Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

I would also like a play partner in Rockland Co., NY or Bergen Co., NJ.* In other words, someone who lives near enough to me that I don’t have to cancel play dates because of the possibility of snow since, even if it starts coming down in buckets, whoever is not at home would be able to get back home quickly enough for it not to be a problem**. I’m not asking for much, just a nice extremely local sadist who likes to hit girls with stuff, scratch them with knives, poke them with needles, or do other horrible, terrible, enjoyable things. Either that or a play partner who can teach me to teleport. Actually, to be fair, I’d be willing to learn how to teleport from anyone. We don’t have to want to play together. I’ll bake in payment. Or sew. For the ability to teleport I would gladly trade one Outfit Of Your Choice. Even if it was really finicky and required large numbers of buttonholes. I’m willing to negotiate. I’d be very agreeable if you could provide me with instantaneous weather-independent transportation. I wouldn’t even mind if it made me show up places naked. Besides, you know, if you could teach me to teleport you could probably teach other people and become a Nobel prize winning millionaire. So I imagine that, by and large, although your requests might be creative, they’d probably be affordable…

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* Is it sad that I think this is probably less likely than someone giving me Alton Brown as a gift?

**I have a high maintenance diabetic dog on a very specific schedule, which means I can’t risk getting stuck in the city if the roads get all nasty, and public transportation up to my neck of the woods doesn’t exist late at night. Yet another reason to find more partners with whacky work schedules who can play during the day.

Can someone clone him and send him to me as a present? Please?

This random message has been brought to you by beets.

for today I am awash in temptation.

It all started with an e-mail suggesting that the long-awaited-date might actually happen this weekend, which got me thinking fond thoughts about the possibility of snogging, and then I got the second e-mail - the dangerous one.

Actually, no, the second e-mail wasn’t dangerous, it was just tempting. The possibility of singletails with one of my favorite play partners was mentioned. The proposed timing was problematic, but I spent the entire day thinking about the whip slicing up my skin. It was making it very difficult to get work done. I kept spacing out at the prospect and getting progressively more turned on. Which I decided he should know. It’s nice, I believe, to inform people when their e-mails have such a stimulating effect. So I sent him an e-mail blaming his invitation for my lack of productivity, and I got back the third e-mail. It said, and I quote…

“Blame me all you want. Just figure out a way to get your naked flesh in front of my whip. “

E-mails like that tend to make my clothing fall off*. It made me suddenly extremely sad to have to go to rehearsal tonight and even more sad that there was no way that I could manage to pull it off for at least 48 hours.

I’ve been musing about what exactly it was in the phrasing of that message that was so profoundly arousing. I think it was two things. The first was the “Just figure it out,” the assumption that I’m going to find a way to make it happen. The second was the phrase “naked flesh,” which is so… deliciously depersonalizing. Those are two very complementary buttons.

I’ve got to get it together. I keep zoning out into daydreams which are only increasing my desire for someone to hurt me right now, and since that’s not going to happen I need to go do something distracting. Possibly work on my inability to do pull-ups without letting myself think about how delicious they’d feel with singletail marks strewn across my back.

On second thought, maybe that’s not the best idea…

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*Well, e-mails like that from specific people.

I really like the steampunk aesthetic. This morning I was looking at images of steampunk penguins*, and I started thinking about what exactly would constitute a steampunk scene** beyond just a use of appropriate costuming*** and brass-age toys and equipment.

Since steampunk is such a diverse genre, I decided that any pseduo-theatrical plot based scene could work as long as you had… appropriate costuming and brass-age toys and equipment. I suppose creating random paraphernalia is impractical for anything other than actual performance art, but its so tempting. Especially since I have at least one play partner who is just as much of a costuming geek as I am, and know someone else who makes steampunk toys just for fun.

Can I just say how much I love having talented nerdy friends? Because even though I will almost certainly not act on this idea (besides possibly giving in and putting together a clockwork corset at some point when I’m feeling flush with money, creativity, and free time) it’s awfully satisfying to know that (given a bunch of time and cash) I probably could.

And, since I just had one of those bolt of lightning moments, I leave you with an idea that is so completely and utterly wrong (and yet insanely hot) that when it appeared in my thoughts I was momentarily gobsmacked…

Steampunk fucking machines.

With big brass gears, plasma globes, and intimidating ratcheting noises.

Oooh. And you’d have to incorporate vacuum/suction devices, because they’re so genre appropriate.

I’m going to stop typing now because my brain is getting entirely out of hand imagining suspension bondage from an airship that hangs people like puppets from brass gears and chains and forces them to perform aerial Punch and Judy shows for the leering masses.

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*The internet is a marvelous, whacky, and amusing place.

**Not penguins. Penguins in and of themselves do not make a scene steampunk. Live penguins, if anything, make the scene stinky, and presumably cold. Cute, but stinky and cold. Plush penguins do not make the scene either stinky or cold, but do not usually have high steampunk street-cred. Anyone who proves me wrong about that last statement might cause me to fall instantly in love with them, or at least inspire all my clothing to suddenly fall off.

***Not to deride appropriate costuming. Victorian punk is at least as sexy as period military (and just as infrequently found on straight men.)

Lately I’ve had neither inspiration or perspiration. No play, no sex, and no unresolved crushes causing me to focus my random surges of lust… these things make me a very dull girl. Plus, I have to tell you, the sex toys that they’ve been sending me to review have not been highly motivational. I mean, sure, some of them have been great at the instigation of orgasms, but nothing about them has made me want to be loquacious. Not like the fabulous Dalek vibrator, anyway. So when I sit down to write about sex, I just don’t have much to say. I need to work on that.

I can manage the perspiration by myself, but I need inspiration. I need to get out more. I’ve spent the last few weeks hiding at home when I’m not working, which is not conducive to exploring anything erotic. Or, at least, nothing erotic that I have any interest in writing about. The problem is that most of the people I currently want to explore erotic things with live in another state. Specifically, the person who I asked out a few weeks ago, but still haven’t found time to go out on a date with. Mind you, I’m not sure I want to explore erotic things with him. I don’t know if we’ll have any chemistry at all, but I really really want to kiss him and find out.

I either need 2-3 days of unscheduled time with enough notice in advance for said individual to arrange his time for me to accost him, or someone equally inspiring who lives closer. Or both. Both would be good. I’m extraordinarily envious of a good friend of mine who, during our phone conversation this afternoon, for the first time in memory did not spend half the time bitching about needing more sex in her life. No, instead she spent the time telling me about her fabulous boyfriend who not only cooks her dinner and organizes her kitchen but who also jumps her several times a day. The bitch has even been getting regular morning sex, and she’s not even awake in the mornings! So unfair. *sniffle* I’m so happy for her!

I had a dream. A wonderful dream baby. A dream about you…

Ok. Not about you. Not unless you’re Brian from Queer as Folk. Which is pretty much impossible, since even the actor who played that character on QaF isn’t Brian*. Still, if I didn’t make musical theater references when they occur to me then my soul might wither away and die. It would be tragic. Besides, you can’t hear me singing from the other side of the Internet so you have nothing to complain about.

Anyway, the dream.

I dreamed that I had picked up Brian in a bar because he had decided that it would be fun to have a woman bottom to him for once. You know, different body parts to play with and all that. He had beaten me really nicely when he decided that he wanted to fist me. In my dream I was kind of shocked that I was agreeing to that, since I’ve never been fisted and I always thought I’d pick either someone I really cared about or someone with small hands, but he was really really hot and apparently I was feeling really really agreeable. We had just gotten through the negotiation stages and he was pulling on a glove when this insanely sexy African American guy slid open the metal door to the loft.

Apparently the two of them had a date, and Brian had forgotten. How terribly in character. But, being the slutty egomaniac he is, he decided to play with us both. At some point, as things progressed, he told me to suck his cock.

I tried, but discovered that doing so with my bite block in was absolutely impossible. So I took out my bite block and tried again and discovered that doing so with my bite block in was absolutely impossible. So I took out my bite block and tried again and discovered that doing so with my bite block in was absolutely impossible. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Eventually, after numerous failed bite block removal attempts, my alarm went off and I woke up frustrated and cursing.

The moral of this story?

If you go to bed horny, and there is any possibility that you may have the opportunity to perform oral sex on a really lickable man in your dreams, you should, under no circumstances, put in your bite block to sleep.

This is the kind of thing that people really need to teach you in school. Not doing so is just cruel.

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*I discovered this when I did background work on a film he was acting in. He looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until I was walking home from the 14 hour shoot that I figured out who he was, since in the role he was playing he didn’t have Brian’s killer charisma. That guy is a seriously good actor - he was a completely different person.

The naked people site I write for is looking for a full-time admin/reception person/casting assistant. If you or anyone you know might be interested, feel free to drop me an e-mail at smartgirlsecrets at gmail, and I’ll let you know more. It’s a woman owned company, and the boss is a sweetheart.

Or was I just happy to see you?

My partner in straight-razordom stopped by to visit earlier today with her family and was kind enough to leave with a pocket full of vibrators. I think I gave her at least six of the ones I wasn’t emotionally attached to from the pile of review toys, and it amused me to no end when she put them in her coat inner pocket and started flashing them at me like she was showing them to the police (although I was slightly sad to see the light up vibe go, I really have way too many vibrators.) I like her. She makes me laugh. Even if she refused to listen when I refused to consent to her giving me too much change back at lunch. “I do not consent to having money shoved in my pocket! I do not consent! Do you hear me? NO CONSENT!!!!!” We’re weird. Still, now I have room for more vibrators, and since I just got another three in the mail to review… this is a non-trivial source of happiness.

I’ve been having an oddly bi-polar day in the fantasy section of my brain. I woke up this morning and was having all sorts of squishy romantic fantasies - cuddling with someone in bed, nuzzling their neck, doing family stuff - and was just about to write a long post on how my fantasies go in cycles from “dream about romance and gooshy stuff” to “dream about violent kinky sex” when my fantasies shifted from nuzzling to being thrown across the room and hurt and fucked and I lost the ability to concentrate.

A lot of this is because I finally got up the nerve to ask someone out who I’ve had a low-maintenance crush on for several years, and he said yes. On one hand, I’m very excited that I get to go out on a date with a smart, funny, adorable boy, and on the other hand… I’m stuck on the fact that I don’t think he’s either kinky or poly, and right now what I’m really jonesing for is violent kinky sex. I mean in the grand scheme of things romance and love and family are all more important, but right now I really want bruises and teeth, pain and sex. So I feel a little weird, especially since when I go up to his city to take him out for a date I will be in a city where I might actually be able to acquire one or more of those things without too much difficulty. But that seems wrong. Well, sort of. It’s fine, in my mind, if I go up to his town for a non-sexual playdate with an established partner and then take him on a date while I am there, but it seems really wildly inappropriate to go up to his town with the express goal of going out with him and seeing if we have any chemistry and then to look for potentially more sexual fooling around with someone else on the same trip. Fortunately the kinky person on whom I have a mild crush of more recent vintage is, I’m pretty sure, not interested - which means I should be able to behave.

Gods, I’m sick of behaving. I don’t want to behave. I’m also sick of having to be sexually aggressive with the men I’m attracted to*, which I know I’ll have to be with date guy if I want anything to happen (I have been told by a mutual friend that I am going to have to make the first move, and I suspect that rule does not stop at the asking out. I suspect I’m going to have to kiss him first too. And then… well, anything else that comes up.) Sexual aggression is really not my preferred mode of interaction. I like to state my interest clearly and then be transgressed against. Sadly, it hasn’t been working out that way for me lately. I’m ridiculously picky as to what men I am willing to have sex with, and recently those few men who I’ve actually been interested in sleeping with just haven’t been all that interested in me. It’s very frustrating. I’m reasonably cute! I’m not more annoying than the average monkey! It shouldn’t be this difficult**!!!!

Whine whine, complain complain. Maybe I am more annoying than the average monkey! I may have approximately one million vibrators in my house, but it just isn’t the same since they can’t hold my hands down and hurt me.

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*I do so much better with women, which is why it’s annoying the hell out of me that lately I’ve been so focused on sex with men.
**There’s a limit to how much I am reasonably allowed to bitch about this since I have also turned down men, and so can not blame people for behavior which I myself exhibit. That would be unseemly.

that the downside to doing any play that breaks the skin is that eventually the cuts and holes scab over and then you itch. I hate itching. Cut me, pierce me, make me bleed, but when you stick me with itchy places on my back that I can’t quite reach to scratch? That’s just cruel!

On a less silly note…
Thanks to all my readers. Last week I reached 10,000 page loads.

Can one of you please come over and scratch my back?

For some reason, I woke up from my afternoon nap fantasizing about interrogation scenes.

I stopped as soon as I was fully conscious, because that sort of role-play just isn’t my thing. (Role play where giggling is completely out of character? I don’t know if I could manage it. Also, I have to admit, I don’t find politically relevant torture hot. I find it scary and depressing.) Still, some of the trappings are quite erotic, and I suspect that that is what spawned the initial fantasy, and the more I think about it the more I’m getting turned on by the concept of being beautifully defiant.

I think the fantasy is mostly about the theater. This particular sort of public play, for me, is often about performance, and I’m picturing this almost cinematically. I’d like to blame the performance piece that Monk* posted the other week, because it was so darn pretty. I think it, combined with the fact that I spent yesterday dressed as Emma Peel, set things percolating in my brain.

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM.

Slightly off to the right of center is a woman tied to a plain metal chair. Her head is bowed as though she’s sleeping, but if you look carefully you can see her hands trying to work their way out of their bonds. A scrape is visible on her cheek, and her once elegant black dress is disheveled. The room is lit by a single overhead fixture that shines a circle of light on the chair. No other furniture is visible. POV is from above, implying the presence of a security camera in the room.

The Interrogator steps silently out of the shadows behind the chair and lightly touches the woman’s wrist. She jumps. She didn’t know he was there.

THE INTERROGATOR
There’s no point in trying to escape that way, you know. You’re just going to injure yourself. I’ll see about getting some salve for the skin on your wrists. You’ve managed to rub them raw. We wouldn’t want the abrasions to become infected.

He walks around to the front of the chair, and the woman glares up at him defiantly. She holds his gaze continues to try and loosen the ropes, but no longer tries to do it subtly. She knows she’s not going to escape while he is in the room, but she’s making a point.

THE INTERROGATOR
I suspect you think I will be impressed by your defiance. I am not. This is simply a job for me. A job you will be making more difficult if I have to call in the doctors, so I would appreciate it if you would not make that necessary.

The woman continues to struggle against her bonds while holding his gaze. She is almost smirking, as if in the belief that her defiance is something that can not be taken away from her.

THE INTERROGATOR
I will not ask you politely again.

With a movement that comes so quickly that it appears completely unmotivated, the interrogator slaps the woman hard across the face. She is, momentarily, stunned. During the next speech, the interrogator walks around the chair, checks the ropes, perhaps reties some of them to make struggling more pointless. He is cold and impersonal throughout.

THE INTERROGATOR
Pain is a tool, you see. One for me to use on you, and I can’t have you distracted by injuries you have selfishly inflicted on your own skin. I have to be able to hurt you, as I choose, to get the information I need, and your silly struggles could impede that. Therefore I need you to stop.

The interrogator walks back into the shadows and we hear, but do not see, him moving around equipment and shuffling through the paper. As he gets to the end of the speech below, he returns to the front of the chair where he stands with his hands behind his back looking down at the woman. He is utterly calm, and it is the sense of quiet about him that lends the scene an almost palpable sense of menace.

THE INTERROGATOR
Up until now, we have been relatively kind to you. We have allowed you to maintain your dignity. We have not done anything that might cause you any significant physical or psychological damage. If you simply tell us the location of the tape, you can walk out of here pride and person intact. If, however, you persist in this stubbornness and petty defiance, we may need to resort to stronger tactics. It is, when it comes down to it, entirely your choice.

He takes a damp cloth from behind his back and dabs gently at the cut on her cheek.

THE INTERROGATOR
Therefore, I ask you again… Where have you taken the tape?

She spits in his face, and he doesn’t even wince. He just stands up, wipes his face with the same cloth, and walks back into the shadows.

THE INTERROGATOR
Very well then. I’d like you to remember that whatever comes next you’ve chosen as your fate. If at any time you’d like to provide me with the information I require, this can all stop. In the meantime, however…

He steps back into the light, which glints off the knife now held firmly in his dominant hand.

THE INTERROGATOR
…your precious dignity is the first thing that will have to go.

He pushes the POV camera so that it is focusing on a blank corner and we hear the sound of a knife ripping through fabric and the woman’s quickly cut off scream.

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*Dear lord do I have a net crush on that man.