10 November 2007

Domestically Skilled or Unskilled

I can never understand how it can be that someone can reach adulthood without knowing how to use something as simple as a washing machine, or make a baked potato. Yet for some people knowing nothing about how to survive independently seems to be a point of pride as much as anything else. I pity these people, especially these days when women are no longer content to be housewives.

I am very thankful that they are not content to be simple housewives as well, hopefully it will mean that these people can no longer survive for long. They will find themselves alone, slowly dying of malnutrition, rotting in filthy, rag-like clothes.

These are such simple skills, so how can it be that not only is someone incapable of performing them, but actively proud of that fact? I can understand not being able to make a complicated meal for twelve, although that is not particularly difficult. I can understand not knowing how to boil soap or handwash clothes in a stream, though again, not difficult. But not being able to throw a potato in the oven for a while, or fry a steak? Not being able to put some clothes in a machine, throw in some liquid, and press a button?

How do these people live with themselves? Really?

Misplaced in Time

I have a theory that people can be misplaced at birth. Obviously I am not speaking literally here, it is technically possible for babies to be put in the wrong place at a hospital, or left behind, or children to go missing but that is not what I am talking about. Some people have a natural empathy with certain cultures or traditions. Some people feel a resonance with a certain country. And most importantly, and relevant to this post, is that some people have a feeling that they should be in a certain time.

I feel that I should have been born in a time, and a way, where life was slower and riskier. Where when someone insulted me or annoyed me I could challenge them to a duel and have the whole matter resolved in a few minutes of swordplay, or a simple pistol shot. I should be in a time where I would be considered a scoundrel or a cad rather than a playboy or a slut. I should be around when it would not be considered odd for me to wear a frilled shirt, and to use formal language for the simplest of matters.

And I should be in a time where having a case of ivory appointment cards to hand to a butler would be considered normal. Where civility and politeness could be infinitely more cutting and insulting than a simple 'fuck you'.

Unfortunately I cannot even find such cards, despite my best attempts, and the style of dress I would like to adopt is far beyond my price range.

So what do I do instead? Well I practice a hobby called live-action roleplay, where I can play pretend with up to thousands of other adults who all play alongside. Several weekends a year. It is expensive, but its my holiday from reality and so is worth it. It also has been the thing that drives me to learn how to sword-fight, staff-fight, learn archery, how to throw knives, how to use a shield, an axe, a hammer, and just about any other weapon you could name.

Fun though.

09 November 2007

Experiences of Sex and Pain

Even for supposedly vanilla people sex and pain are often intrinsically linked. This post may contain a handful of terms which some are not familiar with, so it might be easier for me to explain them now. Vanilla refers to plain sex, though people use the term differently. Some use it to refer to any sex which does not involve some sort of kink or violence, others use it to refer specifically to missionary sex. Bondage refers to being bound, whether with rope, chains or anything else. Domination and submission refer to power plays, usually just during sex but for some people extending a long way outside the bedroom. Sadomasochism is an enjoyment of giving or receiving pain.

One important thing for this post is the distinction between kinks and fetishes. A fetish is a strictly defined term, and in terms of sex means something without which someone cannot have sex. A kink on the other hand is simply something which can enhance the experience or enjoyment of sex. I have many, many kinks, but no true fetishes.

Now as to my own experiences, my first experience of rough sex, sadomasochism, was also the first time I actually had sex. That one I have already talked about, so this is more for the others.

Mainly in alternative sex, as it is sometimes described, I tend to take a dominant role. It can happen that the right person can push me into a submissive attitude, but that is extremely rare. The first time that occurred was with the same girl who I had my first time with. I ended up being entertainment for a party, though I still do not know how many people there were at the party, having been blindfolded and restrained for the whole time. The details are rather vague and blurred in my head, the whole thing being a mess of voices, hands, and the occasional mouth, for eight hours.

I could barely move afterwards. Being locked with your wrists to your ankles for eight hours of writhing and struggling takes its toll on your joints. I had marks around my wrists and ankles for weeks afterwards.

Of course as I said I have been very much on the other side before, I have had people acting as my pets for days, following every order, surrendering everything in the way of choice to me for a time and taking punishment if they disobey. This is why I am looking forward to my trip to Ireland, it has been a long time since I have been able to play with someone with that level of submission. I have various toys along those lines, a simple whip which I have never used. It is more a prop than anything else. A cane which is particularly well-made, with a nice weight, and leaves good solid welts when correctly applied to the body. Carefully blunted knives which can prick and give the illusion of danger, but are incapable of actually cutting.

Safety is actually important in this sort of sex though. Safe words are used in case things go too far, something I am careful to establish with any partner who may be partaking in risky activities with me. I have spare keys for any restraints I have, and a small set of lockpicks just in case those go missing.

Definitely looking forward to Ireland though, where I can actually put this sort of thing to its full use again. I may not want to indulge every time, but every now and then it is an urge which I want to have a chance to explore.

08 November 2007


"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."
- Oscar Wilde

Masks are really quite amazing things. Little pieces of plastic, or china, or bone, or leather, or whatever else you might use. You place them over a face and suddenly the person is no longer there. That identity, even the personality is gone.

In the course of studying for a psychology degree I came across a concept of a social construct. These are used by people essentially to describe things. For example, if I say to you 'a doctor', it will instantly conjure an image in your mind. Our images may not be identical, but assuming that we are brought up in similar cultures and societies they will be similar. This is a particular example of a social construct, a stereotype associated with a word. If I were to put two constructs together, such as a 'young doctor', your image will change to incorporate the new information.

These constructs can be narrowed down much more, from stereotypes to instead describe facets of a person or even a thing. Concentrating on a person though, the different personalities they present to the world are social constructs. These are not simply pictures or ideas we hold in our heads, independent of the world. This is a two-way communication we hold with society. If we are told that we should be something, and everyone around us is that something, we will alter not only how we act but our very perception of ourselves on the spur of the moment to present a new construct to observers. The playboy-type, happy-go-lucky Mr R Rabbit presented in this blog may be intended by myself to be an accurate representation of myself, and in many ways is so, but even I will never be able to tell exactly how accurate it is as the very act of reading or writing in this blog almost forces me to put forward the appropriate facets of my personality.

You may be wondering what all this has to do with masks, particularly physical masks. Well constructs can change in an instant. The moment a certain person steps into a conversation for example people may go from open, raucous, the life and soul of a party, to quiet, withdrawn and shy. But now what happens if instead we have some sort of protection, a layer between us and everything else, a physical mask concealing that part of us which is most recognisable.

Often people say that masks make us all feel less inhibited, but that seems to me to be an over-simplification. In many way yes, masks do actually allow us to present more of ourselves than we otherwise might. We do not have to worry about judgment, because we can always throw away the mask and start again. We are no free-er than we were before though. Even behind an actual mask we are still presenting a construct, made up of what we believe others should see, or may want to see, what we ourselves think, and what we want to see. All we are doing is making that seperation easier.

Wear a mask and look in a mirror. You are no longer you, the true you is more hidden than ever, you are purely what you present to people, protected and safe. Safe enough to let this stranger in a mask do things that you may have hidden even from yourself. So behind that mask we are letting go and trying new things, but not because we can reveal our true selves, simply because we are better hidden.

If you have doubts, think of this, why do many people find it so much easier to have sex with the lights off? Why are there so many fetishes for costumes? Why are so many costumes and ideas designed to make all involved in sex something other than what they are, adding another layer of pretense to the wrapping? There is nothing wrong with this, but we should at least be honest.

This was meant to be a post much more about masks and costumes in sex, but I got myself a little distracted. I will do a post about anonymising sex, and role-play another time. I have to stop getting distracted like this.

Actually I will have to set up a poll. I am curious about what direction people think I should take this blog in, or if I should just carry on with the chaotic system I am using at the moment.

A Challenge to Anonymous Flamers

I enjoy a good argument. Particularly as I usually win them. But I have become rather irritated with people who anonymously post insults on other people's blogs. I am almost certainly much more morally corrupt and probably easier to take offense at than most. So why do these people go for much more well-behaved, much more reasonable bloggers and attack them?

I am sure I am not that scary, but I suppose it is possible.

Anyway my challenge is as follows. If anyone has the nerve to flame me, and put their name and contacts in the comment, they are more than welcome. If anyone wants to flame me anonymously, go for it. I love playing with you people, you tend to have such limited vocabularies and make such lovely fools of themselves.

For anyone else, you are welcome to put whatever comments or questions you want to me, anonymously. Criticise all you want. Insult all you want. Let me know exactly what you think. No flattery or anything else. I am curious about what people will say. Of course, I may rebutt it completely or tear you to pieces, but I still want to know.

Pet Names and Nicknames

I am sure that everyone has been called by one of these at some point in their life. Whether as a term of endearment such as sweetie, pet, gorgeous, or something similar which now breeches our lovely new view of political correctness, or as something less pleasant or less innocent. I tend to use these for people a lot. Even male friends will occasionally get called 'Sugarpie' or 'Snugglelumps', usually when I am trying to scrounge a drink from them. The most common two which I use though are 'Girly' and 'Boy'.

Of course this does irritate some people, particularly when I start using them on people obviously older than me, but in general I get away with it. Some limited number of the people I know actually have nicknames of their own, which I will usually use.

The kicker is that I personally believe a nickname you have acquired down the years actually says something about you, whether that is pleasant or unpleasant. You have actually earned a true nickname, and it will then stay with you faithfully. Only the closest of my family use my real name when speaking to or of me, anyone else calls me 'Rabbit' or 'Bunny', or variations thereof. That name has been with me for years now, since I was at University, and while it may be overly-feminized or just plain silly, it is my nickname and I am rather attached to it.

The theorised reasons for my nickname are many, and varied, but you can now hear the true story. At University I shared a house with various people of the female persuasion. Comments were made likening me in various ways to members of the lapine species. Eventually the comments stopped being made, and simply the name remained. Of course, one evening while the group of us were watching a film the conversation ended up turning to sex toys. During this conversation the Ann Summers Rampant Rabbit was mentioned, and things moved from there.

So what are your nicknames, and how did you get them? If you do not have one what would you like it to be and why?

Only a few weeks now until my trip into the land of debauchery and sin, which I am rather looking forward to. Slave has apparently been cleaning for the last few days, or at least trying to clean. Hopefully she will be meeting me at the airport, and with a little luck I can restrain myself until the risk of being hauled in by security guards is gone.

Also looking forward to meeting up with, or rather staying with, Student in a couple of weeks. Just for a night before I go camping, but with any luck she will be joining me on the weekend as well.

07 November 2007

Cutting and Self-Harm

Self harm is a topic which is now being mentioned more often, but is often mentioned in a similar way to leprosy. There seems to be mostly pity for anyone who practices self-harm, rather than sympathy. It often seems that there is more actual sympathy for addicts, or people with eating disorders. These do all have similarities, which is why I mention them together.

All of these are coping mechanisms, addictions, self-harm, eating disorders, all usually begin as methods to deal with stress or misery. My own started around the time of my seperation from my wife, a particularly stressful time as I also could not find a job, and was for a short time homeless before I could face asking my parents to let me move back in. I managed to avoid starting smoking, which came much later, and avoid any other substance addictions. After all affording them was a little difficult.

What I did find though, which did help me cope, was that I could hurt myself. The insides of my forearms are heavily scarred, some of these scars are from other events but many are my own doing. I was extremely careful at the time, not wanting to risk causing any serious damage to myself, so I made sure to sterilise any blade I used, make sure it was sharp and smooth, and so on. Pretty much in the same way that a heroin addict might sterilise a needle.

As to what exactly it did, that is hard to say. In a physiological context I could point out that pain and injury releases adrenaline and endorphins, a very definite rush. In a psychological context it is a control method. The pain and injury, and the scars or wounds left behind, are signs that there is still some little bit of your own life that you are the one in control of. I will admit that this is not sensible in any way but that does not stop it from being at least partly true. It is an addiction, and it does help to cope, but as with any addiction once the need for the coping mechanism is gone the habit often remains.

I finally stopped at the same moment as I decided to stop cutting my hair. Part of the reason I am so concerned about people cutting my hair is because of this, it represents the fact that I have decided that part of my life is over. I had a lot of help before stopping, but when I actually did it was something I chose to do on my own.

For anyone else who may self-harm, remember that as with any coping mechanism or addiction you need to be careful not to put yourself at serious risk. And I do recommend getting real help, whether from a professional or someone else. There are all sorts of ways you can try and cut down on the addiction, such as wrapping rubber bands around your wrists.

The big problem now though is the fashion self-harmers. A large part of the reason I have an intense dislike of emos is the impression they seem to be insistent on giving that self-harming somehow is required to be in their clique. Accept someone who does it, without showing revulsion, yes, but actively encouraging people to cut themselves is just twisted, and not in a good way.

Now to emphasize my view. I will not condemn anyone who does it any more than I would a smoker, or alcoholic, how they deal with it and how it affects others is what will tip the balance. Better than any of these methods is to get real help to deal with things, or to just deal with it alone, and no addiction should ever be taken up whether as a coping mechanism or anything else.

06 November 2007

Pain and Pleasure

Admittedly this is a very stereotypical post for someone like me to make, and has been discussed many times before, but I still feel like mentioning it. I cannot think of anything else to post about tonight at least, though suggestions for future posts are more than welcome. Anyway onto the topic.

One of my more disturbing party tricks was discovered a while ago by a friend who wanted to show off his grip. He tried to crush my hand, in the middle of a pub. The moan I let out was enough to discourage anyone from doing it again. The fact that I had a stupid, semi-orgasmic grin on my face for the next few minutes only made it worse. Similar incidents have occured before, and since, usually prompted by comments of 'hurt him, its funny' or suchlike by friends.

Now while I do not mind people finding my reaction to pain fairly comical most of the time, it can get a little irritating. In a way it might be thought of as someone finding it amusing that you find it pleasurable to have someone kiss your neck. If pain is a sensual pleasure, then inflicting that pain becomes linked in some way to that pleasure. That pleasure, even if it may be enjoyable to be watched, or take risks in public, is still a highly intimate thing, and so pain becomes the same.

The other thing I should mention is that not all pain is the same. In a fight for instance I do not want to get hurt. In a context where things could be serious, where I could end up severely injured, it stops being fun. Only when things are casual, or at least I am not in actual danger, are things enjoyable.

Now to flip the coin I also enjoy inflicting pain, again in a relatively safe manner. For anyone who may not know the fancy word for this, sadomasochist is the term that you are looking for. If you are thinking of the stereotypical leather-wearing person in bondage then I am afraid you are under a misconception.

As to why I enjoy it, something I have been asked before, I have some difficulty explaining. It may simple be that I enjoy sensation, all sensation, and pain is amazingly close to the sensation that orgasm brings. Or it may just be bad wiring in my brain. It could even be a deep-buried self-loathing that makes me enjoy being hurt. Any of those could be the case, essentially though I enjoy giving and receiving pain.

This post has ended up a little longer than I was planning, so any how-to tips or details of my own experiences will have to wait until another time. I think experiences might well be saved until after I have had a chance to visit Slave in Ireland and play a little more in this particular fetish.

Commitment Phobia

This is mainly a post to explain my last one, since it seems to have confused people. Valley is not the only one asking me why I do not want a relationship with Sweetie, though she is the only one to have left a comment. My reasons go back a long way.

My relationships to date, ones where I have been committed, have not turned out well. Probably the best I have had in recent times was one that ended recently because the girl's paranoia did not let her accept that I was not cheating. Along with various supposed 'friends' trying to tell her that I was cheating so that they could sleep with her, she knew my reputation too well and found it difficult to deal with.

I will not have a committed relationship with Sweetie for several reasons. The first ties back to past relationships, and essentially boils down to me now being unwilling to commit to anyone who cannot simply accept me and trust me as I am. For all her qualities Sweetie is paranoid, and the distance is not helpful in that regard. While she can accept that I may be seeing other people, I honestly do not believe she could trust me if I told her that I was not.

The second is more related to who she is, and how she is. As I have said before she is a lovely, sweet girl. Unfortunately this means that I have to restrain myself constantly around her. I am not a lovely, sweet person. I can be very nice, but I am honestly not a nice person. Again, if I am to go into a relationship then it needs to be with someone who can accept that occasionally I do want a raging argument to settle me. I want them to stand up for themselves and make cutting remarks right back at me.

And the third boils down to sex. While Sweetie is somewhat open-minded in her attitude to sex, she shares only a couple of her kinks with me. It has been a very long time since I have been able to indulge myself properly during sex and I really do miss it. Being stuck having nothing but vanilla sex, with the same person, as my only amusement has been proven to drive me mad in the past.

So if someone fills all three criteria, I might consider a relationship. Otherwise I am going to continue being me.

I suppose I should also clarify what I mean by a relationship. To me it implies commitment to the other person. Yes, that is suprisingly close-minded and traditional of me but in the way that most people understand that is what a relationship means. We lack the words to describe other sorts properly.

05 November 2007

Apparently I Am Not Irresistable

I know, I know, this is a hard idea to come to terms with, but it appears to be true.

Actually the title of this entry is a bit of a lie. Not that I am not irresistable, that but is true, but it is a bit off-topic for the rest of the post. For some reason all I could think to write about tonight was confidence, and lack of it or over-abundance of it. See the thing is I actually have both. Simultaneously I can have complete and utter self-confidence, almost offensively so, and act accordingly, and I can be utterly insecure and uncertain about everything.

I suppose the title is somewhat related. It does not shake my faith in myself if someone does not find me attractive, or even likeable. In fact it does not alter my view of myself at all, I know that some people find me attractive and that is enough. Except that it is not, because there is a flip side to the coin. The fact that people find me attractive, and I know that they do, does nothing to boost my confidence because I never seem to be able to persuade myself that it means anything.

I am sure I am not the only one who feels this, and do not believe I am for a second. I am just curious whether anyone thinks this is due to some unshakeable self-doubt inside me, instilled during years of torment in childhood, or whether it is the opposite and I have some sort of permanent internal self-belief, simply from surviving said torment.

And in other news, off to see yet another new member of the cast in a couple of weeks. For now I think Student will do for her, as it is a nicely descriptive name. She is kind of cute, can match me for innuendo quite comfortably, and has no interest in any form of relationship or commitment. At least in theory.

Sweetie is prodding for some sort of commitment, but so far she does not seem to want to go as far as pushing me into it. I appreciate that she is not trying to push me, but it does make me feel a little guilty. I know I am not using her and I have told her that there are others but I almost feel that it would be better for her to find someone else and realise that there are people out there who will have a genuine relationship with her.

Fireworks Are Dangerous

So you see those pretty things up there? Those ones which go boom, whizz, flash and crackle? The ones which sparkle and shine and light up the sky? The ones which fall over and get stuck in their launchers, or in the case of some fly free of their securing nail and spiral across the garden in a whirl of sparkling fury?

Yes, fireworks. They are immense fun. But has anyone else noticed that they are at their best when things do not go quite to plan? Take our little home display last night. We had a highly successful bonfire, even if we did all need to shelter from the heat behind a tree when it was at its best. And we may have accidentally set fire to a large patch of bamboo and burned it half to the ground before anyone managed to get the fire extinguisher out, but it was fun all the same.

Then we moved on to the actual display.

That was when the fun really started.

We started the display with a rocket, a very large rocket, lit by yours truly. Sadly the launching tube must have been pressed a little too firmly into the ground so that the rocket's own stick ended up stuck in the earth. As you can imagine, in an explosive device with a blast radius of about twenty to thirty metres and intended to fire off at a height of maybe a hundred feet, being stuck is not a good thing.

It did actually launch, eventually, but the delay must have been a little too much. It had barely cleared the roof when it detonated with a shockwave that nearly took us off our feet, shattered a couple of windows, and echoed for a good few minutes.

You might consider that this could be taken as a bad omen, and a sign to cease the display. Not so! The windows were quickly boarded up and repair people are coming today, and the display continued. The next melodrama to occur involved a firework designed to fire sixty four shots, which would delight young and old with their explosive, then crackling descent. It must be admitted that it did almost exactly what it said on the tin.

The only problem was that the first shot for some reason jarred it free of its bed of earth and onto its side. It then lay on its side and fired sixty three shots directly at the house of our neighbour, probably causing much distress inside as it must have sounded like a siege weapon going off as each shot detonated when it hit the wall of their house.

And still the display continued, though with no further problems.

In other news, Tart is now being cut free for simplicity. Things were fine when all she was offering were fun and games, but now she is poking for more of a relationship and I have already had one with her, which ended badly, so no thanks. Another one down, though a few more potentials on the horizon. I will have to tell you about those should something actually come of them. Affair is still demonstrating more and more interest, I get the strong feeling her current boyfriend is ignoring her, and given that this is one of only two girls I have ever met with a sex drive to match mine it must be driving her insane.

And of course, as always, there is Stalker. She has now taken to sending me pictures, from a range of different e-mail addresses and accompanied by stories. The pictures are quite obviously of her, but for some reason they really do not push any buttons I might have. I think my dislike of her is preventing me from becoming aroused by such images, even though they would should they come from other people.

04 November 2007

Party Dresses and Distractions

We may have been a little late for the party yesterday. I take no responsibility for this. All Sweetie would have needed to do was tell me to stop and I would have done. But she was wearing such a nice little red dress, lovely and form fitting. I could not resist it. So we ended up with her bent forwards over the bed, her dress shoved up around her hips, her panties on the floor somewhere, and me fucking her from behind. We did not manage to find her panties afterwards, so she had to go without for the night. Made things easier when we got back from the party and repeated, and in the taxi there and on the way back where I enjoyed fingering her quietly.

We did get to the party in time for food though, and I even did a little dancing afterwards. I do not often dance, so this is a very rare occasion. Food was very nice indeed, three full courses, steak for the main course and creme brulee for dessert.

In other news, Affair is demonstrating more interest. To the point of telling me when her boyfriend is out and asking me to please come up, fuck her, and cover her in cum. Those are her words not mine. There were also mentions of taking pictures of her before, after and during. I may have to scrape the money together to go and see her. I could do with something relatively kinky after a weekend of fairly vanilla.

Oh, last incident with Sweetie was this morning. I woke up horny, and she was asleep. Apparently she does not mind being woken up with sex in the morning, though I am curious what she was dreaming about as my real name is certainly not Mike.