Rant: Reckless First Encounters

I’m still troubled by a post on my good friend morningstar’s blog from a few months ago.

She had had a discussion with an friend that had a dominant rather infatuated with him, and he had asked her friend to drop everything in his life to come join him in Florida (Risk Takers, Jan. 18th, 2008, http://wtsubbie.blogspot.com/). To morningstar’s great shock, her friend indicated that if he had been younger, he would have done it.

While I’m not familiar with the details of that relationship, or the individuals involved, it brought back memories and thoughts of one of the areas of the scene I feel strongest about, and that makes me the most uncomfortable. I’ll call it reckless first meetings, and it is truly the BDSM scene at its worst.
Let me start with a disclaimer: despite some generalizations, this in no way applies to everyone. Nothing in life does. So even when I forget the appropriate nuances, I may be talking about a few, some, or many, but never about all. Am I making myself clear?

In many conversations with a number of female submissives, the fantasy of the first encounter or meeting with a top is something that makes their head spin, their knees weak, and their privates wet. Not that this is a bad thing, or something any bottom anticipating an encounter with a new top is unfamiliar with.

However, this particular fantasy has a few twists. The scene is often held in a secluded or private place, like a McMotel. The stranger, almost always male, is unknown by anyone in the local BDSM scene. He has years of experience from unspecified sources. He says that no one must know what is going on. Instead of raising red flags, each condition seems to enrapture the female submissive even further. The ultimate fantasy of meeting a strong dominant stranger that will bend them to his will in a mysterious place, and provide the power exchange experience of a lifetime is a powerful syren song in the mind of these submissives.

But reality is sometimes much less romance novel-like. Often, the dominant stranger is, at best, unskilled. At worst, he never had any intention of engaging in BDSM play. These predators know enough about the scene to be able to charm their way into such a situation, preying on vulnerable submissives that are searching for answers, for companionship, for release. The results of this scene may range assault to rape, or worst.

* * * * *

I had a close friend in the scene at one point, with whom I have lost contact years ago. We'll call her B. She had been a very experienced submissive hidding behind the facade of a strong, confident, well-accomplished woman. It was difficult to miss B, even in a crowd, and if you caught her eye, you were going to have a hard time not having a discussion with her.

B and I played occasionally together over a period of about 5 or 6 months, in public and in private. She was a woman who lived her submissiveness deeply, and she lived life at its fullest. This was a smart woman, a well-travelled woman, a woman who had seen much happen in her years, now a bit past middle-age.

But one day, I went to see her, somewhat of a surprise visit, strictly social, and I found her with a bruise near one eye, and other injuries inconsistent with what could ever happen in typical corporal punishment session.

She confessed that she had not shared with me her plan, since I would not have approved, and I probably would have gotten angry at her. But she had had an opportunity to live out her ultimate fantasy (once more...), the description above based on the specifics of what she told me (but par for the course for so many), and she just needed to live it so badly... so badly.

It turns out the stranger had no leather implements, no latex clothing, no kinky toys beyond some handcuffs, some ropes, and some unidentified cloth items to use as a gag. Her session? Forced oral sex. And not a consensual one at that. I guess the intimidation beating served as the warm-up.

She had no safecall, no one waiting for her, no one looking for her, no idea who the stranger was, or what he looked like. She could not bring herself to make a police report, even if it was probably useless to think that the predator might have forgotten to use a fake name in a motel that took cash payments only.

At that time, she needed support, not a tirade for her neglicence and lack of precaution. I was thinking of a few other words at the time, but she needed those even less. So I let it pass, and tried to be as supportive as possible. Strong woman as she was, she was back in action in a few months. Strong-headed woman that she was, I'm not convinced she would not try that again, perhaps (or not) with a few extra precautions. But would they be enough?

* * * * *

This is not an isolated case. This is not an extreme case either. Even with all the reasonable precautions in place, things can go bad. But as with much of life, it is our responsibility to do what we can to minimize those risks. Prior to such encoubters, face-to-face meetings are important, within the context of the scene (munches, public play) or not. I do recommend within the scene... fakes, incompetents, or individuals with problem-pasts are soon identified. Safecalls are essential. I've been the safecall for about a dozen first BDSM dates, and two of those turned out badly. Play hard, but play safe.

* * * * *

Already understanding something about this fantasy, I did have opportunities many years ago to indulge some submissives that I had had some great email exchanges with. I know, I know... that was many years ago, at a time the cynicism we have today wasn't quite at the same level, and there was hope that with a little scratching below the surface, we'd find the good folks.

But the ethics of it were clear to me. Regardless of what I did, I was perpetuating a dangerous tradition. Even if the submissives in question had their "first encounter" fantasy with me, and we had a great play session, it would encourage them to look for more of those. I couldn't accept that. I had to discourage the habit, and apart from informal discussions that I was pulled into, the best way I could do that was to not engage in them.

At the end of the day, like many other things we do, or don't do, it's difficult to say whether we've made a difference. People will do what their hearts want them to do. But I do hope that my online rants, discussions with individual submissives, and my lack of participating in this particular facet of the BDSM scene has made an impact on someone, and has kept them from harms way. My efforts will be worth it if I know that just one person was spared the danger of this not-so-uncommon fantasy. Or at least prepared adequately for it.

Act 1 Scene 3: Shibari

Mistress S could just not wait to put him in ropes. She had told him so within the first few minutes of the preliminary conversation, and during some early warm-up play. For his part, he was just as impatient for them, as he had been awaiting this moment of surrender with anticipation for days, as important stage in the further offering of his submission to her.

She ordered him over to the suspension rack where he was to remain still as she carefully considered her options in ropes. Once the decision was made, he experienced his first taste of shibari as she expertly weaved her web of bindings over his upper body. She started at his mid-section and worked her way up, pointing out the "man-boobs" she created that would leave his nipples vulnerable to the delicious tortures to come.

Once she completed in the intricate pattern over his torso, she paused to admire her artwork before moving on to binding his arms to his sides. While he could only get a partial perspective of the design she had created, he saw in her eyes the satisfaction she felt, and that engulfed him in a wave of warmth and lightness simultaneously. How beautiful the bondage must have been!

Bound as he was, he was helpless to avoid her next move, a gentle kiss on his lips, a delicate, teasing kiss, that had him slip further into subspace. Already feeling his tenuous hold on the moment sliding from his observational and analytical consciousness, the softness of her lips on his, the smell of the herbal/flowery fragance of her skin, was intoxicating.

As physically vulnerable to her whims as he had dreamed he could be over the course of the past several days, there was no turning back. Not that he would have wanted to. This was another staircase to take him into the depths of his submissive consciousness, and he knew that she would be the perfect guide to this particular journey.

* * * * *

At the end of the session, as he came out of the shower and started drying off with the towel she had left him, his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar texture on his skin. As he looked down, he saw the rope marks still present from the bondage. The pattern sculpted into his skin was absolutely beautiful, moving him deeply, and as he already longed to have her bind his body once more, he experience their fanthom presence for a few fleeting moments as he closed his eyes and travelled back through a kaleidoscope of scenes and images where he served as the canvass for Mistress S' shibari artistry.

* * * * *

Later, a fascinating, and unexpected, realization washed over him as he visually and kinesthically relived the experiences of the evening in his mind. A transformation had happened. It was difficult to say when it had happened, or what had triggered it. Perhaps it was only the progression of events that Mistress S had conjured up in her wickedly creative mind that lead him there. Busy with a multitude of sensations, sights, sounds, and smells, some of them new, the others at an intensity he had never experienced before, Mistress S' bondage had moved him from one destination to another without him noticing the transitional change of emotional scenery. The shibari she had weaved him in left him excitedly powerless in the anticipation of what may come. But the catharsis was that the feeling of helplessness at the hands of Mistress S' had somehow morphed into a deep sense of security, of caring, that engulfed him in an overwhelming feeling of release. The chains and weights of the world outside their space had been removed and left behind. And he could truly, finally, express his submissive self, and offer it for the taking to his muse.

Act 1 Scene 6: Fire Play

Still bound on the bench, lying face down, the slotted headpiece at the top allowed for easy breathing but also acted as a blinfold that would magnify every sensation he felt a thousand-fold. Mistress S knew that, and she had already taken advantage of it, taking him into new lands full of undiscovered sensations and mental imagery with the help of her deliciously wicked electrosim tools.

Clearly, the joy of popping one more of his cherries was not going to be denied her. Not now, powerless as he was lying on his front, with his hands tied behind his back. And not now, after he had trusted her with leading him down whatever path she desired.

The feel of the alcohol-based gel hand sanitizer had a soothing effect on the skin of his back after the electrosim play. But the feeling was short-lived as the gel was ignited by the electrical spark of the device Mistress S held in her beautiful hands. The coolness of the gel, as it started evaporating after a few seconds, turned into warmth in a fraction of a second, and rapidly became a much deeper warmth over the gelled surface and through his body. Ever vigilant about his reaction to her ministrations, and attentive to how his skin responded, she blew out the flame before the heat damaged his skin or overwhelmed him with sensations he could not handle... yet.

She moved from spot-to-spot on his back, describing both the beautiful forms and colors that the flames would take depending on the relief of the specific area she chose, and the feeling of excitement that grew within her.

The playful sound of her voice, firm but reassuring, was the safety rope that held him steady through the waves of sensations that the flames brought as the waves crashed in, and the waves receeded as she blew out the flames with her breath. Her vivid descriptions reached deep into his mind as he visualized the flames dancing on his back, moving up, down, and across, akin the notes moving across the screen in Walt Disney's Fantasia.

As he released what little was left of his tension, helped by the breathing techniques she had taught him before play started, she pushed the edges of his sensations and his mind by varying the quantity and the pattern of the gel she spread, extending the time of exposure of the flames, and occasionally moving to more sensitive areas on the canvass of his body. Each new pattern and each new location was an unexpected treasure, like a diver coming upon a more spectacular coral reef each time he turns around. Each extension of the duration of the flames, before she blew them out, was driving him deeper in the sea of sensations she was creating for him.

In an unexpected turn she had warned him about beforehand, she revealed the mounting excitement she felt at what she was doing, what she was seeing, what she was feeling from the play. Deep within him, an incredible joy rose up, temporarily disrupting the complex and beautiful imagery that her web of sensations had created. The source of the joy was the feeling that the gift of his submission to her will, to her skills, to her creativity, and to her wishes, had not only been accepted but enjoyed.

In this moment of acceptance, a connection was made, and his surrender was complete. He knew that he had found his Muse and his Guide for his journey through this deepest of realms.