Karenina's Curse

Finally saw the new Anna Karenina with Keira Knightley. Been waiting to see it since I first saw the trailers half a year ago -- it's Keira Knightley! And the script is by Tom Stoppard, my favorite living playwright... And it was coming out for my birthday! Too many reasons to love it, though I have hated Tolstoy and this novel with a passion, ever since I've realized how much they have fucked me over, as a child, indoctrinating me into the world where love always leads to pain and loss, while a happy marriage -- the only means to a happy life -- can only be the product of a god-blessed, desexualized friendship.

I'm still not sure how I feel about the film. It was beautiful. It was witty (thank you, Stoppard!), compassionate (thanks again!), and very stylish. It stayed true to its own rules the entire time. But this same beautiful and highly-stylized picture often kept me from feeling anything for the characters, because, for one, I didn't quite believe they were feeling anything themselves. They were characters in their own play, and the theatrical setting of the film lent itself to this distancing -- which I didn't necessarily enjoy. The whole film, I kept vacillating between being fascinated by the style and repelled by it, especially when it felt like a caricature of Russian culture....

But what did it have to do with love, sex, and BDSM? Everything... This is what happens when no one is in control -- Anna loses herself when she falls in love, breaking the rules of society (which, according to Kitty, is even more unforgivable than breaking the law) and once Karenin gives up his control over her, there is no one left in charge. Vronsky is too young, too inexperienced to know how to handle Anna -- he can't even handle his horse, which leads to his accident at the races earlier in the film. And Anna, unfortunately, suffers from the curse of the 19th century aristocratic woman -- she has nothing to call her own, no route to actualize herself, no other interest but love to keep her going. Once she leaves Karenin and loses her son, she is left completely dependent on the affection of her lover, and when she feels it slip, all her stability, all her sense of self goes with it. She needs constant reassurance, becomes needy, addicted to morphine, insane.... she starts hating herself and her own weakness, but doesn't have the strength to control it. Even her suicide (both in the novel and the film) is shown to be not a result of conscious decision-making, but an impulse, a sudden step into the abyss.

Needless to say, the movie struck a chord. Watching Anna Karenina after the week I had made me see more clearly than ever that her curse didn't stay in the 19th century, but followed us on. Without something to drive a woman forward, an interest in life that is not connected to the unsteady emotions of another person, we cannot have control, even over our own lives. And without that sense of security -- not the material kind, but the self-reliance that comes from belief in oneself, one's ability to survive and pursue happiness no matter what -- we cannot truly be dommes, subs, or even babygirls. Because how can we engage in power dynamics if we don't really have any power? How can we give up control, if we never truly posses it? And on the contrary, once we do have it, we keep it for life, no matter how often we give it up or try to throw it away.....

Cause you can never lose a thing if it belongs to you.....

The Dance of the Rope

I have two deep dark bruises on my arms, and a long cut on the side of my neck. My back hurts, despite all the stretches, as if I’d been tortured on an old-fashioned rack. I’m dealing with the expected sub drop by cuddling under the blanket, drinking port and watching some silly TV. But it’s all worth it. Last night, I got to dance with her and her teasing, playful, dominating and sometimes cruel, slithering over my body and leaving me in gasps and shivers, rope….

Rope, by the way, is yet another example of N(ot) M(y) K(ink) that has with time and exposure become a burning desire. I had my first experience of being bound and suspended at Fetfest, by the amazing Murphy Blue (I had no clue who he was at the time, either). I loved the feeling of his rope against my skin, when he slid it over my naked body and tied me into shapes I didn’t know my body could make. The first time, seeing I had no prior experience, he was particularly gentle and careful, pausing to ask if I was doing ok, and making sure the rope didn’t bite too much into my flesh, that the position didn’t strain my joints. It was very technical, and yet, I saw the subtle dance of his hands as the rope glided and almost tied itself into knots on my body, and lifted me off the ground, limb by limb. I went into the scene awaiting a result, but it was the process, the rhythm, the beauty of his movements, the tactile sensation of the rope that got me hooked…

And so, last night, in a class on kinesthetic rope with Midori, I thought I knew what to expect. I knew already that for me being bound is an act of domination that forces me into a different psychological state than spanking or sex. Being tied and, especially, being suspended transforms me into an aesthetic object, and the state of becoming art, while still a state of submission, is more akin to being elevated than being broken and forced to submit. The limitation of my movements is also different with rope than being held down or cuffed to the bed – while I can’t move on my own, I become a marionette, a puppet whose body can be set into motion by a pull of the string. In a way, the rope becomes my dominant, the rope moves me. When I was suspended by Murphy Blue, he pushed me, gently and let me feel how the motion continued by itself, as I spun around slowly, almost deliberately, until he stopped me with just one finger. And then, of course, there was the feel of the rope: the fibers scratching or soothing, gently restraining or biting. The second time he suspended me, he let me feel some of the rope’s cruelty, as he tightened it around my body with sharp pulls, letting it cut into my breasts and my waist, eliciting sharp sighs of pain and pleasure.

 But last night…. Last night managed to surprise me. I was wearing a sweater, and couldn’t feel the texture of the rope as it circled me. And yet, its movement, slow and lingering, fast and sharp, the rhythm of its dance as it slid over my arms and between my legs, so sensual, so erotic… In a matter of moments, Midori managed with a few barely visible movements to get me out of my head, throw me off-balance, de-center and draw me into a dance. I started as a shy and somewhat stiff participant, unsure how to react and what was expected of me, and before I knew it I became part of a conversation, struggling against the pull of the rope, tugging playfully at its tail, then gasping as I was suddenly yanked back and down, my body forced to the floor, flattened out, immobilized without ever even being touched. In less than ten minutes Midori brought me into sub-space, something that’s fairly rare to me, and as I previously thought, impossible without an intimate connection and deep knowledge of your partner. And then, still only using the rope, she made me crawl to my daddy, who took over the reins and took care of me.

I felt like I’ve been made love to in the most physical, kinky and sensual way. And there was not a single knot tied the entire class. 

This is NOT a (sub)drop...(?)

I had a wonderful week, filled with hard work and many emotional (and physical) rewards. I had a very stressful and overwhelming, but ultimately gratifying Wednesday, because I managed to accomplish everything I set out to do. And then, I had an unforgettable evening/night/morning with my daddy, who took care of my tired body and let me vent, for hours, about everything on my mind. And then there was the sex…. I was so happy Thursday morning. But by the time Thursday night came around, I was falling apart – I was sick (physically), emotionally exhausted, incredibly down and doubting my abilities, my strength, and my desire to keep fighting for the things I want. I was on the verge of crying, and nothing, not even my daddy’s kind and loving words could calm me down. I didn’t know how to deal with the sadness that was overpowering me, and worst of all, I felt I was being extremely ungrateful for all the good things in my life, and I kept trying to bring myself back up, unsuccessfully, of course, and to my incredible frustration.

By now, I am used to having a sub-drop after events or playdates; I am not sure if they will ever get any better, but at least I know enough to recognize them and deal with them appropriately. With enough experience, we all learn: this is to be expected, and we can even prepare – take a day off in advance, stock up on chocolate, make sure we have a good book to read and the time and privacy to read it. After an event, we can spend some time online, connecting with the new friends we made; after a playdate, we can do write-ups, give each other feedback, or simply revel in the memories of the night – or the anticipation of the next meeting. We know a sub-drop is a chemical drop, as well as a result of so much energy spent, and so much new experience for our minds to digest, and so we don’t waste time in empty wallowing or self-pity, but usually go directly to the cure – whatever it is for us. This is something everyone learns, I believe – either through experience or research, with the support of the community (Thank you, fetlife!) or, eventually and gradually on our own.

So how is it that our entire lives don’t prepare us for the drop that follows every achievement, any exceptionally good day, a surprisingly happy experience or passionate love-making? These highs are no different from those experienced in the BDSM lifestyle, and the lows that follow should be just as expected for they have similar causes – chemical, emotional, and psychological. They should be similar to deal with, as well, since the practical tools we pick up in our BDSM experiences can be just as useful in our everyday lives: a good book, some extra chocolate for that chemical drop, a bath to relax those tense nerves, all preceded by the same level of self-awareness that tells us to expect a low after a high, and deal with it instead of trying to prevent the inevitable.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I should’ve known better and prepped myself for the drop, instead of fighting it until 2 in the morning.