Click Conundrums

When I talk about kink I talk a lot about the elusive ‘click’. Click is what makes you instantly warm to someone and thus find yourself giggling over your sixth cocktail and a plate of tapas hours into what was meant to be a quick drink. Or when you start chatting to someone and discover that you both stayed at the same backpackers’ hostel in a tiny African village, have a mutual obsession with Starbucks skinny caramel macchiatos, fancy dress and masochistic attitude towards sports. You just get each other.

Click’s even more important when it comes to playmates – I mean if you’re going to put yourself in the hands of someone you initially don’t know well feeling comfortable is key. In the misty past at my first munch I met someone who went on to be a fabulous long term playmate. He was wearing a red sweater with a shirt beneath that somehow reminded me of Christopher Robin (I never told him that) and I was painfully embarrassed and somewhat weirded out by the greasy men who kept perving on me. There was something vaguely dangerous about him that I liked and he was bemused that I knew what I wanted so young, I think we both saw the other as a challenge. We played scenes I still fantasise about fairly regularly for almost a year until his girlfriend banned him from seeing me (obviously despite never having had sex we’d clicked a bit too much).

It applies in groups too. There are people that you instantly connect with and others that you don’t. In any friendship group some people are closer than others, and over time you grow closer to people that aren’t instant clicks – that’s natural. I can remember thinking that a girl who became one of my best friends was an awful suck-up for coming along to watch us race when she hadn’t made the crew in my first year and was constantly sidling up to the captain. She hated me for being faster than her and I secretly thought she was a bit weak for not being able to push but we ended up becoming best friends and going travelling together. A few years later she’s reverted to being a bit wet but it doesn’t mean we’re not still good friends – I just wouldn’t call her in a real crisis anymore because right now we don’t ‘get’ each other.

The difficult thing is the ‘anti-click’, people that just irritate you. We all encounter them and most of us have at least one in our group of close friends. Generally the peace is kept but every now and again there’s an almighty row – usually when someone says what they actually think. I know for a fact that certain acquaintances view me as an ‘anti-click’ (the interesting thing being that it’s not always mutual) but in the case of the clever ones I may not have a clue. Ultimately we all want to be happy and thus sometimes it’s better just to keep the peace.

This raises interesting issues when examined in the context of the scene and social interactions. Click in a group scene is fabulous – two subs in collusion don’t double the trouble for the top, the effect is definitely exponential as you collectively turn the crank and wind them up. Albino deer in the wilds of the English countryside, Sir Gooseberry Chicken, purple fairy cakes – all manner of fun and amusing things happen when click works in a group scene, and if you’re lucky the resulting chaos and consequences are even better.

What about ‘anti-click’ in a group though? It’s all very well tolerating someone you just don’t particularly get on with at group dinners, birthdays and so on but dealing with it in a bdsm scene moves into different territory. It can come out in tension between characters in a role-play or a total fail of the ability to let go and enjoy a scene, as truthfully none of us like to be vulnerable around those we aren’t sure about. Or things can just not work as well as they might, which in a way is even worse and you’re left feeling like a bad person because someone’s having the affect on you. Ultimately it’s a tricky one because not liking someone and thus not wanting to do something inherently sexual with them does not make you mean or a failed player but it can feel that way, especially if you feel bad for letting others down. It’s especially difficult if naturally you want to like and be nice everyone, so on one level it’s fine and on another it’s really not. I think the difficult bit is finding the line and working out how to keep your unicycle from wobbling too far to one side.

Mermaid

Pearlescent, almost ethereal she lay,
Dark hair pooling around her shoulders;
Slight like silver birch or willow;
Skin pale and perfect as a dove.

She looked like a mermaid he’d said
That first day they’d met in the rain,
Struggling with a pile of library books;
Damp hair whipping in her face.

Tea in a non-descript café
With chintzy cups and chipped plates,
Scones with cream and raspberry jam
As red as blood. Her blood.

She’d cried the first time he’d hurt her,
That innocent, sunny afternoon
Sobbed that hers that would never return;
She’d blossomed as his teeth drew blood.

Her patterned duvet soaked up the tears
The first time he’d promised to make her scream;
Piles of dusty books and dirty plates
Offset the midnight leather, dark against her pale skin.

Philosophy blended with sodomy that fall,
He made her read de Sade and believe
Bound and blind in her university room.
He’d take her finger from her shaking hand.

She feared and cherished his whippings,
The marks he left adorning her body
For days at a time when she was good;
He made her beg him to hurt her.

Pearlescent, almost ethereal she lay,
Dark hair pooling around her shoulders;
Slight like silver birch or willow;
Skin pale and perfect as a dove,
Streaked with marks as red as blood.

The audition pt1

Lavina fumbled nervously with the strings of her corset in dressing room, aware that she could hear him pacing impatiently next door. Although she had only just met Mr Thomas she already had the distinct impression that he was not the type of man who appreciated being kept waiting. She'd got that much from their conversation about her audition over the phone, three outfits, an address and the quiet suggestion that he would not tolerate timewasters. Timewasters? Lavina hoped she wouldn't be one of those, she'd never done anything quite like this before but surely she could? It wasn't as if she had much choice.

Anxiously she eyed herself in the mirror and managed a small smile. Shiny black stilettos with straps that criss-crossed up her calves, black bra and silk bloomers offset by a tiny waist-cincher corset and blonde hair tied loosely back - surely she'd do. His smile as she sashayed into the room was appreciative, eyeing her up and down before as she stood before him trying to disguise her nerves. He ran his hands down her body, got her to slowly turn, placed his hand on her back and adjusted her stance to push her breasts forward and nodded.

"Good, next one." He said, gesturing back into the changing room. Lavina wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not, she'd thought he might at least like to...never mind. Carefully she unlaced the corset and wriggled out of the other things, folding them neatly beside her bag. The next outfit was perhaps her favourite, a waist cincher with matching bra and fifties knickers in black and peach satin overlaid with soft delicate lace. Less dramatic than the corset but perhaps more her. She picked fully fashioned seamed stockings to finish the outfit off and the 5 and a half inch heels she could barely walk in. Carefully she applied another coat of deep red lipstick and let her hair fall down her back. Surely this would get more of a reaction?

Mr Thomas smiled as he sat in the lounge, he could hear the girl pattering about next door. He liked that she was anxious, liked that she wanted to please. This one definitely had potential, it was just a matter of unlocking it, seeing how far he could make her go. He looked up and hid a laugh, she was tottering in the most ridiculous pair of shoes he'd seen in a while; clearly designed for horizontal rather than vertical wear. This time he allowed himself to touch her a little more, getting a feel for the merchandise as Bartholomew would say. Then he smoothed her hair back, patted her on the backside and pointed her back to the dressing room. After the final change, that was when the fun would begin and he wanted her to feel nervous.

Lavina slipped into the black polka dot corselette and clipped the suspenders to the stockings she'd been wearing before. It wasn't as if he was taking any notice anyway, she thought angrily to herself, flicked her hair over her shoulder and stalked back next door. The inspection process was quicker this time, probably because he wanted to move onto examining other things she thought cynically. He noted the glimmer of defiance in her face and was inwardly pleased, after all the feisty ones always were more fun.

Saying nothing he took her wrist and led her next door into the bedroom. Lavina blushed as he questioned exactly what her experience was, she'd been spanked of course? Yes, and rather more than that she admitted unwillingly, staring at the floor and grinding out her speech. She'd heard about his business through a friend and fancied having a go, the play with her ex had hurt but been...exciting. She hated her job and was bored, with any luck this would prove a suitable alternative. As he tapped his riding crop against his thigh, fixed her with a determined stare and grasped her wrist with an iron grip she wasn't so sure...

To be continued (soon this time - I promise!)

Memories...

It's funny how the strangest of things can trigger memories. I was organising my underwear drawer (the one for normal underwear, not the one for super frilly tutu knickers, corsets, camisoles and babydolls - they share a separate drawer with my hair straighteners!) and the whole thing ended up making me feel quite nostalgic.

You see, I almost threw away the knickers that I'd bought to do my first ever scene play with a very good friend. I'd done a little of spanking with a boyfriend at uni but it was my first foray into the wider world. We were going to do a school role-play and reading the uniform requirements I'd realised in horror that I didn't own anything resembling a presentable white bra and pair of knickers. This had led to a frantic search around a well known department store in my parent's town as I was visiting them the previous weekend. I'd found something affordable and quite pretty and my mother had been somewhat bemused if relieved that I was suddenly interested in underwear.

Why relieved? Well because once upon a time there was a girl named Rebecca who owned a vast array of sports bras, an army of faded M&S cotton knickers and an attitude akin to Kiera Knightley in Bend it like Beckham (there's a very funny scene where her mother is waving various lace and gel concoctions at her and she's only interested in sports ones). I did have two nice sets from H&M at the insistence of the first kinky boyfriend but neither of them was white and one was falling apart. It seems pretty funny given the size of my lingerie collection these days, which seems to expand exponentially despite my best efforts to be good.

I remember the scene very well. I'd met the gentleman (who was none other than Jessica's lovely HWMBO) and Jessica for drinks, got pretty merry and thought they were both rather fabulous, if slightly scary. They thought I was a News of the World reporter and I went bright red and mumbled every time anyone mentioned spanking. I nervously accepted an invitation to play with HWMBO and got increasingly nervous after a separate bad IC experience. At that stage in the game I was very body conscious and remember being horribly embarrassed when Jessica came with me to get changed into my uniform. We had a lovely play, I got some very pretty bruises and stripes, blushed a lot, he was charming about it and Rebecca Williams was born. All after I nearly scared the poor man to death by fainting at the realisation that this was actually happening and I was in the house of someone I'd met once in outer London dressed as a school girl and about to be whacked. A week or two later I found myself anxiously looking for a suspender belt in La Senza (I'd thought no one had them anymore - alas poor innocent) as I'd been told to wear stockings and suspenders for another scene and freaking out slightly as I didn't really know what to do with it and everything seemed expensive. I bought a little black flimsy thing that I still have, though was quickly advised by more experienced girls that metal clips and stockingshq were the way forward.

I threw away the bra and one of the pairs of knickers from that set in my last clear out and this pair is sitting looking melancholy on my dresser. I don't wear them anymore, they're a bit grey (though still pretty - very modest at the back with a see through lace panel at the front - Mr S was shocked!) but in a weird way they almost seem to represent something. Perhaps I'll pop them back in the drawer but I don't know if that's a bit silly.

I guess that play and the associated knickers were the start of lots of things really. A lot of fantastic new friends and some playmates that I really care about, forays into fetish clubs, and fabulous playdays and weekends being everything from a school girl to a regency lady, reformatory inmate or chateau girl amongst other things. A gradual process of getting more in touch with my feminine side, accepting my curves and developing an obsession with beautiful lingerie, vintage lace and frilly things. I think the wonderful people are the biggest thing though - am having an odd moment of nostalgia!