Leather Writing Awards 2015

This announcement is old (20 April), but I thought you might appreciate a linked version. The 👍 emoji indicates finalists, the 🏆 emoji winners. Enjoy!

SEMI-FINALISTS ANNOUNCED FOR 2015 NLA-I WRITING AWARDS

(Columbus, OH) — National Leather Association – International (NLA-I), a leading organization for activists in the pansexual SM/leather/fetish community, announced today the semi-finalists for its annual writing awards. Named after activists and writers Geoff Mains, John Preston, Pauline Reage, Cynthia Slater, and the groundbreaking organization Samois, they are awarded annually to recognize excellence in writing and publishing about Leather, SM, bondage and fetishes.

The semi-finalists for the Cynthia Slater Non-fiction Article Award are:

The semi-finalists for the Geoff Mains Non-fiction Book Award are:

The semi-finalists for the Pauline Reage Novel Award are:

The semi-finalists for the Samois Anthology Award are:

The semi-finalists for the John Preston Short Story Award are:

The finalists will be announced May 1st. Please be sure to like our Facebook page to find out more about what we’re doing and to get updates on the Awards and visit our website.

How to Apologise When You’re Called Out

Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good day – until 6.20pm.

Man on the street: Hello.

[He gets a stare compounded of fury and trauma.]

Him: Is something wrong?

Me: You’re the second guy on the street who’s said hello to me today. And it doesn’t feel good.

That was the low point of the day. And then the world shifted.

Him: I apologise. It won’t happen again.

Me: [stunned pause] Thank you.

Thank you, random guy on the street.

It wasn’t just the words. Some men would have stepped back and raised their hands and not even realised they were mocking me with the implicit “Whoa there, crazy lady, I shall cooperate with your utterly unreasonable demands.”

This guy was quiet and matter-of-fact. He made it better, not worse.

I’ve been thinking about apologies lately because of the rope scandals a few weeks ago. Two well-known educators were involved.

Both guilty parties apologised in open responses which you can find here: report 1 and report 2. They’re long. But they’re not very good.

They say that a good apology has to include these four elements:

  • Contrition: “I’m sorry” or the equivalent.
  • Acknowledgement: I did X, and it was wrong.
  • Reform: I am doing Y so that it won’t happen again.
  • Reparation: How can I make up for the wrong I did you?

But I don’t think those things all have to be explicit. Sometimes “I’m sorry” is enough. Sometimes the rest is implied and understood.

You don’t have to say everything. But you’d damn well better not contradict your apology.

And that, I think, is where my guy on the street got it right, and those two kink educators failed. One of them gave the back story for a whole slew of minor issues, but never acknowledged the central fact that an agreed health limit had been spectacularly overstepped. The other expressed abject contrition and then screwed up on reparation by contacting the victim more than once after she had asked him not to. (And more.)

I think that kind of thing cancels out the apology.

One friend told me that he’s only ever heard one good apology in the kink community. All the others were defensive. That’s awful. But it means I’ve been very lucky, because I’ve witnessed more than one good apology. And one of them clearly demonstrates that you can explain things without sounding defensive.

The following messages happened after a domme unexpectedly gave me a brief massage at a kink event.

Dear [Domme],

Thank you again for [omitted].

I have been trying to figure out why I was okay (aside from being a little startled!) with your massaging me out of the blue, because I would have been scared and upset if a man had done it without warning, especially the second time. I think I was fine with you doing it because it’s the kind of touching that is acceptable in vanilla contexts, but at the same time I was startled because I’m not a touchy person (cultural differences?), and I was under the impression that there was a higher standard for consent in the BDSM community.

And unfortunately, I think it would have been difficult to tell you if it had bothered me. I’m guessing I’m the first person who has ever mentioned such concerns to you? This Kinky & Popular post seems to indicate that it’s the norm in the scene, and possibly bothers men more than women: https://fetlife.com/users/13708/posts/2041549.

Please rest assured that I don’t think you went over the line (I don’t think there is a clearly defined line) and that I was very touched to be hugged when I came in. If I don’t come regularly to the munch, it’s because transportation is very difficult. You and everyone else have been great, and I’m really grateful for [omitted].


From [Domme]:

I apologize, there was a miscommunication from my side. When I gestured to do it, I thought I saw a non-verbal acceptance of the demo. I sincerely and greatly apologize for overstepping your comfort level.


From me:

You are fast. And gracious! I appreciate it, though of course there was practically nothing to apologize for in the first place.


From [Domme]:

Thank you. For me it is a big thing to apologize for. Overstepping is something that I am usually very conscious of as it plays a big role in consent. If I don’t check myself with something that is minor in your eyes, I risk overstepping in larger areas later. As a dominant that is something that I need to stay aware of. Thank you for pointing it out to me. When you pulled back after the second part I honestly thought it was because you just did not like the sensation. I need to school myself on the physical cues from those who are not comfortable with touching.

Wow. There are multiple statements of contrition, clarification of what happened, and intention to do better in future – and despite all of that, she doesn’t sound defensive. I was so proud to call myself a kinkster after this interaction.

We both knew that this was a tiny thing. But she also knew that major mistakes happen in exactly the same way. I really, really approve of doms who acknowledge their power and ability to misuse it.

Power comes in unexpected forms, though. Even female subs can screw up consent. Including me.

These emails happened after a Skype chat with a CollarMe guy.

Me: I am so sorry, I don’t think we have conversational chemistry. That’s what I should have said, but I chickened out and said I wasn’t getting a sense of your personality. Best wishes in your search.


Him: No problem.

Just a thought. I said I wasn’t comfortable going forward with video chat but you pressured me to anyway. Not a big deal for me either way (honestly I just thought my phone couldn’t handle it) but interesting in light of the consent issues we were talking about.

Good luck to you too.


Me: I apologise.


Him: No harm done. Just an example of how we all prefer not to take no for an answer when we want something.

Ouch. I remember the flare of indignation and denial. Pressure? What pressure?

But of course, he was the only judge of whether he felt pressured or not. If I wanted to do the right thing by his feelings, I had to listen when he told me he hadn’t given enthusiastic consent. And yes, I had power in that interaction. I’m a sub, but I’m a dish. (Well, at least a saucer.)

Of course, I wasn’t pressuring that guy on purpose. I think that’s why I bristled at his word choice. But if you need people to report your sins with flawless tact before you acknowledge them, then you’re headed for a lifetime of getting it wrong. So I’ll keep working on hearing the problem behind the criticism.

Comparing these with the bad apologies previously mentioned, the differences in tone are striking. The bad ones say a lot about how terrible they feel. And on the one hand, that’s understandable, because they were about much bigger things. On the other hand … they should feel awful! They don’t get extra credit for that part.

I think if you’re focusing on your own feelings, then that sends the wrong message about your priorities. Reparation is about making things right for the wronged party, not closure for yourself. But I can imagine that when it’s something big, it’s really hard to get past your own feelings. Maybe especially when you’re angry and horrified at yourself.

Maybe an apology is one of the many things that become harder when the stakes are high. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to get it right.

 

It’s a Bad Day for Rope Consent

I’m troubled by the recent consent violation news in the FetLife rope community. I need to clear a crazy work deadline before I write about it, but I thought I would at least share the reports with you for now.

Please note that you will need a FetLife login (it’s free). And if you want to make sense of the apparent contradictions, then keep reading into the comments.

Edit: Originally Peter Slemrian also posted an “Open letter from the abuser” which has since been removed. I saved a copy (including comments) and you can email me. (Edit: Turns out this is against the Fetlife Terms of Service. Sigh.)

Those are the core links, but if you want to get the full picture, you may be interested in the following as well.

Edit: More links.

  • Naming names – A different consent violator. Administrators removed the names, but you can email me and I’ll remember.

I’m wrestling with related issues in my personal life and it’s hard. Female commenters, if you can spare a virtual hug, I could use one.

Video Special: Is It Safe for Work?

I’ve had enough psychoanalysis for the moment.

For a change, shall we watch my favourite maybe-not-quite-safe-for-work videos?

First, the legendary Gypsy Rose Lee. A comedienne first, an ecdysiast second.

And then there’s Sadie the bellydancer too. How do you make bellydancing demure and understated? I don’t know!

I know these hula dancers are not strippers. But somehow I can’t take my eyes off their bodies. I didn’t know men could DO that.

Finally, Les Beaux Frères. I couldn’t laugh the first time I watched their acrobatic towel dance, I was so nervous for them. But the second time … and the tenth …

I hope you had as much fun as I did with this post!

My Emotional Masochism Isn’t Therapy

Last week, guest blogger Cava Supernova asked, provocatively, “Is racism sexy?

She told us the story of an early kink encounter in which an awesome black man begged her to call him her nigger and her sex slave boy.

This out-of-the-blue request floored poor Cava and she asked us to help her figure it out.

Um. I’m an emotional masochist. Just like that guy. So I didn’t even understand the question until commenters started chiming in, “Let me introduce you to the mysterious workings of degradation kink!”

Valery North, like other insightful people in my life, argued that it’s about facing your demons. It’s a safe place to experience the unspeakable. It’s spitting in the face of trauma. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

Really? Huh. I’m glad it works like that for you. But not me.

Let’s take one of my fondest kink memories, the time when I volunteered to demo for Eric Pride’s interrogation class. His topic of choice: my first sexual encounter. Therapeutic? Hmm.

Maybe having me spread my legs, touch myself and promptly get laughed at by a large audience was not the best way to help me put sexual shame behind me forever?

And hell, I wouldn’t want to. Because, like I said, I am an emotional masochist.

I’m not quite sure if it’s the same thing as a humiliation kink. Because I was stunned to learn that there are people who get a kick out of smiling and calmly staring back when you call them horrible names and rip off their clothes. This is called fun?

See, for me, it’s about the emotions. Not anger. But fear and humiliation, yes yes yes. And the absolute best is shame. I go down so fast. Instant mental takeover.

Sexual shame is good stuff. But the most unforgettable, wonderful thing about that interrogation scene wasn’t recounting my torrid past. It was failure. Specifically, the diabolical instruction to keep my eyes on a ring in the distance.

At the time I thought my interrogator was being incredibly merciful, because no eye contact. Mercy, hah! Turns out I am hardwired to drop my eyes when talking about sex. Failure was guaranteed.

I must have done it at least fifty times in ten minutes. And every single time was devastating. Oh God, that implacable voice behind me had granted me this mercy, this undeserved kindness, and what had I done with it?

My oh-so-merciful interrogator never called me on it. But every time I jerked my eyes back to that ring, I felt his fist around my heart, pushing me further down the rabbithole. Thank you, I’m sorry, please punish me, please don’t hurt me, oh God please, oh God no.

You get the idea. Submissive nirvana, at least my version.

And this is my theory of how it works. Take one emotional masochist. How do you push her down where she wants to be? Look at what makes her tick. That’s where it will really hurt. That’s how to whack the emotional masochism.

What makes me tick? My sense of right and wrong. In vanilla life I am a judgemental, perfectionist pain-in-the-everything. The absolute worst feeling on earth for me is letting people down. And the nuns didn’t need to train me, my grandma got to me first.

So that’s how you get to me. Shame, guilt, failure. Please sir, may I have some more?

Obviously there are limits. I only get to have fun with the emotional masochism when I can let go. And I can only let go when I trust my tormentor. As I explained to my worried brother, “You know how you like screaming on rollercoasters? Well, I go silent because I don’t trust the damn things. I’m really, really choosy about who to trust.”

My poor brother was so relieved to hear that. He’s not the only one. I’m awfully glad my subconscious is so choosy.

Not, I hasten to add, because it’s logical. Remember, this is the same subconscious that went into agonies when I was ordered to spread my legs, which were then encased in long, loose and totally opaque pants. Sexual shame a specialty. I love it.

Am I facing my demons and getting stronger? Well, you could say that, because next time I’ll be able to handle a little more. But that’s how caning works too, and nobody tells my friends they’re subconsciously trying to eliminate their pain responses. So it seems a little strange to me that everyone assumes emotional masochism is about DIY therapy.

Except, of course, Cava Supernova! You got it right.

And you must have looked trustworthy enough that your lovely young man thought he could let go and enjoy it. Good for you!

I’m curious, will you bite the apple next time?

This post was previously titled “Emotional Masochism Isn’t Therapy”.

Guest Post: Is Racism Sexy?

Today my guest blogger is the outrageous and huggable Cava Supernova! She’s here to tell us about her younger self being being Dropped in the Deep End.

“Call me your n****r. Go on, it gets me going. I want you to call me your n****r.”

“Oh my god, no. I could never do that.”

“It’s fine. Please do it. Call me a ‘fucking n****r’.”

“No. I just can’t. I can’t do that.”

“OK, call me your slave boy, then.”

“Nooooo. It’s horrible.”

“I need you to, honestly. It really turns me on.”

“No. I’m sorry, I can’t do that… Really, I can’t… Oh look, your glass is empty, quick, let me get you a refill.”

It’s not often I turn into an ‘attentive hostess’, the gracious bearer of wine, canapes, nibbles, all that stuff.

But rushing off to refill an empty glass, it’s the ultimate Get Out Of Jail card for uncomfortable social situations isn’t it?

Uncomfortable?

This was off the grid.

Well? How would you handle it if a black guy asked you to racially abuse him?

Especially if he did it in the least convenient situation possible.

When you’re slap bang in the middle of a threesome; you’re sitting on this particular black guy’s cock, your husband’s watching, with the world’s biggest hard-on, none of you are wearing a stitch of clothing, and you’re all completely wasted?

Taking time out, pouring him a cauldron-sized glass of merlot, stomach churning with anxiety, and pretending it hadn’t happened, that was the short term answer.

But for years, it’s left me with a ton of unanswered – and barely articulated – questions.

This whole, utterly unhinged situation had taken place at about three o’clock on a Sunday morning, waaaaay back when, in the living room of the home I shared with my ex.

Back story: He and I had gone out for a drink and we’d bumped into Q, a black guy of our acquaintance.

Q was hot, funny, intelligent, accomplished. He was one of those ‘super-people’ who only normally seem to exist on award ceremony red carpets or huge billboard ads for expensive cars.

He’s the only person I’ve ever met who has a PhD. He was respectable. Beautifully spoken. Dead classy.

And somehow, by some miracle, he’d ended up coming home with us two tragic miscreants.

I don’t even want to think how my Machiavellian ex manoeuvred Q into making that decision, it’s a separate ethical nightmare of its own.

So me and Q, we’re there doing ‘interesting things’ with a string of pearls (BTW, pearls? Conservative? Sedate? I don’t think so).

My ex is looking on avidly, and Q drops the N-bomb.

All of a sudden he’s begging me to racially abuse him. Urging me to trash talk him like a sadistic 18th century cotton plantation owner.

Ugh, god, it came out of nowhere and it was indescribably shocking.

What do you say?

Really, what do you say?

It was impossible.

It turned my stomach.

But not him – he was consumed with some sort of fevered, malignant energy.

He kept repeatedly urging me to say these things, and I could feel his abyss-like hunger to be talked down to, almost like it was something physical that I could reach out and touch.

I wanted to do stuff that’d turn him on, but this, I couldn’t deliver.

Dashing off to fill his wine glass was probably a big-time cop-out but I’ve still no idea how I could have played it any better.

Seriously. How screwed up?

There’s more, BTW. Oh, there’s more.

Wine finished, things had got back on track in a “boys, here’s what I want you to do to me” kind of way, and now we were having a break, of sorts.

More wine. More chat.

Then suddenly my ex pipes up, “I want to suck Q’s cock.”

My head nearly exploded.

“I really, really didn’t just hear that, did I?”

“I didn’t, did I?”

I just started laughing. I thought he was joking. Or that he was trying to outdo Q’s racial degradation request in some sort of perv Top Trumps.

He wasn’t.

He said it again. “I want to suck Q’s cock.”

Prolonged, excruciating silence…

Q was totally not up for it.

It was quite ironic that Q had had this shit sprung on him, the way I’d had “Call me your n****r” sprung on me.

It was also farcical, sordid and hideous.

Q handled it with aplomb, though.

He didn’t bat an eyelid, just gracefully declined, and somehow, against unsurmountable odds, we managed to re-rail the situation, and the rest of the night was pretty damn hot.

The situation wasn’t even mentioned the following morning. Coffee, breakfast, some random chit chat, and then Q was out of the door – on his way to meet up with friends to go to a footie match.

Nor was it mentioned any of the numerous subsequent times we saw Q. We gradually lost touch without it being an elephant in the room, an issue or even a ‘thing’.

Conclusion: A spontaneous night of depravity. Chalk up the weird bits to experience.

I thought nothing of it for quite a few years after that.

But now, the memory occasionally re-ignites in my brain. As I’ve done my research into dominance and submission and all that stuff, it’s shed light on the forces and impulses that had been at play here.

At the time, I’d assumed everyone involved in this scenario was straight and (relatively) vanilla. I had no real concept of kink stuff – as far as I was concerned, this was just a chance for some major hedonism.

That being the case, nothing was negotiated. (When it came to stuff ‘like this’, I never negotiated anything with my ex; it would never even have occurred to me to do so and vice versa. You just got on with it, and took the consequences if things went a bit mental, like they were doing now.)

I’d pirouetted blindly into the situation, believing it to be a common or garden act of threesome pervery, and ended up caught in the crossfire of some major racial kink issues.

Here’s what I think might’ve been going on…

Q was big on racial degradation and got over-enthusiastic when unexpectedly confronted with a deviant white chick. He made the typical rookie error of assuming that being up for a threesome meant I was up for every flavour of wrongness. How wrong he was.

My ex, who had bi and cuck tendencies anyway, had decided (without consulting me) to extend his interests into a form of inter-racial cuckolding via an MMF threesome.

I didn’t even realise inter-racial cuckolding was ‘a thing’ till a few months ago. And when I did find out what it was, the whole concept (especially the dehumanising black guy/bull aspect of it) made me feel unwell, to put it mildly.

If other people enjoy it, then good for them, but it’s no way something I would’ve agreed to participate in, given the choice.

There are elements to that threesome that I think were super-hot (that’s another post, though).

But I feel massively uncomfortable with the fact that I was somehow weirdly complicit in two separate, concurrent, racial degradation scenarios, even though I had no idea of the dynamics that were being played out.

They say you live and learn, don’t they?

I have no idea what I’ve learned from this, though, and it happened FOREVER ago.

So when lovely, learned Yingtai asked me to guest post, I thought I’d take full advantage and throw this story out to her and all her huge-brained readers.

Discussing all this, Yingtai said to me “My blog is absolutely about figuring things out”, and she’s right.

I’m not big on analysis; my blog has never been about that kind of thing (getting the information written down in a coherent manner has always been a big enough challenge).

So someone – pleeeeeeease – help me figure things out. Tell me what the hell was being played out that night?

I’ve used up more brain cells than I’d care to imagine, trying to work it all out, and I still suspect I’m nowhere nearer the truth.

Please Master by Allen Ginsberg

Warning: Strong language. GRAPHIC language. Squick and squee.

I invite you to partake of the riches of beat poetry.

Please do NOT open this at work.

Now I’m going to run and hide.

Please Master

Please master can I touch your cheek

please master can I kneel at your feet

please master can I loosen your blue pants

please master can I gaze at your golden haired belly

please master can I gently take down your shorts

please master can I have your thighs bare to my eyes

please master can I take off my clothes below your chair

please master can I can I kiss your ankles and soul

please master can I touch lips to your hard muscle hairless thigh

please master can I lay my ear pressed to your stomach

please master can I wrap my arms around your white ass

please master can I lick your groin curled with blond soft fur

please master can I touch my tongue to your rosy asshole

please master may I pass my face to your balls,

please master, please look into my eyes,

please master order me down on the floor,

please master tell me to lick your thick shaft

please master put your rough hands on my bald hairy skull

please master press my mouth to your prick-heart

please master press my face into your belly, pull me slowly strong thumbed

till your dumb hardness fills my throat to the base

till I swallow & taste your delicate flesh-hot prick barrel veined Please

Master push my shoulders away and stare in my eyes, & make me bend over the table

please master grab my thighs and lift my ass to your waist

please master your hand’s rough stroke on my neck your palm down my backside

please master push me up, my feet on chairs, till my hole feels the breath of your spit and your thumb stroke

please master make me say Please Master Fuck me now Please

Master grease my balls and hairmouth with sweet vaselines

please master stroke your shaft with white creams

please master touch your cock head to my wrinkled self-hole

please master push it in gently, your elbows enwrapped round my breast

your arms passing down to my belly, my penis you touch w/ your fingers

please master shove it in me a little, a little, a little,

please master sink your droor thing down my behind

& please master make me wiggle my rear to eat up the prick trunk

till my asshalfs cuddle your thighs, my back bent over,

till I’m alone sticking out, your sword stuck throbbing in me

please master pull out and slowly roll into the bottom

please master lunge it again, and withdraw to the tip

please please master fuck me again with your self, please fuck me Please

Master drive down till it hurts me the softness the

Softness please master make love to my ass, give body to center, & fuck me for good like a girl,

tenderly clasp me please master I take me to thee,

& drive in my belly your selfsame sweet heat-rood

you fingered in solitude Denver or Brooklyn or fucked in a maiden in Paris carlots

please master drive me thy vehicle, body of love drops, sweat fuck

body of tenderness, Give me your dog fuck faster

please master make me go moan on the table

Go moan O please master do fuck me like that

in your rhythm thrill-plunge & pull-back-bounce & push down

till I loosen my asshole a dog on the table yelping with terror delight to be loved

Please master call me a dog, an ass beast, a wet asshole,

& fuck me more violent, my eyes hid with your palms round my skull

& plunge down in a brutal hard lash thru soft drip-fish

& throb thru five seconds to spurt out your semen heat

over & over, bamming it in while I cry out your name I do love you

please Master.

Marketplace Q&A with Laura Antoniou

When Laura Antoniou heard that the BDSM Classics Reading Group was discussing her novel The Marketplace, she offered to come over to our FetLife group to answer our questions. WOW. Now that’s fan service!

We are repaying her generosity with the toughest questions we could manage. Thank you so much, Laura!

1. Not all of us were familiar with the archetypes represented by the four slaves in The Marketplace. Were you thinking of actual people when you wrote them?

Laura AntoniouThat’s a tricky question with writers. I used to say only one was, because I really was thinking of That Person when I wrote the character and cackled maniacally while doing so. But in truth, no character springs forth, fully formed as Athena, from any creative mind. Of course real people I’ve known turn up in my characters. And even for That Character, there are elements I included completely unlike the real life person I was thinking of while typing away. But so, too, have I gotten inspiration from characters in other books, in movies, in stories told to me. The trick is to take a bit here and a bit there and make them into something slightly new.

2. Alexandra says, “You can’t blame it all on the tops.” How accountable should we hold the previous masters/mistresses (Paul, celebrity domme, Madeleine) for the slaves’ shortcomings?

Laura AntoniouEveryone makes choices every day. Trouble is never all one person’s “fault.” Submissive or slave or whatever, we decide to take certain steps, to turn this way or that, to take a risk or avoid it, to obey every single order.

Anyone who tries to make excuses about “oh, I’m a slave, I have no choice…” blah, blah, is an idiot. Or, is looking for a way to be irresponsible and lazy. Or, both, I suppose. Every one of those characters made decisions to put themselves in every situation. Sometimes, their decisions were made for bad reasons. Sometimes, they were made without full understanding. But that’s what stories are about. The choices people make form the roots and branches in a vast network of “story.”

Does that let the tops off the hook? Hell, no. They made choices, too. And some of their choices SUCKED. Sadly, a lot of drama in BDSM plotlines comes from two directions – bottoms who misbehave and tops who act like assholes. (Because of the power imbalance, right?) So, in my earlier books, people have rightly complained that many of my tops are douchebags. Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I’m doing better lately.

3. We were so rooting for Claudia. Do you consider Madeleine a responsible owner? Is Claudia’s love returned?

Laura AntoniouI think Madeleine is a good owner and a good mistress of the two types of slaves she keeps. And I think she wouldn’t have done what she did with Claudia if she didn’t love her. Yes, she would be willing to give her up, but if MP slavery with a different owner was what Claudia needed – yes, Madeleine would have let her go. Claudia gets one of the better “happily ever after” stories in the MP world, actually. If you read as far as The Academy (book 4) she comes back in a short story my wife wrote, and you find out how she fit back into Madeleine’s home and life.

4. We felt awfully bad for Robert, too. Did he have any innate femininity that the trainers chose not to develop, or was all of his gender dysphoria induced and temporary?

Laura AntoniouI think Robert was desperately unhappy and was willing to do almost anything to find a way for him to be comfortable and authentic. It’s a mark of his self discipline how willing he was to throw himself so completely into an identity and role. I do believe he has a “feminine” side, but can be perfectly happy not expressing it through stereotypical behavior.

His willingness to NOT engage in that sort of behavior was proof he was ready to be obedient without having a role to play – a chance to see whether the man he’d lived as all his life was as ready to be a slave as this mincing caricature he’d been taught to play.

Robert gets a cameo in book 2, The Slave, and is the featured character in a story by D.L. King, titled If You Try Sometime, in the first collection of Marketplace fan fiction, No Safewords.

5. In the world of the Marketplace, it seems like a lot of the hard work that goes into maintaining and shaping slaves is outsourced to trainers by the owners. We’re curious why you split the role of a real-life master in that way. We also wondered which role you would find more fulfilling: owner or trainer?

Laura AntoniouI split them because they are split in real life.

Let’s face it – a lot of tops are just fucking lazy ass mother fuckers. Oh, they’ll swing a whip and pull a scene together, but the full time job of working with someone to craft a new relationship style, individual and nuanced, consistent and maintained, with the ebb and flow of power delicately balanced to allow for variants in all environments of life, not to mention paying attention to behavior, correcting, inspiring, rewarding and oh, yeah, playing…that’s a lot of work! Wouldn’t it be so much nicer if slaves just sort of came with their own inspiration? And served willingly, no, happily, without ever showing distaste or hesitation, who could almost read your mind and know what the master wanted, deliver things when the mistress was just thinking of it…

Yeah, that would be nice.

And, on the flip side, wouldn’t it be nice for the submissive people to know those in charge over them would not only keep them healthy, but housed and fed and educated; to see to their healthcare, to build savings for them, AND who would never slip out of role as owners? Who WOULD expect things done and notice when they weren’t and act on that? Who had a genuine desire to have functioning humans in service to them, and weren’t hiding, say, just a desire for kinky fuckery?

People who want to train are excited by the change to change someone, to improve someone. If they had a slave who already did everything well, they’d enjoy the service, but they wouldn’t be getting what they actually craved. They don’t just want control, they want to see their control turn into a changed person.

People who want to own someone wouldn’t mind a slave who didn’t need a lot of correction and attention. They want their shit done. They want someone to hold personally accountable in ways not acceptable to the outside world. They do not want to listen to someone recite the 44 positions on the Duke of Pembroke’s staff in 1848, or instruct them in how to clean cashmere. They also want control – but for selfish reasons. Perfectly GOOD selfish reasons.

Of course there are people who like it all. Grendel and Alex accept Chris’s service without working to improve him. But, Madeleine wants Claudia’s submission and she wants her educated and trained. The difference is Madeleine doesn’t want to be bothered with that training. She wants the destination, not the journey.

There’s a difference between wanting to own a slave and wanting to make one. When people don’t understand this, they bring sets of expectations that will only lead to confusion and dysfunction. In my fantasy world, I get to make this distinction clear, and even show that one can be a slave and a trainer of slaves at the same time. Or, an owner and a bottom. Etc.

6. In a later book, Chris’s trainer describes him as an emotional masochist. Does he enjoy being humiliated in front of the trainees? What about being denied a place as a slave?

Laura AntoniouWhat do you think?
(grin)

7. It’s been 22 years since The Marketplace was first published. If you were writing it today, would you do it any differently?

Laura AntoniouThe writing would be better. I am a much better writer now than I was then. Also, the conflicts wouldn’t be as simple; they’d have more layers, more nuance. I think I could still keep my four stereotypes as “types.” Because it’s a good place to start a story. Readers like to be able to recognize characters and situations, especially in the first books of a series. But I might have given them more depth, especially in their back stories.

8. Most of us were not aware of real-life crash courses for slaves, e.g. Butchmanns Experience, MTTA Academy, Servants’ Retreat and, of course, your own Passionate Bonds weekend. What would you like us to know about these options?

Laura AntoniouI think none of these things are crash courses for master or slavery. I think at their best, they leave people with nothing but better questions to ask. Of themselves, their partners, their deepest, hidden personal fantasy faces. Anyone who says, “I can teach you what you need to know about owner/owned relationships” or “how to be a good ” is LYING. Everything we do is personal, above and beyond anything else.

No external players or preconceived notions, no books – or authors, for that matter – should inform how we make time with those closest to us. The greatest pain in the ass in the leather/BDSM/kink community has nothing to do with riding crops and paddles and whips, sadly. It’s people telling us what our identity should look and act like, what our relationships must be like in order to be…real, or true, or right or Old Guard or whatever.

Obviously, as a teacher, I encourage you to go to ALL my classes. I guarantee, I’ll make you laugh. I’ll tell interesting stories. But if you ever hear me say, “You’re doing it wrong,” I guarantee what I am talking about is acting like an idiot, or being rude, or hurting people in ways they don’t like at all. Or, you know.

Being a douchebag.

Some reviewers have taken me to task for how the Marketplace people talk about what is actually our world of consensual kinky fuckery. But their amusement and disdain is just a mirror of the painful ways people in our world like to look down on those they think aren’t doing things “right.”

elust #67 Makes Me Happy

Welcome to Elust #67 – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #68? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

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– This Month’s Top Three Posts –

Yes, Squirting is Real (And it’s not pee.)
These men make me SO angry
Still Kinky After All These Years ← This one makes me happy!

– Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) –

When It Rains
You want me to read what? ← Sex ed bonding with daughter!

– Readers Choice from Sexbytes

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
Due to technical difficulties there is no Readers Choice selection this month.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

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Happy Valenniversary to Me!

Happy Valentine’s Day from a happy single!

It’s almost exactly a year since I walked out of my ex’s apartment with my head reeling. Not coincidentally, it’s also just about a year since I started blogging.

There is causality there, but it’s not what you’d expect. I think blogging gave me the strength to say goodbye. It was the very first thing I did when I put my hands on a keyboard again, and it felt like getting my life back.

So many milestones since then.

That last means so much to me. Now I believe I can do it again without making the same mistakes. But thanks to everything else that has happened, I know my life can be wonderful even if I don’t find anyone to do it with.

So Happy Valentine’s Day! May you find what I’ve found, and more.

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