Big Ed's Place

I was going to riff on ‘lessons learned from being a Dom’ that applied to my real life, but what I first wrote was crap. The fact is, there’s no amount of pithy sayings that will accomplish much beyond possibly making you, the reader, nod your head. I mean, the first rule of being a good Dom is paying attention. But is that really a ‘lesson’ to be applied to life at large? Honestly, there are a large number of places one can get that lesson preached.

And I don’t feel like preaching. Not only because it’s preaching but because it’s not all that effective. There’s really no true lesson like the doing. I’d read plenty, and talked plenty, but it was still an ‘oh my god’ moment when my first true submissive laid herself across my lap for her spanking. And it was still an ‘oh wow’ moment when I realized that the difference in her writhing in pleasure and her jumping in pain was about a centimeter different in where I struck her. Distilling that ‘a ha’ out of the scene and reducing it to ‘pay attention’ doesn’t really convey it in a meaningful way. Or do it justice. I had to experience it to know it. And I think that’s true of you, the reader, as well.

Does that mean I think y’all should go off and find the local bdsm club, nose around until you find some Doms that’ll show you a few tricks, play with a few subs, and see what comes out of it? Well… if you’re into it, sure. But most of you won’t.

For I’m not a natural for bdsm. I was the bullied and the overthinker. I was the one who missed out on the girl because I was too busy wondering if I should kiss her to actually do it. Pain seemed antithetical to pleasure, unless one was truly warped, and I knew I wasn’t.

But I was also hungry. I yearned for greater control over my sexuality–for a way to put a heartbeat pause between my desires and my taking of them. But not a dozen heartbeats. A good Dom knows that balance.

I also knew I needed the edge. Yes, lovemaking and ‘worshipping the Goddess’ (tantric phrase), and all of the ‘drawing us together as a couple’ has its place. But sex also encompasses the howl and the messy ragged passion in the mud. Making love is fine, but I knew I also wanted to fuck.

And I found that a good Dom walks the edge. They carry that fuck like balled lightning in a bell jar. They’re in control, but they also crackle with possibility.

I don’t always do it, but it was good to learn how. And as a result, I discovered everywhere else where walking in with that stare and that body language can make all the difference. I may not walk into a staff meeting literally carrying a whip, but if it’s important, the energy is all the same.

Amusingly, when I got into writing I learned about the Alpha concept in Romance novels. I couldn’t help chuckling. The Alpha’s a Dom without the riding crop. You don’t need the leather outside if you’ve got the bell jar inside.

Which is why I think where telling the stories has to happen. I don’t think there is much I can say in a blog post that won’t come off as flippantly trite. But maybe, maybe, readers can catch at least a taste of my experience and what I learned.

Maybe not, since there’s no guarantee that I’m a good enough wordsmith to put the tang in a reader’s mouth that I felt when I walked into the bdsm club as a regular, knowing that there were people present who wanted to play. But there’s only one way to find out. And that’s to write.

In Dawn on the Third Day, Jen comments on Spider Robinson’s book Callahan’s Lady, and the concept of sex as Art. I happen to like the idea, though ultimately I think there’s a better analogy.

The main thing I like about the concept is that it captures what sex can be. Often, sex is a performance, yet because it is something that has been demonized in the Western cultural traditions (I can’t speak for the Eastern cultures), we don’t recognize or pay homage to the greatness that can be attained. Tantra, as adapted for the West (and possibly perverted, but more on that in another post sometime), does see the greatness, but tends to wrap it up in the mystical or religious. I don’t think greatness requires those overtones.

And of course, by greatness, I mean not just the ability to emotionally connect the participants, but the ability for sex to be something that connects period. We laugh at a good dirty joke. We roll our eyes, but often secretly admiring, the tales of sexual feats we hear about. Phil Foglio even managed a great cartoon about when sex is an Olympic event.

In essence, sex can do many or all the things that Art can do.

But I think the analogy has some major limits, and one of those is simply stroke porn. Let’s face it, a lot of sexual material is poor quality crap, but it still finds an audience. A lot of the times sex between two people can be pretty unconnecting, uninspiring, and not particularly fulfilling. There really isn’t a good “Art” equivalent.

Instead, I think the better analogy is that Sex is like Cuisine. A lot of the time, you just want something that’s reasonably good and can sustain you. At the same time, really great sex, like a really great meal, can go someplace deeper, into the realm of Art. Heck there are even aficionados of both, though there is no positive equivalent term to “foodie.”

And at the opposite end, there are times where you just want the greasiest, nastiest, most unhealthy fast food you can find and slide across your tongue (what, you don’t?  I certainly have those cravings from time to time).  It’s not good food.  It’s not particularly good for you food.  But it’s easy on the tongue, it pleases the senses, and it’s quick to get.  Just like good old Penthouse Letters and other stroke porn.

I like to think that I’m wiser and enough in control of my cravings to not stoop to a fast food equivalent sex diet.  Or a fast food equivalent porn diet.  But I gotta admit that I don’t want Art all the time.