I’m sure that quite a few of you have the impression that I am full of the mad dommely skillz.
Technically speaking, I am really rubbish.
You know why?
I don’t care. Seriously.
If I hit a boy with stuff, or bite him, or scratch him, or fuck him, or otherwise play with him, I don’t care if I am elegant, if the strikes are beautiful or if I look fabulous doing it. I can’t do a Florentine flogging (I *so* can’t, and in fact, I am impressed with myself that I even know the term!!), I can’t wield a single tail, my flogger strikes are often uneven, my needles go in kind of wonky, my cane marks are assymetrical…
When I play, I just want to do what turns me on, that’s it. Making him squirm and cry and moan and wince turns me on. Making him frantic for more, or less, turns me on. Having him insanely desperate for sweetness or pain or attention or touch turns me on. Opening him up to his core and touching him inside turns me on. Knowing him well enough to hit those buttons turns me on.
Having the mad dommely skillz… meh… really doesn’t turn me on.
To me BDSM play is like sex. I have no interest in being the best at sex, I’ve never attended a class on it, I don’t want to learn from the experts, I just want to do what gets me off, I just want to experience it in all its awkard, clumsy, funny, hot and wet glory. For me, the only difference with BDSM is the safety aspect, I need to know enough to be safe. That’s it. I don’t care about being the best at it, I just want to do stuff that makes me hot, and then, well, I want to do it some more.
I’m not averse to learning things, in fact, I love trying new things, but being able to do beautiful ropework doesn’t turn me on as much as just frigging cuffing him to the bed and immobilising him as roughly and quickly as possible so that I can do something more interesting to him. Having my needles in a beautiful symmetrical pattern doesn’t at all increase the intense intimacy of piercing him over and over again and closely feeding off his reaction as I reach for the next one.
I love to see fabulous skills, and will happily admit to vague thoughts of ‘wow, wish I could do that’, but in the end, when I am *in* it with him, I really could not care even a little bit less about it… instinct takes over and all those things are just tools that I use to break him down, and in my hands, they are caveman (woman!) tools that I wield with my prehistoric brain and I will hit him over the head with my club and drag him into my lair by the hair with all the finesse of a grunting Neanderthal. And he’ll be grateful for it.