I haven't blogged in over four months. Don't think this hasn't escaped my mind. And it's not because I'm not having adventures. In fact, I've played more this year than ever before, and it's been some of the most satisfying play I've ever had. I've attended more parties than I ever imagined I would, and I've connected with people on a level that fills me with great contentment. I've written about it, but I've written about it for me, and I doubt anybody else will ever read it.
You see, there's a problem with being honest. It makes people uncomfortable. And if it doesn't make people uncomfortable, it gives them the false sense of knowing me well enough to take liberties with my flesh. I write about meaningful experiences with people I trust. I don't write to advertise what I want or will allow just anyone to do to me.
There are two reasons I stopped writing, but they both revolve around the same central idea. The first is alluded to above. I am not ashamed of occasionally wanting something intense, and sometimes I write about these experiences because it moves me, not as an invitation or expectation. The videos I post aren't a "how to" on how to play with ellee.
The second reason is a bit more complex and I think it's something that touches much of our little community. Perhaps it comes from the sense of intimacy we each feel with our very specific preferred type of spanking. I'm guilty of this myself, but it sure is easy to turn a nose up at that witch is similar but not quite the thing that pushes a particular button.
So why do we have the urge to judge while we also long for truthful, legitimate, REAL accounts of this thing that moves us so deeply and connects us on such a raw, naked level? Why do we crave the honesty and yet feel so obliged to criticize when the account strays a few degrees from that specific flavor of kink that both excites us and makes us feel safe? I'm not throwing stones, here. I'm guilty of it too. But honestly, it is the single most effective way to strip the community of that truth we love to read about. Why are we our biggest critics?
Why is it that the girl who loves being dragged off despite her own pleas and protests to have her bottom spanked by a firm hand until she cries feels compelled to instruct the girl who joyfully presents herself for a brutal thigh caning on the nature of consent and abuse? And why does that same girl with the striped thighs do the exact thing to the one who trusts her partner enough to drag her off and give her just what she needs but desperately doesn't want to ask for? We all march to the same drum, but we march to different beats, different rhythms, different intensities. At the end of the day, we still march and we still love that drum beat. We still feel that pounding vibration that rocks us to the core and makes us feel whole and complete and wonderful.
I truly believe we judge each other more harshly because this thing we do does speak so personally to each of us. It's my thing. It's yours too. The rest of the world doesn't get it, so they can't really hurt us. It's easy to blow off the condescending looks of a stranger, a vanilla passerby who frowns at the smack on the bottom given in the grocery store. It's a lot harder to ignore the disapproving glance of someone we consider family in this little community of ours.
So what? Opinions are like assholes, right?
Well, sorta. If that opinion is solely directed at me, then I could honestly give two fucks. Only that's never how it works. I can defend myself and my proclivities until my fingers are bloody, but the things I do never just involve me, and that's where it gets tricky.
I've recently read some amazing accounts of scenes that I've found stunningly sexy or encounters that have made my heart swell, then nearly beat out of my chest with excitement. Every detail seemed so perfect to me, yet some asshat inevitably comes along and cries "nonconsent!" or "abuse!" If it's really not your thing, then why take the time to read and comment when you could just as easily move right along to something that does make you tick? I've had the same negative reactions to some of my own stories, and it doesn't seem to matter how many times the writer says HEY GUYS THIS IS EXACTLY THE THING THAT I WANTED AND CONSENTED TO AND I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT! There always seems to be a small but vocal group of naysayers who don't seem to think the writer is smart enough to know what consent is or strong enough to demand that it's respected.
Unfortunately, much of the blow-back falls on the top, and that's something I'm not so comfortable with. If I have a particularly intense scene and want to share that personal joy with the world, then the last thing I want is to reflect negatively upon the very person who took me there. And it doesn't stop with the top, either. These assumptions often bleed into second and third degree parties, thus mislabeling other bottoms as "hard players" just because they're associated with a top who *occasionally* dabbles in some of the more physically intense play.
So there you have it. I love blogging. I love sharing my joy. I've got a lot of it to share, but I feel tethered by an equally strong desire to avoid mislabeling those I care about and having to defend myself against accusations that I'm "asking for it" from casual play partners. I know this particular grievance won't just disappear, and my purpose isn't simply to complain. Rather, I hope to offer an explanation for my own lack of storytelling and to shed some light on a topic that's been poking at me for a while.
After all, just imagine how many tales are being withheld every day by people all over the internet because they fear the consequences of exposing that particular detail that makes them shiver. I wonder how many of those writings would make me shiver too.
