was supposed to be in that moment, in that place, with these three people.
A dam broke, but not many tears. In fact, very few tears. But that dam broke just the same. Today writing this, there are some tears, but not bad tears. Good ones. Healthy ones. Releasing ones.
Sunday, I said, ‘Thank you,’ so many times I lost count. I know those two got tired of hearing it. They gave me so much more than just a scene. I can’t really put into words what they gave me. But ultimately, what they gave me was myself again. That piece I lost along the way.
It was awesome having people come up to me Sunday and tell me how hot that scene was. Yeah, it was pretty fucking hot from where I was standing. It also healed something inside of me that needed healing. Something I thought might be irretrievably broken and lost. Gods, I hope I get to do that again.