Having recently attended a house party (and enjoyed it tremendously) I have been thinking the last few days about the differences between the two kinds of parties, house and hotel. I have much more experience with hotel parties over the years. The house party that I attended over the weekend was actually only my second in more than ten years of scene life. So, based on my limited experience of house parties, I'm going to try to explain the differences (at least the ones I observed).
First of all, house parties differ from hotel parties in that you have been invited into some one's private home. This is the place where the host and/or hostess feels most safe and in control. A party attendee should never take being asked to a house party for granted. It's an astounding privilege that has been extended to you. At a hotel party, while you may well be there by invitation only, you're not in some one's home. Yes, you should treat the rooms with respect. But there isn't that cozy feeling of being in some one's home.
Secondly, don't expect the constant activity of a hotel party at a house party. A house party is more than likely to be a lot less about spanking play than a hotel party. It's much more likely to be about spankos just relaxing and socializing. House parties are usually free (even though you may be asked to bring some kind of food or drink) so there's no scrambling to get your money's worth that you might do at a hotel party, where a fee is usually paid. This isn't to say that spanking doesn't happen at a house party. Just don't be disappointed at how little play is actually going on.
Thirdly, at house parties, the attendees are likely to know each other well and have socialized before. Whereas, at a hotel party, the party goers are less likely to know each other as well. That's not to say that hotel party attendees can't be very good friends who know each other well. It's just that given the nature of spanking groups, it's inevitable that there should be people attending who are attending their first event. At a house party, a stranger is unlikely to be invited unless someone will vouch for or sponsor that person.
Fourthly, a house party, because of lack of space, is going to be much smaller than a hotel party. The biggest average home is still smaller than a hotel. And in a hotel, there is likely to be a ballroom or a conference room that can be used for socializing. In a private home, the largest room is likely to be a living room or rec room. Still, you shouldn't be swinging straps and canes where there are lamps or things that could be knocked over and broken.
Fifthly, if the host/hostess has designated that there will be no food or drink outside of the kitchen or dining room, then respect that. I've heard horror stories from people who have had to have their carpets cleaned or had to repaint a wall after a house party where the people were rowdier than they would have liked. And always respect "no smoking" zones that the host has established. At the house party I just attended, everyone smoked out on the enclosed porch, despite the fact that it was a cold, February night. In a hotel setting, of course, there is no smoking anyway (here in Illinois at any rate) but I've seen people ignore that and smoke anyway.
House parties can be a lot of fun. But remember that, just like at a hotel party, a lot of work has gone into organizing a house party. This would include house cleaning, yard work, shopping for groceries and supplies and networking with prospective attendees. That's not to say that hotel parties don't involve logistics. But a group putting on a hotel party is more likely to have help with these tasks. A person throwing a house party is more likely to have done it all alone. This isn't a given, but attend a house party with this in mind.
I would love to be able to host a house party, but I can't in my current situation. But I see that changing in the future.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Monday, February 10, 2014
"Look At Me!" or How To Deal With Attention Seekers
When I was in high school, I had a friend who was a bit of an attention whore. Maybe "a bit" is an understatement. Maybe saying "full blown 24/7" is closer to the truth. Whenever we went anywhere together, she HAD to be the center of attention. It wasn't enough that she got noticed, she had to be THE one everyone noticed. She was a younger version of Blanche on "The Golden Girls". This friend, like Blanche, believed she was the prettiest and most desirable of those of us who were friends of hers. She would pout or flounce out of the room if every head didn't turn when she walked in. She was everything I wasn't; thin, blond and beautiful. However, she seldom had a steady boyfriend and spent a lot of nights at home while the rest of us went out and had fun. I'm sure a lot of the boys at our school were afraid to approach her because her rejections were legendary. The boys she dated had to have money and a nice car and dress in the latest style. Pretty shallow, I know. But when a girl has nothing going for her but looks, then that's all she looks for in other people. I used to wonder why she befriended me. I was certainly not on her social scale. And when it came to looks, forget it. I couldn't hold a candle to her. One of our mutual friends suggested that she hung around us because we were no threat to her. If she had developed a clique of girls who were just as pretty as she was, then she would have had to spend most of her time competing with those other girls for attention. And she didn't want to do that, obviously. This way, she was assured of always being the center of attention whenever we went out. I was young and I wasn't self-aware enough to know that she chose girls like me to be friends with because we made her look good.
When I got older and I was making my own money for the first time, I filled my closet with pretty clothes and I learned how to put on make up. I saw this girl a few years after we got out of school. She was living with an abusive alcoholic. Her once beautiful features were marred by black circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and she wasn't dressed in the latest fashions either. She pushed a baby in a used stroller and wore a man's coat. I was enormously embarrassed to be seeing her like this. I had never seen her at anything but her best before that moment. This girl, who wouldn't even date a boy if his car wasn't brand new, was waiting for the city bus when I ran into her. I asked her for her number so I could keep in touch with her, but she replied that she didn't have a phone. Then her bus came. I was sad for her, watching her struggle to get the stroller onto the bus. When I got home later that day, I told my mother I had run into Amy and I related to her the circumstances she was in. My mother shook her head and said "She's reaping what she sowed." I couldn't shake the thought of Amy, who was always the prettiest and most glamorous girl I'd ever known, was living in a house without a phone with an alcoholic who abused her. A lot of people might have gloated and said "How the mighty have fallen!" but I just couldn't do that. Yes, I know she used us to make herself look good. Yes, I also know that she occasionally laughed about me behind my back. But we were stupid, selfish children in those days. We were adults now and Amy was a mother. A few months ago, I was sitting in the break room at work eating my lunch when I saw her obituary in the newspaper. She was my age, 52 at the time and had died with her grandson in a car accident in Arizona, where she had been living with her daughter and son-in-law. It was this tragedy that had made me think of Amy after all these years. Her funeral was held locally because she had wanted to be buried next to a husband who had died in the 90s. So I went to her visitation and funeral. When I got to the visitation, the casket was closed, a testament to how violent the accident had been. There were pictures of her all over the place, looking just as I remembered her--beautiful and decked out in the best. She had obviously married someone who was very good to her. I met her daughter, the child she had been pushing in the stroller that day. It was her son who had died in the wreck and her sorrow was palpable. I couldn't even imagine losing a parent and a child in one fell swoop. I introduced myself and told her "Your mom and I went to school together." She asked if I was Cheryl and I said "yes". She went on to tell me how much her mother had admired me and how she had been mortified at me seeing her in that state all those years ago, when bad decisions had forced her to live a life she never imagined for herself.
Attention seekers have always been with us. And they abound in the spanking scene. To a certain extent, I'm one of them. I feel like I have to keep up with the traffic or I'll get left eating the dust of all the pretty young girls in the scene. While I enjoy attention, I don't have to be THE center of every one's attention. And besides, I can't compete at my age with the 20-somethings. They all have their sweet smiles, perky boobs and bottoms and their adorable personalities. I had my time to be in my 20s. Granted, there was no spanking scene back then and no social media like Fetlife with which to play on. Heck, there was no Internet. There were personal computers back then, but they were very limited. Even if there had been an Internet when I was in my 20's, I didn't have the kind of personality in those days to put myself out there like I do now. It took many years and a lot of trial and error to get me where I am now.
So now...how does one deal with attention seekers? First of all, you have to know that there are different kinds off attention seekers. There are the kinds that are so cute and so sweet that you can't help but love them. There are the kinds that are a bit more irritating because they don't want to share the spotlight. These are the ones you might give a tolerant smile to instead of voicing your irritation. But there's another kind of attention seeker; the kind that act more like divas and who can't abide anyone else even getting any kind of attention. Fetlife exists just for them to be seen and admired. Thankfully, there aren't very many of those and they are easily ignored. Many of these divas not only post photos simply for the attention they know it will get them, but they generate drama whenever possible in order to keep others focused on them. The photos I can deal with. The drama, not so much. Drama Queens are attention seekers in one sense. Someone causes them a few seconds' worth of discomfort and life as we know it should end while they sort out feelings they are ill-equipped to deal with because people have always worshipped them. Welcome to the real world, sweetheart. The world is full of people for whom you have no significance. I mean, have your tantrum and then get over it. This is how the rest of us live. Not every minor disappointment is worthy of three days of your drama.
Please don't think that I'm being insensitive. I try to be there for my friends, no matter how trivial the problem. That's part of what being a friend is; telling that other person "I'm here for you!" The average person, who has lived a life filled with disappointments and challenges, learns how to pick and choose what's worth getting worked up over and which ones are best shrugged off. Take a chill pill, Jill. Just because the store is out of your favorite coffee or someone cut you off in traffic is no reason to make the rest of us miserable, too. The best way to deal with people like this is to ignore them, much like a parent ignores their child's temper tantrum. Take away the diva's stage and there's no point to the drama. Now I'm not speaking about the person who occasionally posts a status like this: "Grrrrr!! The store is out of my coffee!" I'm talking about the person who doesn't know how to deal with even the smallest setback in their day without making sure everyone knows about it. They aren't used to seeing other people going on with their lives and laughing and having fun without them. It's unthinkable that life doesn't just go on pause when something negative happens to them. They are the center of their own universe and therefor, they think they are the center of everyone's universe. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but you're not. Of course, I want everyone to be happy. And if a friend of mine is having a bad day for whatever reason, then I usually offer to call them and ask them privately if there's anything I can do. For a drama queen, this isn't good enough. Everything has to take place where other people can see and give them even more attention. They aren't happy until every person in the feed is commenting on their journal entry or posting comments on their photos of the soufflé that fell.
Yes, there are attention seekers on Fetlife and in the scene. How you deal with them will sometimes, unfortunately, determine what kind of day the rest of us in the feed have.
When I got older and I was making my own money for the first time, I filled my closet with pretty clothes and I learned how to put on make up. I saw this girl a few years after we got out of school. She was living with an abusive alcoholic. Her once beautiful features were marred by black circles under her eyes from lack of sleep and she wasn't dressed in the latest fashions either. She pushed a baby in a used stroller and wore a man's coat. I was enormously embarrassed to be seeing her like this. I had never seen her at anything but her best before that moment. This girl, who wouldn't even date a boy if his car wasn't brand new, was waiting for the city bus when I ran into her. I asked her for her number so I could keep in touch with her, but she replied that she didn't have a phone. Then her bus came. I was sad for her, watching her struggle to get the stroller onto the bus. When I got home later that day, I told my mother I had run into Amy and I related to her the circumstances she was in. My mother shook her head and said "She's reaping what she sowed." I couldn't shake the thought of Amy, who was always the prettiest and most glamorous girl I'd ever known, was living in a house without a phone with an alcoholic who abused her. A lot of people might have gloated and said "How the mighty have fallen!" but I just couldn't do that. Yes, I know she used us to make herself look good. Yes, I also know that she occasionally laughed about me behind my back. But we were stupid, selfish children in those days. We were adults now and Amy was a mother. A few months ago, I was sitting in the break room at work eating my lunch when I saw her obituary in the newspaper. She was my age, 52 at the time and had died with her grandson in a car accident in Arizona, where she had been living with her daughter and son-in-law. It was this tragedy that had made me think of Amy after all these years. Her funeral was held locally because she had wanted to be buried next to a husband who had died in the 90s. So I went to her visitation and funeral. When I got to the visitation, the casket was closed, a testament to how violent the accident had been. There were pictures of her all over the place, looking just as I remembered her--beautiful and decked out in the best. She had obviously married someone who was very good to her. I met her daughter, the child she had been pushing in the stroller that day. It was her son who had died in the wreck and her sorrow was palpable. I couldn't even imagine losing a parent and a child in one fell swoop. I introduced myself and told her "Your mom and I went to school together." She asked if I was Cheryl and I said "yes". She went on to tell me how much her mother had admired me and how she had been mortified at me seeing her in that state all those years ago, when bad decisions had forced her to live a life she never imagined for herself.
Attention seekers have always been with us. And they abound in the spanking scene. To a certain extent, I'm one of them. I feel like I have to keep up with the traffic or I'll get left eating the dust of all the pretty young girls in the scene. While I enjoy attention, I don't have to be THE center of every one's attention. And besides, I can't compete at my age with the 20-somethings. They all have their sweet smiles, perky boobs and bottoms and their adorable personalities. I had my time to be in my 20s. Granted, there was no spanking scene back then and no social media like Fetlife with which to play on. Heck, there was no Internet. There were personal computers back then, but they were very limited. Even if there had been an Internet when I was in my 20's, I didn't have the kind of personality in those days to put myself out there like I do now. It took many years and a lot of trial and error to get me where I am now.
So now...how does one deal with attention seekers? First of all, you have to know that there are different kinds off attention seekers. There are the kinds that are so cute and so sweet that you can't help but love them. There are the kinds that are a bit more irritating because they don't want to share the spotlight. These are the ones you might give a tolerant smile to instead of voicing your irritation. But there's another kind of attention seeker; the kind that act more like divas and who can't abide anyone else even getting any kind of attention. Fetlife exists just for them to be seen and admired. Thankfully, there aren't very many of those and they are easily ignored. Many of these divas not only post photos simply for the attention they know it will get them, but they generate drama whenever possible in order to keep others focused on them. The photos I can deal with. The drama, not so much. Drama Queens are attention seekers in one sense. Someone causes them a few seconds' worth of discomfort and life as we know it should end while they sort out feelings they are ill-equipped to deal with because people have always worshipped them. Welcome to the real world, sweetheart. The world is full of people for whom you have no significance. I mean, have your tantrum and then get over it. This is how the rest of us live. Not every minor disappointment is worthy of three days of your drama.
Please don't think that I'm being insensitive. I try to be there for my friends, no matter how trivial the problem. That's part of what being a friend is; telling that other person "I'm here for you!" The average person, who has lived a life filled with disappointments and challenges, learns how to pick and choose what's worth getting worked up over and which ones are best shrugged off. Take a chill pill, Jill. Just because the store is out of your favorite coffee or someone cut you off in traffic is no reason to make the rest of us miserable, too. The best way to deal with people like this is to ignore them, much like a parent ignores their child's temper tantrum. Take away the diva's stage and there's no point to the drama. Now I'm not speaking about the person who occasionally posts a status like this: "Grrrrr!! The store is out of my coffee!" I'm talking about the person who doesn't know how to deal with even the smallest setback in their day without making sure everyone knows about it. They aren't used to seeing other people going on with their lives and laughing and having fun without them. It's unthinkable that life doesn't just go on pause when something negative happens to them. They are the center of their own universe and therefor, they think they are the center of everyone's universe. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but you're not. Of course, I want everyone to be happy. And if a friend of mine is having a bad day for whatever reason, then I usually offer to call them and ask them privately if there's anything I can do. For a drama queen, this isn't good enough. Everything has to take place where other people can see and give them even more attention. They aren't happy until every person in the feed is commenting on their journal entry or posting comments on their photos of the soufflé that fell.
Yes, there are attention seekers on Fetlife and in the scene. How you deal with them will sometimes, unfortunately, determine what kind of day the rest of us in the feed have.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Playing It Safe
The spanking scene is full of wonderful people. Caring, funny, compassionate people. But it's also blackened by predators, egomaniacs and wanna bes. Figuring out who is who and navigating the waters of the scene is difficult, even for seasoned participators. Of course, most of us have some sort of "inner voice" or "gut feeling" that we listen to when we aren't sure how to proceed or when we're in a situation where we're unsure of ourselves. But even that isn't foolproof.
My sister and I entered the spanking scene in early 2003. Neither of us had any experience when we came in. Carol got together once with a gentlemen she'd met on the Crimson Moon Yahoo Group. But I had no experience at all until I attended my first party. From the outset, safety was emphasized, both for party play and for private play dates. We both knew better than to meet someone privately that we didn't know. However, because we weren't young women in our 20's we felt safe because we weren't in most criminals' "victim profile". Being a huge fan of true crime novels and documentaries, I've read countless books and seen countless documentaries accounting women who acted injudiciously. I knew how to be safe.
When Carol and I first came into the scene, we had rules in place when it came to play. The man always came to us. And we always played together. We figured there was safety in numbers. The man would meet us at a neutral site and then he would follow us to the house. Neither one of us ever wanted to be in a situation where we were trapped in a vehicle with a man who might have a lot more than spanking us in mind. All of this worked well and the men who we played with never had one single problem with cooperating with our rules. All of that changed in 2006.
I had been in the scene for three and a half years at that time. I thought I was above being gamed. I thought I was too smart to fall into the hands of a predator, But, for all of that, I did. It started in 2005, shortly before Carol's breast cancer was diagnosed. Through another Yahoo group, I met a man online who seemed like a pretty good fit for me as a play partner. He was vague about some aspects of his life, such as where he actually lived, but I figured he had to be discreet. He told me right off the bat that he was married but that his wife was OK with him getting together with other women provided there was no sex involved. I told him, rather apologetically, that I wanted to speak to his wife. If he was sneaking around on her, I didn't want to be his little thing on the side. To my amazement, he handed off the phone to her. "Here, Cheryl wants to talk to you." So I spoke to her and she was delightful. She said that, because she had MS she could no longer participate in that part of their lives and she told me she had given him her blessing to go out and play with other women. The man, who went by the name "Jack" then got back on the line and told me that his wife (who's name was either Robyn or Randi, I can't remember which now) was the best thing that ever happened to him and that they were still very much in love, even after almost 30 years of marriage. We made tentative plans to meet. I still wasn't sure if Carol was going to have the day off or not. And, as much as I liked this guy, I wasn't sure I wanted to meet him alone. I didn't drive and so transportation was going to be an issue. If Carol was going to be there, we would simply do as we'd always done and that was meet at a neutral site and let him follow us to the house. Well, that date didn't work out because Carol had to work. So I told him I couldn't meet him. Just before Christmas, her cancer was diagnosed and most of my desire to play or to engage in frivolous things was put on the back burner as we faced her treatments. My main focus was working and taking care of Carol's needs, seeing that she was kept clean and comfortable while she underwent chemotherapy.
In March, 2006 Carol finished her first round of chemo and went back to work. I wanted to start playing again but felt kind of guilty about telling her that. Her desire to play wasn't quenched and we even got together with a trusted and adored friend two days after her hair fell out. I had kept in contact with "Jack" all during those awful days following her diagnosis. He was understanding because of his wife's illness and could relate to the things I was going through. I felt a bond with him because of that. And I wanted to get together with him. We discussed a date sometime after Easter. I don't remember now what date we set, but it was around mid-April, sometime after the end of tax season. Carol, unfortunately, couldn't join us because she had to work. But she did volunteer to drop me off at the neutral site we always picked on her way to work. She also wanted to meet him. He had sent her a touching card and had also sent her the name of another breast cancer survivor that she could talk to if she needed to. What a sweet guy, I thought. As we waited in the parking lot for him, I began to have second thoughts about meeting someone in my home alone. But I figured I had talked to him on the phone for months. I had poured out my heart to him concerning my sister's illness. So I ignored my misgivings and went ahead with the play date. When he pulled up, I knew it was him by the description he'd given me of his car. I hadn't seen a photo of him yet and, in fact, when he'd offered to send me one, I had said no to it. Looks are about the last thing I'm interested in when it comes to a play partner. He looked so harmless, almost like a Casper Milquetoast-type of guy. He wasn't physically intimidating in the least. He was sweet and funny and he made a very good impression on both Carol and I. I trusted her judgment implicitly. She had worked in the gas station business and was way more street smart than I was. So with that hurdle cleared, off we went.
Carol went off in the direction of her job and "Jack" and I headed for the house. He followed my directions exactly and never made one false move towards me. We made small talk until we reached the house. Once we were there, I unlocked the door and we went in. I got him comfortable on the couch and got him a cold drink. While I smoked a cigarette, he called "Robyn" and let her know that he had made it. Despite the fact that I offered to let him use the phone in the kitchen he insisted on using his cellphone. I didn't think too much about it at the time. When he was done talking to his wife, he opened his toy bag and asked me if I wanted to look through it. He had some wonderful toys, all of my favorites, in fact. There was nothing dark or foreboding in his bag. We started playing and he was a compete gentleman. He started out slowly and seemed to be taking his time. He was a wonderful spanker and we laughed and talked a lot. I relaxed and let my guard down. We continued playing and, around one o'clock we decided to break for lunch. He took me to one of my favorite places and told me to order anything I wanted. We ate and talked more. He again makes no false move towards me and never says one inappropriate thing to me. We both ate hungrily and talked about what we were going to do with the rest of the afternoon. I went to the rest room while he paid the bill. I met him at his car and we drove back to the house.
Once we were back at the house, I had another cigarette while "Jack" used the rest room. I called Carol at work and spoke with her about how the day was going. She confessed she'd been a little bit worried about me and was relieved to hear from me. When I hung up, "Jack" came out of the bathroom and asked if I wanted to play again. Sure, I did. But this time, the play was a little different. He spanked me harder this time. At the time, I attributed it to the fact that we'd both been reinforced with food and now knew each other better. I started to reach my saturation point and wanted a break. "OK, get up," he told me. When I got up off his knee, I started to pull my pants up. He frowned. "We're not done," he said. I shook my head because I didn't think I'd heard him right. I told him "I think it's time to call it a day. I'm toast." He assured me the spanking was over. But we were going to do something else. "We're gonna fuck," he told me. "It's all I've thought about since I saw you this morning." "No, there won't be any sex," I said. "I told you that already." While I was talking to him, I didn't really notice him walking towards me. He put his hand around my throat and said "Sweetheart, you're gonna do exactly what I tell you to do." I was facing the dining room and he was facing the door. Our house had an open floor plan, so the living room, dining room and kitchen were all one room. The kitchen and dining room were separated only by a long counter. On the counter, we kept a block with knives in it. I was calculating whether or not I could get to one of those knives before he harmed me. "Jack" kept his hand on my throat and with the other hand began to unzip his pants. My mind was racing, as you can imagine. All I can remember really doing was praying. I asked God to get me out of this situation. Before "Jack" could do anything, a brown UPS truck drove into the driveway right behind his car. I quickly pulled my pants up and went onto the walkway to meet him. He had a package for me. "Do I need to sign for it?" I asked. The delivery man said yes and I signed the signature capture with shaking hands. While I was doing that, "Jack" came out and said it was time he was leaving. He got in his car and as he did, I noted his license plate number. He was annoyed at having to wait for the UPS truck to leave before he could leave. Despite being dyslexic, I could memorize numbers easily. I was able to keep the number in my head until I was able to write it down. I locked the door in case he came back. I thought about calling the police. But then I thought they would probably not take my complaint seriously. I'd invited the guy into my home and taken my pants off for him voluntarily. So I decided not to. But I was badly shaken. I called Carol again and asked her to come home. I wouldn't tell her over the phone what had happened, I just wanted her to come home. So she did. And when I told her what had happened, she was furious. We had both been taken in by an act.
At the time, Crimson Moon had a sister Yahoo group just for the women. I went on there and posted about my experience. To my horror, three other women emailed me and told me of their own experiences with "Jack." I learned the whole thing had been a game. "Jack" wasn't even his name and "Robyn" (or "Randi") wasn't his wife at all. She was a woman who agreed to act as his wife so that when women would ask about his wife being OK with him meeting other women, their minds would be put at ease. One of the women who emailed me was a top who had had her own close call with this man. It made my stomach churn to think that someone had gone to such lengths to get a trusting woman alone with him. He looked so harmless. I couldn't believe it.
So now, nearly eight years later, I still get a reaction when I think of how close I had come to being attacked or worse yet, maybe killed. Who knows what would have happened to me had that UPS truck not pulled up? I did the best I could to get the word out about "Jack". A few people called my reaction "hysterical" and that I was going to ruin a man's reputation when he hadn't done anything. I was shocked that a few people defended "Jack". "You're a tease" one man told me, "it serves you right!"
The Internet is even more pervasive in our lives now than it was in 2006. We now have Smart phones, iPhones and Androids in order to keep track of each other. This means it's even easier to be victimized by an Internet predator than it was then. Having a safe call in place might seem old school and "so 20th century" but it's still a good idea. Now that Carol is gone, I don't have any choice but to meet people alone. But I've taken steps to increase my safety. I've finally joined the local community and am meeting and getting to know the people who live right here where I do. At the very least, most groups have a vetting or screening process in place to weed out crazies and other undesirables. Even if someone has been deemed safe to attend a function or party, it's still best to err on the side of caution. The urge to play is strong in most people, as it was for me on that April day in 2006, and many times we allow our desire to overcome our better judgment. I wish I had listened to that "little voice" back on that day. I wish I had changed my mind and decided not to meet him. But he was already on his way and, even though I didn't know exactly where he lived, I knew he had driven for at least a couple of hours. I didn't want the trip to have been a waste for him. And this is one of the problems we have, especially women. We're taught that other people come first: that we should always put other peoples' needs ahead of our own. And there are plenty of men out there willing to exploit that feeling. I should have said "I'm sorry you wasted a trip and I would be happy to pay for your gas, but I just feel uncomfortable about meeting you." He might have been pissed off about it, but at least I would have been spared the horrible experience of looking in his eyes as he put his hand around my throat. A side note to women with rape fantasies or who get into fear play: that is still play. You are still a willing participant in the scenario. If you ever had a situation like this happen to you for real, believe me, you wouldn't find it the least bit thrilling.
So do what you can to protect yourself. If you're chatting online with a man and it seems to be moving a bit fast (like he asks for your phone number on the first chat) then tell him so. Ask him to give you time to get to know him better. And since people can say anything they want online, ask for references. Ask to talk to people who have met him in the flesh and played with him. A top with a good reputation will value it above almost anything else and will be happy to give you references. Someone who says "Who do you think I am? Ted Bundy?" and who gets his ass hairs up about your safety concerns is throwing you a huge red flag. If it's your practice to ask for ID when meeting someone for the first time, don't waver on that no matter how much the guy acts indignant or others think you're going too far. It's your safety that's important. Never go to the home of a man you don't know well and allow yourself to be tied up. You are probably thinking "Duh, Cheryl!" but you would be surprised how many women (and men!) do just that. I had a friend a few years ago who agreed to meet a new play partner at his place and when she got there, there were three other men there. You can bet she said "No thanks" and hightailed it out of there. Keep your guard up until you're absolutely sure you can trust this person. On any given day on Fetlife you can read posts from men who are looking to discipline bad girls or who are looking for a woman to bring them in line. As appealing as that may sound to someone who enjoys that kind of thing, it's a pretty dumb thing to do in practice. Running off to meet a total stranger for a nice long discipline session is about the dumbest thing a person can do. First of all, look at the post. This is someone who's looking to punish a woman- any woman. That by itself ought to send the red flags waving. The scene has its fair share of misogynists and a lot of them are very adept at covering up that part of themselves. There's a night and day difference between a sadist who's looking for a willing partner and a woman hater who's looking for someone to take that hatred out on.
Common sense needs to prevail. If something doesn't seem right, assume it's not.
Author's Note: I know I talk a lot about men being predators. I'm well aware that there are female predators as well. But I'm a female bottom who plays mostly with male tops so I'm writing from that perspective. Men need to protect themselves too.
My sister and I entered the spanking scene in early 2003. Neither of us had any experience when we came in. Carol got together once with a gentlemen she'd met on the Crimson Moon Yahoo Group. But I had no experience at all until I attended my first party. From the outset, safety was emphasized, both for party play and for private play dates. We both knew better than to meet someone privately that we didn't know. However, because we weren't young women in our 20's we felt safe because we weren't in most criminals' "victim profile". Being a huge fan of true crime novels and documentaries, I've read countless books and seen countless documentaries accounting women who acted injudiciously. I knew how to be safe.
When Carol and I first came into the scene, we had rules in place when it came to play. The man always came to us. And we always played together. We figured there was safety in numbers. The man would meet us at a neutral site and then he would follow us to the house. Neither one of us ever wanted to be in a situation where we were trapped in a vehicle with a man who might have a lot more than spanking us in mind. All of this worked well and the men who we played with never had one single problem with cooperating with our rules. All of that changed in 2006.
I had been in the scene for three and a half years at that time. I thought I was above being gamed. I thought I was too smart to fall into the hands of a predator, But, for all of that, I did. It started in 2005, shortly before Carol's breast cancer was diagnosed. Through another Yahoo group, I met a man online who seemed like a pretty good fit for me as a play partner. He was vague about some aspects of his life, such as where he actually lived, but I figured he had to be discreet. He told me right off the bat that he was married but that his wife was OK with him getting together with other women provided there was no sex involved. I told him, rather apologetically, that I wanted to speak to his wife. If he was sneaking around on her, I didn't want to be his little thing on the side. To my amazement, he handed off the phone to her. "Here, Cheryl wants to talk to you." So I spoke to her and she was delightful. She said that, because she had MS she could no longer participate in that part of their lives and she told me she had given him her blessing to go out and play with other women. The man, who went by the name "Jack" then got back on the line and told me that his wife (who's name was either Robyn or Randi, I can't remember which now) was the best thing that ever happened to him and that they were still very much in love, even after almost 30 years of marriage. We made tentative plans to meet. I still wasn't sure if Carol was going to have the day off or not. And, as much as I liked this guy, I wasn't sure I wanted to meet him alone. I didn't drive and so transportation was going to be an issue. If Carol was going to be there, we would simply do as we'd always done and that was meet at a neutral site and let him follow us to the house. Well, that date didn't work out because Carol had to work. So I told him I couldn't meet him. Just before Christmas, her cancer was diagnosed and most of my desire to play or to engage in frivolous things was put on the back burner as we faced her treatments. My main focus was working and taking care of Carol's needs, seeing that she was kept clean and comfortable while she underwent chemotherapy.
In March, 2006 Carol finished her first round of chemo and went back to work. I wanted to start playing again but felt kind of guilty about telling her that. Her desire to play wasn't quenched and we even got together with a trusted and adored friend two days after her hair fell out. I had kept in contact with "Jack" all during those awful days following her diagnosis. He was understanding because of his wife's illness and could relate to the things I was going through. I felt a bond with him because of that. And I wanted to get together with him. We discussed a date sometime after Easter. I don't remember now what date we set, but it was around mid-April, sometime after the end of tax season. Carol, unfortunately, couldn't join us because she had to work. But she did volunteer to drop me off at the neutral site we always picked on her way to work. She also wanted to meet him. He had sent her a touching card and had also sent her the name of another breast cancer survivor that she could talk to if she needed to. What a sweet guy, I thought. As we waited in the parking lot for him, I began to have second thoughts about meeting someone in my home alone. But I figured I had talked to him on the phone for months. I had poured out my heart to him concerning my sister's illness. So I ignored my misgivings and went ahead with the play date. When he pulled up, I knew it was him by the description he'd given me of his car. I hadn't seen a photo of him yet and, in fact, when he'd offered to send me one, I had said no to it. Looks are about the last thing I'm interested in when it comes to a play partner. He looked so harmless, almost like a Casper Milquetoast-type of guy. He wasn't physically intimidating in the least. He was sweet and funny and he made a very good impression on both Carol and I. I trusted her judgment implicitly. She had worked in the gas station business and was way more street smart than I was. So with that hurdle cleared, off we went.
Carol went off in the direction of her job and "Jack" and I headed for the house. He followed my directions exactly and never made one false move towards me. We made small talk until we reached the house. Once we were there, I unlocked the door and we went in. I got him comfortable on the couch and got him a cold drink. While I smoked a cigarette, he called "Robyn" and let her know that he had made it. Despite the fact that I offered to let him use the phone in the kitchen he insisted on using his cellphone. I didn't think too much about it at the time. When he was done talking to his wife, he opened his toy bag and asked me if I wanted to look through it. He had some wonderful toys, all of my favorites, in fact. There was nothing dark or foreboding in his bag. We started playing and he was a compete gentleman. He started out slowly and seemed to be taking his time. He was a wonderful spanker and we laughed and talked a lot. I relaxed and let my guard down. We continued playing and, around one o'clock we decided to break for lunch. He took me to one of my favorite places and told me to order anything I wanted. We ate and talked more. He again makes no false move towards me and never says one inappropriate thing to me. We both ate hungrily and talked about what we were going to do with the rest of the afternoon. I went to the rest room while he paid the bill. I met him at his car and we drove back to the house.
Once we were back at the house, I had another cigarette while "Jack" used the rest room. I called Carol at work and spoke with her about how the day was going. She confessed she'd been a little bit worried about me and was relieved to hear from me. When I hung up, "Jack" came out of the bathroom and asked if I wanted to play again. Sure, I did. But this time, the play was a little different. He spanked me harder this time. At the time, I attributed it to the fact that we'd both been reinforced with food and now knew each other better. I started to reach my saturation point and wanted a break. "OK, get up," he told me. When I got up off his knee, I started to pull my pants up. He frowned. "We're not done," he said. I shook my head because I didn't think I'd heard him right. I told him "I think it's time to call it a day. I'm toast." He assured me the spanking was over. But we were going to do something else. "We're gonna fuck," he told me. "It's all I've thought about since I saw you this morning." "No, there won't be any sex," I said. "I told you that already." While I was talking to him, I didn't really notice him walking towards me. He put his hand around my throat and said "Sweetheart, you're gonna do exactly what I tell you to do." I was facing the dining room and he was facing the door. Our house had an open floor plan, so the living room, dining room and kitchen were all one room. The kitchen and dining room were separated only by a long counter. On the counter, we kept a block with knives in it. I was calculating whether or not I could get to one of those knives before he harmed me. "Jack" kept his hand on my throat and with the other hand began to unzip his pants. My mind was racing, as you can imagine. All I can remember really doing was praying. I asked God to get me out of this situation. Before "Jack" could do anything, a brown UPS truck drove into the driveway right behind his car. I quickly pulled my pants up and went onto the walkway to meet him. He had a package for me. "Do I need to sign for it?" I asked. The delivery man said yes and I signed the signature capture with shaking hands. While I was doing that, "Jack" came out and said it was time he was leaving. He got in his car and as he did, I noted his license plate number. He was annoyed at having to wait for the UPS truck to leave before he could leave. Despite being dyslexic, I could memorize numbers easily. I was able to keep the number in my head until I was able to write it down. I locked the door in case he came back. I thought about calling the police. But then I thought they would probably not take my complaint seriously. I'd invited the guy into my home and taken my pants off for him voluntarily. So I decided not to. But I was badly shaken. I called Carol again and asked her to come home. I wouldn't tell her over the phone what had happened, I just wanted her to come home. So she did. And when I told her what had happened, she was furious. We had both been taken in by an act.
At the time, Crimson Moon had a sister Yahoo group just for the women. I went on there and posted about my experience. To my horror, three other women emailed me and told me of their own experiences with "Jack." I learned the whole thing had been a game. "Jack" wasn't even his name and "Robyn" (or "Randi") wasn't his wife at all. She was a woman who agreed to act as his wife so that when women would ask about his wife being OK with him meeting other women, their minds would be put at ease. One of the women who emailed me was a top who had had her own close call with this man. It made my stomach churn to think that someone had gone to such lengths to get a trusting woman alone with him. He looked so harmless. I couldn't believe it.
So now, nearly eight years later, I still get a reaction when I think of how close I had come to being attacked or worse yet, maybe killed. Who knows what would have happened to me had that UPS truck not pulled up? I did the best I could to get the word out about "Jack". A few people called my reaction "hysterical" and that I was going to ruin a man's reputation when he hadn't done anything. I was shocked that a few people defended "Jack". "You're a tease" one man told me, "it serves you right!"
The Internet is even more pervasive in our lives now than it was in 2006. We now have Smart phones, iPhones and Androids in order to keep track of each other. This means it's even easier to be victimized by an Internet predator than it was then. Having a safe call in place might seem old school and "so 20th century" but it's still a good idea. Now that Carol is gone, I don't have any choice but to meet people alone. But I've taken steps to increase my safety. I've finally joined the local community and am meeting and getting to know the people who live right here where I do. At the very least, most groups have a vetting or screening process in place to weed out crazies and other undesirables. Even if someone has been deemed safe to attend a function or party, it's still best to err on the side of caution. The urge to play is strong in most people, as it was for me on that April day in 2006, and many times we allow our desire to overcome our better judgment. I wish I had listened to that "little voice" back on that day. I wish I had changed my mind and decided not to meet him. But he was already on his way and, even though I didn't know exactly where he lived, I knew he had driven for at least a couple of hours. I didn't want the trip to have been a waste for him. And this is one of the problems we have, especially women. We're taught that other people come first: that we should always put other peoples' needs ahead of our own. And there are plenty of men out there willing to exploit that feeling. I should have said "I'm sorry you wasted a trip and I would be happy to pay for your gas, but I just feel uncomfortable about meeting you." He might have been pissed off about it, but at least I would have been spared the horrible experience of looking in his eyes as he put his hand around my throat. A side note to women with rape fantasies or who get into fear play: that is still play. You are still a willing participant in the scenario. If you ever had a situation like this happen to you for real, believe me, you wouldn't find it the least bit thrilling.
So do what you can to protect yourself. If you're chatting online with a man and it seems to be moving a bit fast (like he asks for your phone number on the first chat) then tell him so. Ask him to give you time to get to know him better. And since people can say anything they want online, ask for references. Ask to talk to people who have met him in the flesh and played with him. A top with a good reputation will value it above almost anything else and will be happy to give you references. Someone who says "Who do you think I am? Ted Bundy?" and who gets his ass hairs up about your safety concerns is throwing you a huge red flag. If it's your practice to ask for ID when meeting someone for the first time, don't waver on that no matter how much the guy acts indignant or others think you're going too far. It's your safety that's important. Never go to the home of a man you don't know well and allow yourself to be tied up. You are probably thinking "Duh, Cheryl!" but you would be surprised how many women (and men!) do just that. I had a friend a few years ago who agreed to meet a new play partner at his place and when she got there, there were three other men there. You can bet she said "No thanks" and hightailed it out of there. Keep your guard up until you're absolutely sure you can trust this person. On any given day on Fetlife you can read posts from men who are looking to discipline bad girls or who are looking for a woman to bring them in line. As appealing as that may sound to someone who enjoys that kind of thing, it's a pretty dumb thing to do in practice. Running off to meet a total stranger for a nice long discipline session is about the dumbest thing a person can do. First of all, look at the post. This is someone who's looking to punish a woman- any woman. That by itself ought to send the red flags waving. The scene has its fair share of misogynists and a lot of them are very adept at covering up that part of themselves. There's a night and day difference between a sadist who's looking for a willing partner and a woman hater who's looking for someone to take that hatred out on.
Common sense needs to prevail. If something doesn't seem right, assume it's not.
Author's Note: I know I talk a lot about men being predators. I'm well aware that there are female predators as well. But I'm a female bottom who plays mostly with male tops so I'm writing from that perspective. Men need to protect themselves too.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Entitlement Attitude
Author's Note: Today's entry is a rant. I'm getting sick and tired of people unleashing their anger on me because I don't act like a "good little girl." If you would rather not read me getting my anger out of my system then I suggest you read one of my other delightful entries.
I received some interesting messages in my Fetlife inbox this week. The first one came from a gentlemen in Ireland who repeatedly addressed me as "wee one" and "kitten". I should mention that I'm older than he is and also not a submissive. He also signed off saying "behave like a good little girl". Ugh! Nothing gets me going quite like being treated like a submissive by someone who doesn't even know me. I replied as nicely as I could but I'm afraid I scared him off because he never wrote me back. I'm sure he was a nice guy, but all he had to do was read my profile and he would have realized that he was barking up the wrong tree. Being treated like a submissive by doms who treat all women like subs has pissed me off since my earliest days in the scene. I've had that not-all-women-who-get-spanked-are-submissive argument with a lot of people. And quite frankly, I'm getting tired of banging my head against that particular brick wall. I know all of this complaining makes it look like I don't like the scene or the people in it. That's not true. I love most of the people in the scene, even the misguided ones. Most of the time I can ignore the behavior that annoys me. I'm really good at it. But this week has been a rough one and I'm afraid I lost my famous composure a couple of times. This first message got the ball rolling for me. What was going through that guy's head when he called me "wee one"? One look at even one of my pictures would disabuse him of the notion that there was anything wee about me.
The second one arrived yesterday. This guy left a comment on a picture of mine saying "Sexy sexy sexy". Then he sent me a friend request. Now I mention in my profile that friend requests sent out of the blue from strangers will be rejected. So I rejected him. We had no fetishes in common. In fact, his profile was pretty much blank. About an hour later, he sent me a message. The subject line was "You Are FAT!" The whole body of the message was "F.O. Fatty". What is it about some guys? They can go from "sexy" to "fat" in one heartbeat if you reject them. This guy wasn't some young kid either. He was 46 years old. I thought he was a dom, but apparently he's a sub. I couldn't go back and re-check because he blocked me as soon as he shot off that message calling me fat.
It's this attitude that angers me about men in the scene. As long as you're pleasing, say "Sir" at the right time, and always agree with them, then you get treated well. But as soon as you disagree with them or don't act afraid of them then you're attacked. Their attitude is "I have a penis. Therefor you're inferior to me. Bow and worship, bitch!" It's pure entitlement. I've gotten messages from clowns like this since I was on Yahoo Groups. I remember one gentlemen, whom I had never met at that time, responding to a thread of mine telling me every detail of how a scene between him and I would go. He outlined how I was to dress, what words I would be allowed to say, when I would be allowed to speak at all and what other behavior he expected. At first, I didn't know how to respond to this. I was new and I didn't really know "how it was done". I had no one to mentor me or tell me how I should respond to people. All I had to go on was my prior vanilla experience. So when I read this, I was angry. Who did this guy think he was telling me how to dress and speak? When I did respond, it was with a now-familiar retort: "Fantasy is fun, isn't it?" The guy responded to that like someone who felt he was being mocked. He assured me that, should we ever meet at a party, he would show me what "fun" was. I was somewhat concerned because I detected a threat in his tone. I privately wrote one of the group leaders and told him I thought the guy was out of line. He wrote me a private email, saying that this was just words. He never cursed at me or called me names. But if he ever made a move towards me at a party he would be dead meat.
That was my first exposure to the "entitlement attitude". It certainly wasn't my last. I got a broader exposure to this attitude when I joined Fetlife. I knew that I would probably see people who weren't mere spankos like me. Many of the men I "met" were doms and masters. One of the first lessons I learned was that they don't like to be disagreed with. They didn't like being called on their BS either. My aim is not to cut anyone down. But these guys just infuriate me. Sometimes, I lose my celebrated cool.
The guy who called me fat caught me at a bad time. Usually, I laugh and move on. But he happened to leave his "you're fat" message to me when I was feeling less than sexy and attractive. I mean, I wasn't going to say "I am not fat". I'm fat and I don't deny that I'm working on it. But it's rude to say it. Most of these guys are well practiced at knowing how to hurt a woman. I wish I could say that random insults from total strangers don't bother me, but they do. So now, thanks to some jerk with an entitlement attitude, my confidence is cracked a bit. But it will repair itself and I will set my jaw and vow never to let the thoughtless words of a jerk with entitlement attitude get me down again.
I received some interesting messages in my Fetlife inbox this week. The first one came from a gentlemen in Ireland who repeatedly addressed me as "wee one" and "kitten". I should mention that I'm older than he is and also not a submissive. He also signed off saying "behave like a good little girl". Ugh! Nothing gets me going quite like being treated like a submissive by someone who doesn't even know me. I replied as nicely as I could but I'm afraid I scared him off because he never wrote me back. I'm sure he was a nice guy, but all he had to do was read my profile and he would have realized that he was barking up the wrong tree. Being treated like a submissive by doms who treat all women like subs has pissed me off since my earliest days in the scene. I've had that not-all-women-who-get-spanked-are-submissive argument with a lot of people. And quite frankly, I'm getting tired of banging my head against that particular brick wall. I know all of this complaining makes it look like I don't like the scene or the people in it. That's not true. I love most of the people in the scene, even the misguided ones. Most of the time I can ignore the behavior that annoys me. I'm really good at it. But this week has been a rough one and I'm afraid I lost my famous composure a couple of times. This first message got the ball rolling for me. What was going through that guy's head when he called me "wee one"? One look at even one of my pictures would disabuse him of the notion that there was anything wee about me.
The second one arrived yesterday. This guy left a comment on a picture of mine saying "Sexy sexy sexy". Then he sent me a friend request. Now I mention in my profile that friend requests sent out of the blue from strangers will be rejected. So I rejected him. We had no fetishes in common. In fact, his profile was pretty much blank. About an hour later, he sent me a message. The subject line was "You Are FAT!" The whole body of the message was "F.O. Fatty". What is it about some guys? They can go from "sexy" to "fat" in one heartbeat if you reject them. This guy wasn't some young kid either. He was 46 years old. I thought he was a dom, but apparently he's a sub. I couldn't go back and re-check because he blocked me as soon as he shot off that message calling me fat.
It's this attitude that angers me about men in the scene. As long as you're pleasing, say "Sir" at the right time, and always agree with them, then you get treated well. But as soon as you disagree with them or don't act afraid of them then you're attacked. Their attitude is "I have a penis. Therefor you're inferior to me. Bow and worship, bitch!" It's pure entitlement. I've gotten messages from clowns like this since I was on Yahoo Groups. I remember one gentlemen, whom I had never met at that time, responding to a thread of mine telling me every detail of how a scene between him and I would go. He outlined how I was to dress, what words I would be allowed to say, when I would be allowed to speak at all and what other behavior he expected. At first, I didn't know how to respond to this. I was new and I didn't really know "how it was done". I had no one to mentor me or tell me how I should respond to people. All I had to go on was my prior vanilla experience. So when I read this, I was angry. Who did this guy think he was telling me how to dress and speak? When I did respond, it was with a now-familiar retort: "Fantasy is fun, isn't it?" The guy responded to that like someone who felt he was being mocked. He assured me that, should we ever meet at a party, he would show me what "fun" was. I was somewhat concerned because I detected a threat in his tone. I privately wrote one of the group leaders and told him I thought the guy was out of line. He wrote me a private email, saying that this was just words. He never cursed at me or called me names. But if he ever made a move towards me at a party he would be dead meat.
That was my first exposure to the "entitlement attitude". It certainly wasn't my last. I got a broader exposure to this attitude when I joined Fetlife. I knew that I would probably see people who weren't mere spankos like me. Many of the men I "met" were doms and masters. One of the first lessons I learned was that they don't like to be disagreed with. They didn't like being called on their BS either. My aim is not to cut anyone down. But these guys just infuriate me. Sometimes, I lose my celebrated cool.
The guy who called me fat caught me at a bad time. Usually, I laugh and move on. But he happened to leave his "you're fat" message to me when I was feeling less than sexy and attractive. I mean, I wasn't going to say "I am not fat". I'm fat and I don't deny that I'm working on it. But it's rude to say it. Most of these guys are well practiced at knowing how to hurt a woman. I wish I could say that random insults from total strangers don't bother me, but they do. So now, thanks to some jerk with an entitlement attitude, my confidence is cracked a bit. But it will repair itself and I will set my jaw and vow never to let the thoughtless words of a jerk with entitlement attitude get me down again.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
"Why Do You Bother?"
The title of today's entry was the body of a private message I received this morning in my Fetlife inbox. A quick look at the profile of the person who sent it clearly established him in my mind as a dominant. I sent him back a short response in which I asked what he was referring to. A few hours later, I received a mini-diatribe asking two pertinent questions:
1) Why did I bother posting to groups when all I want to do is disagree with people?
2) Why do I bother getting spanked when it's obvious I don't want anyone correcting my behavior?
I spent an hour or so mulling over his questions, during which I received another message from him taunting me for ignoring his questions. When I finally did get around to responding to him, I felt I had adequately answered him. I told him that, first and foremost, I'm what my father used to call a "get along girl"; that is, someone who doesn't want to rock the boat or upset the apple cart. I want everyone to live together in peace and harmony. Even on Fetlife. I told this guy in my response that I enjoy posting to the groups and I enjoy seeing other points of view. My main is NOT to be disagreeable. To him, I'm sure it looks that way. I will admit that I do offer a dissenting opinion on a lot of subjects. And I have been told before that if I disagree with someones viewpoint why don't I just ignore it and not say anything so that the thread doesn't turn into an exercise in wagon circling? This is a valid question and one I have pondered myself. I do have opinions and sometimes, they're strong ones. I'm not sure which posting of mine prompted that man to write me, but I suspect it stems from one that a man wrote in his Erotica concerning a made up girl and her many transgressions. While I won't give away the title, let me just say it was somewhat irritating to me and smacked of bullying. My response, while a strong one, opined only what would happen if the girl I question were me. I made no value judgments on the writer or his imaginary submissive. What I got in response from him shocked me. He was actually on my friends list and someone I had been curious to play with if the situation ever presented itself. He shot off an angry post where he dropped F bombs at me and told me not to comment on a situation I don't know anything about. I should say that the body of his Erotica entry involved going through the made up sub's personal property and finding credit card bills which he knew nothing about. In my defense, I will say that I didn't know this situation was hypothetical when I posted. I was aghast that he would snoop through her things that way (again, not knowing that the situation was made up in his head). When I was 13, my father (whom I adored) broke the lock on my diary and read it. It was the only time he ever did anything so awful and I was furious with him. I was so furious, in fact, that I ran away from home over it, spending three days at a friend's house until things cooled down. Ever since then, I have guarded my privacy closely. A room mate who got on my computer when I wasn't home and snooped through my groups and photos didn't stay my room mate for very long after that. Something about the cavalier way this guy wrote about rifling the girl's things conjured up my feelings of returning home from school and finding the lock on my diary broken. I could feel the old fury, although I didn't go off on the guy who wrote the post. I simply said that things would have gone differently had I been the girl in question. While others let me know that whatever two people agree to is their business (and really, when he wrote he made no mention of what this dynamic was) and friends stuck up for me, he shot me down with both barrels. Of course, he later printed an apology to me and I apologized to him for going off half-cocked. Of course, he also printed a Note stating that the imaginary sub had died and I suppose many will view it as my fault if we don't get treated to more of his Erotica.
I don't respond to posts with the express purpose of being disagreeable. A lot of what we do in the lifestyle is fantasy based and sometimes, for whatever reason, people have a hard time separating their fantasies from reality. Maybe the man who wrote the offending Erotica DOES fantasize about having a submissive whose property he can violate on a whim? Who knows? Or maybe, like the Australian gentleman who suggests filling gelatin capsules with cayenne pepper and inserting them in the rectums of his play partners, a big dose of reality is needed. Most of us, if we're honest, would be shocked beyond description of having someone we thought we could trust violate that trust in some way. Disrespecting private property is one of the most trust-breaking acts I can think of. Yes, I'm fully aware that there are subs who have that kind of dynamic, where their dom is allowed access to their cellphone and computer and dresser drawers or whatever else is held as private. Those people are allowed their opinions and voice them without impunity on most of the groups I've visited. However, when it comes to me viewing my opinions, I often have to preface them with some kind of disclaimer such as "in my opinion" or "speaking only for me" lest someone think I'm posting my opinion as fact. Anyway, I told that guy in my response that I'm entitled to my opinion and if it happens to differ from the majority, so be it. Yes, I know Fetlife would be a better place if people like me didn't go around injecting reality into their little fantasy worlds (fantasy worlds where all women are submissive and kept naked and available for use 24/7).
Now, about his second question. Why do I bother getting spanked when I don't want my behavior corrected? This is a question I get tired of answering. I told the guy that I like pain and spanking gives me the kind of pleasurable pain I'm seeking. Apparently, he doesn't realize that there are people (especially women) who enjoy spanking and engage in it for purely physical reasons; reasons that have nothing to do with wanting to be pleasing or taking it because it's deserved for some sin I've committed. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not slamming subs. Some of my best friends are submissives. If you need that dynamic to have peace of mind or to survive in this big, mean world then knock yourself out. If you're a dom and you have an overpowering need to perpetrate your desires on some willing female flesh, that's your business. What two (or more) people do in privacy is their business and no real concern of mine as long as everyone is consenting age and playing nice. BUT posting on a public forum is another matter entirely. Supposedly, we're all adults and as such we know from the get-go that at least one person will take exception to something we write. And when that happens, we can go about responding a number of different ways. Ideally, someone points out something we didn't know and we say "Thank you very much for educating me on a couple of points. I'm here to learn." On Fetlife, that hardly ever happens. The offender is much more likely to be treated to the F-bomb laden diatribe that I got from the dom who posted the Erotica about the made up submissive. This is because people are defensive of their beliefs. I'm as guilty of this as anyone. However, I wouldn't dream of cursing at people and calling them small minded just because they don't happen to agree with me. Most of the doms I know (even the nicer ones) are fairly ego driven. Many also get off on intimidating people, mostly subs. This is why you see people posting pictures of intimidating implements or the handiwork of said implement and they have a ball watching all the subs call red under their pics. So when they come up against someone like me, who's not the least bit intimidated by them or their toy, they don't know how to respond, except with anger. Make no mistake: I'm a spanko and I love getting spanked. I love playing hard and testing my limits. I love the bond that forms between me and the people who have spanked me. It's deep, profound and, barring violating my trust, unbreakable.
So why do I bother? Because I love this lifestyle and most of the people in it. I love hearing other points of view, even if I disagree with them because I might learn something from them and they from me. I might make a friend of someone who, instead of lashing out in anger, strove to understand me. I have to be true to myself if this is going to work. And that, most of all, is why I bother.
1) Why did I bother posting to groups when all I want to do is disagree with people?
2) Why do I bother getting spanked when it's obvious I don't want anyone correcting my behavior?
I spent an hour or so mulling over his questions, during which I received another message from him taunting me for ignoring his questions. When I finally did get around to responding to him, I felt I had adequately answered him. I told him that, first and foremost, I'm what my father used to call a "get along girl"; that is, someone who doesn't want to rock the boat or upset the apple cart. I want everyone to live together in peace and harmony. Even on Fetlife. I told this guy in my response that I enjoy posting to the groups and I enjoy seeing other points of view. My main is NOT to be disagreeable. To him, I'm sure it looks that way. I will admit that I do offer a dissenting opinion on a lot of subjects. And I have been told before that if I disagree with someones viewpoint why don't I just ignore it and not say anything so that the thread doesn't turn into an exercise in wagon circling? This is a valid question and one I have pondered myself. I do have opinions and sometimes, they're strong ones. I'm not sure which posting of mine prompted that man to write me, but I suspect it stems from one that a man wrote in his Erotica concerning a made up girl and her many transgressions. While I won't give away the title, let me just say it was somewhat irritating to me and smacked of bullying. My response, while a strong one, opined only what would happen if the girl I question were me. I made no value judgments on the writer or his imaginary submissive. What I got in response from him shocked me. He was actually on my friends list and someone I had been curious to play with if the situation ever presented itself. He shot off an angry post where he dropped F bombs at me and told me not to comment on a situation I don't know anything about. I should say that the body of his Erotica entry involved going through the made up sub's personal property and finding credit card bills which he knew nothing about. In my defense, I will say that I didn't know this situation was hypothetical when I posted. I was aghast that he would snoop through her things that way (again, not knowing that the situation was made up in his head). When I was 13, my father (whom I adored) broke the lock on my diary and read it. It was the only time he ever did anything so awful and I was furious with him. I was so furious, in fact, that I ran away from home over it, spending three days at a friend's house until things cooled down. Ever since then, I have guarded my privacy closely. A room mate who got on my computer when I wasn't home and snooped through my groups and photos didn't stay my room mate for very long after that. Something about the cavalier way this guy wrote about rifling the girl's things conjured up my feelings of returning home from school and finding the lock on my diary broken. I could feel the old fury, although I didn't go off on the guy who wrote the post. I simply said that things would have gone differently had I been the girl in question. While others let me know that whatever two people agree to is their business (and really, when he wrote he made no mention of what this dynamic was) and friends stuck up for me, he shot me down with both barrels. Of course, he later printed an apology to me and I apologized to him for going off half-cocked. Of course, he also printed a Note stating that the imaginary sub had died and I suppose many will view it as my fault if we don't get treated to more of his Erotica.
I don't respond to posts with the express purpose of being disagreeable. A lot of what we do in the lifestyle is fantasy based and sometimes, for whatever reason, people have a hard time separating their fantasies from reality. Maybe the man who wrote the offending Erotica DOES fantasize about having a submissive whose property he can violate on a whim? Who knows? Or maybe, like the Australian gentleman who suggests filling gelatin capsules with cayenne pepper and inserting them in the rectums of his play partners, a big dose of reality is needed. Most of us, if we're honest, would be shocked beyond description of having someone we thought we could trust violate that trust in some way. Disrespecting private property is one of the most trust-breaking acts I can think of. Yes, I'm fully aware that there are subs who have that kind of dynamic, where their dom is allowed access to their cellphone and computer and dresser drawers or whatever else is held as private. Those people are allowed their opinions and voice them without impunity on most of the groups I've visited. However, when it comes to me viewing my opinions, I often have to preface them with some kind of disclaimer such as "in my opinion" or "speaking only for me" lest someone think I'm posting my opinion as fact. Anyway, I told that guy in my response that I'm entitled to my opinion and if it happens to differ from the majority, so be it. Yes, I know Fetlife would be a better place if people like me didn't go around injecting reality into their little fantasy worlds (fantasy worlds where all women are submissive and kept naked and available for use 24/7).
Now, about his second question. Why do I bother getting spanked when I don't want my behavior corrected? This is a question I get tired of answering. I told the guy that I like pain and spanking gives me the kind of pleasurable pain I'm seeking. Apparently, he doesn't realize that there are people (especially women) who enjoy spanking and engage in it for purely physical reasons; reasons that have nothing to do with wanting to be pleasing or taking it because it's deserved for some sin I've committed. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not slamming subs. Some of my best friends are submissives. If you need that dynamic to have peace of mind or to survive in this big, mean world then knock yourself out. If you're a dom and you have an overpowering need to perpetrate your desires on some willing female flesh, that's your business. What two (or more) people do in privacy is their business and no real concern of mine as long as everyone is consenting age and playing nice. BUT posting on a public forum is another matter entirely. Supposedly, we're all adults and as such we know from the get-go that at least one person will take exception to something we write. And when that happens, we can go about responding a number of different ways. Ideally, someone points out something we didn't know and we say "Thank you very much for educating me on a couple of points. I'm here to learn." On Fetlife, that hardly ever happens. The offender is much more likely to be treated to the F-bomb laden diatribe that I got from the dom who posted the Erotica about the made up submissive. This is because people are defensive of their beliefs. I'm as guilty of this as anyone. However, I wouldn't dream of cursing at people and calling them small minded just because they don't happen to agree with me. Most of the doms I know (even the nicer ones) are fairly ego driven. Many also get off on intimidating people, mostly subs. This is why you see people posting pictures of intimidating implements or the handiwork of said implement and they have a ball watching all the subs call red under their pics. So when they come up against someone like me, who's not the least bit intimidated by them or their toy, they don't know how to respond, except with anger. Make no mistake: I'm a spanko and I love getting spanked. I love playing hard and testing my limits. I love the bond that forms between me and the people who have spanked me. It's deep, profound and, barring violating my trust, unbreakable.
So why do I bother? Because I love this lifestyle and most of the people in it. I love hearing other points of view, even if I disagree with them because I might learn something from them and they from me. I might make a friend of someone who, instead of lashing out in anger, strove to understand me. I have to be true to myself if this is going to work. And that, most of all, is why I bother.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
The Stigma Of Ink
For many years, I had the same attitude about tattoos that a lot of society does: that only "certain people" have them. What would a nice white girl like want with a tattoo? Weren't tattoos for people who were in gangs or who had been in prison? Or bikers? Or biker chicks? Weren't tattooers (I had no idea they were called artists until pretty recently) just people who didn't want to have a regular job and punch a time clock like the rest of us? That kind of attitude prevailed in most of society for a very long time. Then, somehow, something happened. Tattoos became more acceptable. I'm not sure if it was the proliference of ink on professional athletes, extreme sports figures or movie stars changed our collective thinking, but something happened. The "darkness" and menace of tattoos was replaced by something approaching mainstream acceptance. Nowadays it seems everyone is sporting ink. Gone are the days when people with tattoos lived on the fringes of society. We had a preponderance of "reality" shows about tattoo artists and their places of business. Maybe this helped people get over their negative feelings about tattoos? I'm not sure.
Tattoos were so rare when I was a child growing up that I can remember the first person I ever saw with a tattoo. It was my Uncle Carroll. He was my grandmother's older brother and he and his wife, Helen, lived just a few blocks from us when I was growing up back in the 60's. He had been in the Navy in WWII and he sported an anchor with a heart on his shoulder. I was intrigued by it. I'd never seen something like that before. I asked him where he got that and he told me that someone had put it there with a needle. Ouch. Pass. Uncle Carroll's older son, my cousin Lee, had a tattoo as well. But his was no anchor or even a heart. His was a naked woman, also gotten in the service before he shipped off to Viet Nam. There was an aura in those days surrounding men who had tattoos. I didn't know any women with them so I assumed that they were a "guy thing". Back then, you knew who the bad women were. They didn't have to have ink. All they had to do was have their ears pierced or wear lipstick. In fact, so strong was my father's distaste for women with pierced ears that he forbade my sisters and me to get ours pierced until we were sixteen. But Carol and I disobeyed him and snuck off to the mall to get initiated into the mysteries of pierced ears when were just a few weeks shy of our 14th birthday. Since it was the 70's and we had long hair, we were able to hide it from our dad until we were sixteen. He was chagrined to put it mildly but what could be do about it after the fact?
Even though I had my ears triple pierced by 1979 (back when not everyone was doing that either), I had no desire to get a tattoo. Tattoos seemed to indicate a sense of belonging to a certain group-- gang members, bikers, soldiers, ex-cons, etc. No one who was a law abiding citizen and who valued himself would deface his body with a tattoo. Slowly, attitudes began to shift. I started to see ink on professional athletes. Then on actors and even some actresses. Suddenly, it was OK to have a tribal band around your arm or a "tramp stamp" even if you weren't a jailbird or a biker. I suppose as the demand for tattoos grew, so did the demand for artists to apply them. You didn't have to go to some guy's basement who was a friend of a friend and get it done. I'm not sure where I heard this, but it's my understanding that tattooing was illegal in some states and so had to be done in secret. You could walk into a tattoo parlor in broad daylight and walk out proudly sporting your new ink. You could have your tattoo done by a real artists; someone who may have actually studied art as opposed to a "scratcher". Tattoo parlors themselves changed, too from seedy backrooms to bright, clean shiny establishments.
This is Freedom Ink Tattoos in Peoria, Illinois where I get my ink done. It's a nice, super clean establishment with work stations, very nearly like the place where I get my hair done or my nails manicured. I would never in a million years go to a place that was dirty or irreputable. In the pre-AIDS days, tattooists didn't wear gloves and I always cringe a little when I see old photos of someone getting a tattoo because the tattooist is working bare handed. I don't want to have to worry about catching something or getting an infection. This shop uses sterile needles and tubing for every client. So not only do I not have to worry about catching something, no one has to worry about catching something from me. I caught hepatitis A years ago which was sexually transmitted and because of that, I can't give blood. Also, the vast majority of artists (at least the ones who work in professional shops like the one pictured) are usually trained in sterile fields (something only doctors and nurses used to be trained in), cross contamination and blood and air borne pathogens. They also probably have to take a Hazmat test every year.
So now, because it's more socially acceptable for people to have tattoos, I don't feel so squeamish about them. I wish that my spanking fetish was as accepted as tattoos are. In fact, getting active in the spanking scene helped fuel my desire to get inked. I saw a lot of people, both tops and bottoms, with ink. I probably won't ever have the courage to get something spanking-related tattooed on me. I'm not brave enough for that. My ink (three tattoos) is discreet, easily covered by clothing. But when I undress for a scene or pull my panties down, it's there. A lot of people will see and have seen the work of the artists who have inked me. I have 1400+ photos on my Fetlife profile and a lot of them show my tattoos. In fact, my Beethoven tattoo (the first one I got) is easily recognizable by people who have played with me. As much as I love my current ink and getting inked, I doubt I'll ever have tattoos that are visible outside of my clothes. After all, people still make value judgments based on appearance. They're liable to think that I'm going through some kind of midlife crisis and I just want people to think I'm younger than I am (which most do anyway, even without ink). Which brings me to another point. Once I realized that ladies could get tattoos, I thought the only ones who got them were young, thin pretty women like Angelina Jolie. Not the case. I had this vision in my head of artists only wanting to tattoo hot women, not old, fat women like me. Also not true. I remember the night before I got the dragonfly tattoo I had a nightmare. I dreamed that Jeremy, the guy who did my tattoo, said "No way! I'll puke if I see that!" when I told him I wanted the tattoo on my ass. Not only did that not happen, but he didn't bat an eye at it. This was reassuring to me that I didn't have to be self-conscious around these guys. I mean, they're all young men, Even Tim, the owner of the shop, is way younger than I am. They're red-blooded American men who I'm sure would jump at the chance to ink a really hot chick. But they're also professionals and expensive ones at that. They're going to give their paying customer what they want, within reason. My money is just as green as some babe's. Besides, I have seen some incredible ink on heavier women than me. Getting ink has also made me a more comfortable in my own skin.
So I hope that my entries about tattoos and the tattooing process (as limited as my experience is) has shed some light for people who might be reading this thinking "if only." There's no reason in this day and age why a person who wants a tattoo shouldn't have one. The only reason I could see is the cost. Good work by a good artist is very expensive. This is why my pieces are pretty small. Sure, I could go to some scratcher and get a $20 tattoo, but that's what it would look like: something I'd want to hide. I don't want anyone to look at my tattoos and say "Those are pieces of shit. Who ripped you off?" I want people to look at my tattoos and think "Yeah, those belong on her."
Tattoos were so rare when I was a child growing up that I can remember the first person I ever saw with a tattoo. It was my Uncle Carroll. He was my grandmother's older brother and he and his wife, Helen, lived just a few blocks from us when I was growing up back in the 60's. He had been in the Navy in WWII and he sported an anchor with a heart on his shoulder. I was intrigued by it. I'd never seen something like that before. I asked him where he got that and he told me that someone had put it there with a needle. Ouch. Pass. Uncle Carroll's older son, my cousin Lee, had a tattoo as well. But his was no anchor or even a heart. His was a naked woman, also gotten in the service before he shipped off to Viet Nam. There was an aura in those days surrounding men who had tattoos. I didn't know any women with them so I assumed that they were a "guy thing". Back then, you knew who the bad women were. They didn't have to have ink. All they had to do was have their ears pierced or wear lipstick. In fact, so strong was my father's distaste for women with pierced ears that he forbade my sisters and me to get ours pierced until we were sixteen. But Carol and I disobeyed him and snuck off to the mall to get initiated into the mysteries of pierced ears when were just a few weeks shy of our 14th birthday. Since it was the 70's and we had long hair, we were able to hide it from our dad until we were sixteen. He was chagrined to put it mildly but what could be do about it after the fact?
Even though I had my ears triple pierced by 1979 (back when not everyone was doing that either), I had no desire to get a tattoo. Tattoos seemed to indicate a sense of belonging to a certain group-- gang members, bikers, soldiers, ex-cons, etc. No one who was a law abiding citizen and who valued himself would deface his body with a tattoo. Slowly, attitudes began to shift. I started to see ink on professional athletes. Then on actors and even some actresses. Suddenly, it was OK to have a tribal band around your arm or a "tramp stamp" even if you weren't a jailbird or a biker. I suppose as the demand for tattoos grew, so did the demand for artists to apply them. You didn't have to go to some guy's basement who was a friend of a friend and get it done. I'm not sure where I heard this, but it's my understanding that tattooing was illegal in some states and so had to be done in secret. You could walk into a tattoo parlor in broad daylight and walk out proudly sporting your new ink. You could have your tattoo done by a real artists; someone who may have actually studied art as opposed to a "scratcher". Tattoo parlors themselves changed, too from seedy backrooms to bright, clean shiny establishments.
This is Freedom Ink Tattoos in Peoria, Illinois where I get my ink done. It's a nice, super clean establishment with work stations, very nearly like the place where I get my hair done or my nails manicured. I would never in a million years go to a place that was dirty or irreputable. In the pre-AIDS days, tattooists didn't wear gloves and I always cringe a little when I see old photos of someone getting a tattoo because the tattooist is working bare handed. I don't want to have to worry about catching something or getting an infection. This shop uses sterile needles and tubing for every client. So not only do I not have to worry about catching something, no one has to worry about catching something from me. I caught hepatitis A years ago which was sexually transmitted and because of that, I can't give blood. Also, the vast majority of artists (at least the ones who work in professional shops like the one pictured) are usually trained in sterile fields (something only doctors and nurses used to be trained in), cross contamination and blood and air borne pathogens. They also probably have to take a Hazmat test every year.
So now, because it's more socially acceptable for people to have tattoos, I don't feel so squeamish about them. I wish that my spanking fetish was as accepted as tattoos are. In fact, getting active in the spanking scene helped fuel my desire to get inked. I saw a lot of people, both tops and bottoms, with ink. I probably won't ever have the courage to get something spanking-related tattooed on me. I'm not brave enough for that. My ink (three tattoos) is discreet, easily covered by clothing. But when I undress for a scene or pull my panties down, it's there. A lot of people will see and have seen the work of the artists who have inked me. I have 1400+ photos on my Fetlife profile and a lot of them show my tattoos. In fact, my Beethoven tattoo (the first one I got) is easily recognizable by people who have played with me. As much as I love my current ink and getting inked, I doubt I'll ever have tattoos that are visible outside of my clothes. After all, people still make value judgments based on appearance. They're liable to think that I'm going through some kind of midlife crisis and I just want people to think I'm younger than I am (which most do anyway, even without ink). Which brings me to another point. Once I realized that ladies could get tattoos, I thought the only ones who got them were young, thin pretty women like Angelina Jolie. Not the case. I had this vision in my head of artists only wanting to tattoo hot women, not old, fat women like me. Also not true. I remember the night before I got the dragonfly tattoo I had a nightmare. I dreamed that Jeremy, the guy who did my tattoo, said "No way! I'll puke if I see that!" when I told him I wanted the tattoo on my ass. Not only did that not happen, but he didn't bat an eye at it. This was reassuring to me that I didn't have to be self-conscious around these guys. I mean, they're all young men, Even Tim, the owner of the shop, is way younger than I am. They're red-blooded American men who I'm sure would jump at the chance to ink a really hot chick. But they're also professionals and expensive ones at that. They're going to give their paying customer what they want, within reason. My money is just as green as some babe's. Besides, I have seen some incredible ink on heavier women than me. Getting ink has also made me a more comfortable in my own skin.
So I hope that my entries about tattoos and the tattooing process (as limited as my experience is) has shed some light for people who might be reading this thinking "if only." There's no reason in this day and age why a person who wants a tattoo shouldn't have one. The only reason I could see is the cost. Good work by a good artist is very expensive. This is why my pieces are pretty small. Sure, I could go to some scratcher and get a $20 tattoo, but that's what it would look like: something I'd want to hide. I don't want anyone to look at my tattoos and say "Those are pieces of shit. Who ripped you off?" I want people to look at my tattoos and think "Yeah, those belong on her."
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
More On Tattoos
I just thought of some more good advice on getting a tattoo, so here's another entry.
Please, please put some serious thought into where you're going to get your tattoo. Face, head and neck tattoos might seem cool, but they will probably kill any chance you'll ever have of getting a job (well, besides a tattoo artist or maybe a rock star).
Tattoos aren't for crybabies. If you have a problem with paper cuts, then you probably shouldn't get a tattoo. Anyone who says they don't hurt is lying or has a pain tolerance that is unheard of. I have a very high pain tolerance and all of mine hurt to some degree.
Tattoos, like a lot of other things, can become addictive. If you can't go a week without new ink, you're probably addicted.
While tattoos are becoming more acceptable, know that if you get your tattoo in a visible area, you will be judged by society at large. I keep mine concealed because I don't like to be stared at.
Keep the chit chat to a minimum. Laying down a tattoo is serious business for most artists and most don't like to be distracted by small talk, especially during line work. It's best to ask your artists before he starts if he's cool with you talking while he working. Everyone is different.
Most establishments have a "No Haggling" policy. When an artist quotes you a price that's your cue to decide if you want to pay it. Trying to finagle a lower price out of your artist will probably end with you not getting a tattoo. You're paying for someone else's time and talent so don't insult him by trying to get him to do the same quality work for a lower price.
If you feel a sneeze coming on or have an itch you need to scratch, it's best to let your artist know ahead of time so he can stop for you. Virtually all of the tattoo process demands that you hold still unless you want sloppy work and crooked lines.
Don't ask for a break unless you're ready to pass out. Once an artist gets started they generally don't like to stop unless it's to change a color or something related to actually doing the tattoo. If you need to use the bathroom or you get a cramp, ask politely and then take the briefest break possible. Unless you're going to be there for six or seven hours, don't count on a break.
Don't be in a hurry. Never ask "How long is this going to take?" You won't get a good answer. You might get a ballpark figure. Even a small tattoo takes time and requires the same attention to detail that a larger one does.
Don't flirt with your artist. If you're getting your breast or butt tattooed, don't expect your artist to drool over you or pitch a tent. He's a professional and, believe me, he's seen tits and ass before. Unless you're his girlfriend or wife you're just another client.
Most establishments will offer a complimentary touch up of their work within the first few weeks of you getting your tattoo. But this is provided you followed the aftercare instructions you were given. The artist isn't responsible if your ink smears, blows out or you get an infection if you didn't follow instructions.
Don't bring your entire posse with you to the tattoo parlor. It's probably OK to bring one person with you but more than that and you will probably wear out your welcome. This goes back to what I said about artists not liking distractions.
It's common to want to commemorate your experience with photos, but find out your establishment's rules concerning cameras. Some don't allow them and many only allow them if you don't use a flash. Asking the artist to smile and wave at the camera while he's in the middle of a difficult or tricky spot might result in you getting a less than perfect tattoo.
Most artists take pride in their work and are thrilled if you send some extra business their way by telling your friends where you got your tattoo. Don't expect a discount on your next piece because of this. Some artists will shoot a discount to repeat customers who send their friends to them but this isn't a hard and fast rule.
As I said, I'm not an expert by any means, but I've been inked a few times now so I feel as qualified as the next person to give general information. Getting a tattoo can be a satisfying, fun, intense experience. A lot will depend on you and the chemistry you have with your artist. Following a few simple guidelines and using a little common sense will help insure that "your artist" will always be happy to see you.
Please, please put some serious thought into where you're going to get your tattoo. Face, head and neck tattoos might seem cool, but they will probably kill any chance you'll ever have of getting a job (well, besides a tattoo artist or maybe a rock star).
Tattoos aren't for crybabies. If you have a problem with paper cuts, then you probably shouldn't get a tattoo. Anyone who says they don't hurt is lying or has a pain tolerance that is unheard of. I have a very high pain tolerance and all of mine hurt to some degree.
Tattoos, like a lot of other things, can become addictive. If you can't go a week without new ink, you're probably addicted.
While tattoos are becoming more acceptable, know that if you get your tattoo in a visible area, you will be judged by society at large. I keep mine concealed because I don't like to be stared at.
Keep the chit chat to a minimum. Laying down a tattoo is serious business for most artists and most don't like to be distracted by small talk, especially during line work. It's best to ask your artists before he starts if he's cool with you talking while he working. Everyone is different.
Most establishments have a "No Haggling" policy. When an artist quotes you a price that's your cue to decide if you want to pay it. Trying to finagle a lower price out of your artist will probably end with you not getting a tattoo. You're paying for someone else's time and talent so don't insult him by trying to get him to do the same quality work for a lower price.
If you feel a sneeze coming on or have an itch you need to scratch, it's best to let your artist know ahead of time so he can stop for you. Virtually all of the tattoo process demands that you hold still unless you want sloppy work and crooked lines.
Don't ask for a break unless you're ready to pass out. Once an artist gets started they generally don't like to stop unless it's to change a color or something related to actually doing the tattoo. If you need to use the bathroom or you get a cramp, ask politely and then take the briefest break possible. Unless you're going to be there for six or seven hours, don't count on a break.
Don't be in a hurry. Never ask "How long is this going to take?" You won't get a good answer. You might get a ballpark figure. Even a small tattoo takes time and requires the same attention to detail that a larger one does.
Don't flirt with your artist. If you're getting your breast or butt tattooed, don't expect your artist to drool over you or pitch a tent. He's a professional and, believe me, he's seen tits and ass before. Unless you're his girlfriend or wife you're just another client.
Most establishments will offer a complimentary touch up of their work within the first few weeks of you getting your tattoo. But this is provided you followed the aftercare instructions you were given. The artist isn't responsible if your ink smears, blows out or you get an infection if you didn't follow instructions.
Don't bring your entire posse with you to the tattoo parlor. It's probably OK to bring one person with you but more than that and you will probably wear out your welcome. This goes back to what I said about artists not liking distractions.
It's common to want to commemorate your experience with photos, but find out your establishment's rules concerning cameras. Some don't allow them and many only allow them if you don't use a flash. Asking the artist to smile and wave at the camera while he's in the middle of a difficult or tricky spot might result in you getting a less than perfect tattoo.
Most artists take pride in their work and are thrilled if you send some extra business their way by telling your friends where you got your tattoo. Don't expect a discount on your next piece because of this. Some artists will shoot a discount to repeat customers who send their friends to them but this isn't a hard and fast rule.
As I said, I'm not an expert by any means, but I've been inked a few times now so I feel as qualified as the next person to give general information. Getting a tattoo can be a satisfying, fun, intense experience. A lot will depend on you and the chemistry you have with your artist. Following a few simple guidelines and using a little common sense will help insure that "your artist" will always be happy to see you.
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