One more of many interesting experiences from this last ShadowLane party – the experience of trying to say no. I’m sure more than a few women can recite my pontifications of giving a nice, direct, no-excuses “no” to a guy they don’t want to play with. And I’m sure when I’m on my soapbox I make it sound like I think it’s easy – though I know it’s not. Now I’m not saying that this was at all the same situation, but I did get a first-hand example of how hard it can be to say no, especially to say no very directly.
We were at a party Sunday afternoon down at Danny’s and he had quite a nice crowd gathered, including several people I didn’t know. This surprised me a little because I’m used to having gotten used to seeing most everyone by then – obviously I wasn’t paying enough attention Saturday at the banquet.
One woman I didn’t recognize was over between the bed and the bathroom – tall, fashionably short blonde hair, business suit, chunky heels – and she was already tall. Okay, I admit, I had a good idea that she was a top but as attractive as she was I figured I could let her tell me that. Oh, and the big F/M party had just gotten out, so that sort of underscored my impression.
I am not good at initiating one-on-one conversations – I know it’s hard for a lot of people, and I’m one of them – but I did manage to get her name and ascertain that she was having a good time or some such lame thing. We drifted toward the door of the suite – and the munchies – and she introduced me to her husband (I was not surprised) and he was likewise tall, attractive, mid-thirties, Texan. I congratulated their Longhorns for beating us in the Rose Bowl but they weren't big college football fans.
Never one to give up, I contrived to be in her area a little later and somehow managed to say something that allowed my to segue appropriately into “Are you interested in playing?” and – as I could have predicted, and with perfect control, she responded “Are you?”
So, okay, I’m not stupid, I have this situation pretty completely figured out, so I say, “Well, are you a bottom?” and as I’d expect, she says “No – do you bottom?”
Okay, let me explain that first, I have a tremendous weakness for attractive women; second, I try to be complimentary and supportive of everyone whenever possible; and third, I have not only respect but admiration for the woman tops I have met (more on that in another post someday, maybe soon). So, in short, saying no to this lovely lady was not something that came easily to me – in fact, in this case it did not come at all.
“Or not in public?” she offered as my mouth moved with no reasonable speech coming out. What I was thinking was “how do I say very definitely “no” without rejecting how she plays or who she is as a person?” Now you can say, don’t be silly, people understand – but I was operating on 4 hours of sleep for every 20 hours of super-high-pitched erotic excitement – times three or four by now.
“Or not...” Honestly, I forget what other excuse/offer she provided me with. By this time I did manage to say “Ah, no.” I did manage to save a little face because some attractive young woman was trying to drag me off to some other party emergency which, of course, was of no consequence.
So like I said, this was in no way like a woman trying to tell one man no while keeping herself open to approaches by other men – in this case I was clearly declining her mode of play and not the woman herself. But even so I did realize how difficult it is. (And I might mention that, naturally, as a guy top I don’t have a lot of experience saying “no” except in answer to “Aren’t you going to stop?” or “That’ll be okay, wouldn’t it?”)
Afterward, of course, all the best responses occurred to me, like “You make it a very attractive offer, but no, I don’t;” or “Well, no, I don’t, but if I ever do, I’ll be sure to check back with you,” so maybe next time I’ll be a little better prepared.
I was telling one woman about this and she asked “So you haven’t ever been spanked?” and I felt it only fair to explain – I have switched, some, with some – not even all – of the women I’ve been in long-term relationships with – which I guess, strictly speaking, was one reason I was hesitant to answer “Do you?” with a flat-out “no,” without adding a disclaimer like the guy at the end of the TV ads for McDonald’s new Monopoly game:
“Your chance of winning varies with participation. Contestants must agree to living arrangements and work out personality issues, if any. My right to the left side of the bed is non-negotiable. No purchase is necessary to win and does not affect your chance of winning. Offer is void where prohibited and in Puritanical states and states of mind or elsewhere if illegal, taxed, licensed, or freakishly abnormal, although highly immoral or just downright kinky is still okay.”
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
My Stories
So here's something I'm actually pretty pumped about – after a lot of years of wanting to I have finally arranged to get some of my stories on-line. I never did work out getting my own website and I don't really want to use the one provided by my ISP, so I've put them up on Blogger. They're at Matt Anglen's Spanking Stories.
Over the past few years, with the thoughts of posting, publishing, or otherwise getting my stories read, I got them all pretty well organized into volumes, and made a table of contents describing the earlier ones and all, then printed off some booklets for my friends. One book is pure fiction and then the rest are in chronological order. The first ones were easy because everything had been prepared to be posted somewhere, which I did back in 1998-2000. Somewhere after that, however, I had a lot of works that weren't quite in publishable form and an awful lot more that was in pretty bad shape – imbedded in e-mails and all. But I did eventually extract about half of this and organize it as well.
Of my best, organized stuff I have about 100 stories. Mostly all by me, with influences of my partners or sometimes written by them influenced by me. But in any case, I'm sure reading 100 of my stories, if anyone ever tried it, would be like reading 100 Agatha Christies – even if you like them it gets old fast. So what I decided to do was make a "permanent" and "rotating" collection. I picked about 20 stories that I thought best represented my oeuvre to have up all the time and then I'm going to put up 6-12 stories for a month apiece. Then after a year I'm going to start over. I know better than to commit to write so much as a single good story between now and then – sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't.
So it was sort of funny, trying to choose these 20 stories – basically because I wanted to choose 50, and maybe I should have posted all 50 of the better ones and just left them up, because I do really like about half of them and have gotten really positive feedback on them. But I cut it down to 22 or something and I'll spread the remaining best ones out over the coming months. Something else that was funny was looking at the dates – my most prolific time was 1995 – 2002 and then I have three recent stories that I think turned out well. All the time I've been living with Cat, however – what happened there? Well, what really happened was that I've been trying to put together a novel, and write chapters, with minimal success. But any writing I have been doing, I've tried to fit it into one of the frameworks I had in mind, making the individual pieces less suitable as a stand-alone story. Third, my earliest stuff is a lot more vulgar than the recent works, even discussing the same situations – because prior to 1998 or so, stories were basically targeted at men buying printed erotica, so that was the only model I knew, while once I got on-line, I discovered a female audience that appreciated a little more discretion.
Another interesting thing (to me), though, was re-reading some of these stories. Some are written to be funny, some are written to catch a particular feeling from a particular moment, but a lot of them are largely written to be hot, and they are, if I do say so myself. In other words, I was a little surprised how hot I still found them to be, after having had them around for years.
Anyway, you shouldn't even be reading this, you should be over there, reading those – so I won't keep you – but I hope you enjoy them!
Over the past few years, with the thoughts of posting, publishing, or otherwise getting my stories read, I got them all pretty well organized into volumes, and made a table of contents describing the earlier ones and all, then printed off some booklets for my friends. One book is pure fiction and then the rest are in chronological order. The first ones were easy because everything had been prepared to be posted somewhere, which I did back in 1998-2000. Somewhere after that, however, I had a lot of works that weren't quite in publishable form and an awful lot more that was in pretty bad shape – imbedded in e-mails and all. But I did eventually extract about half of this and organize it as well.
Of my best, organized stuff I have about 100 stories. Mostly all by me, with influences of my partners or sometimes written by them influenced by me. But in any case, I'm sure reading 100 of my stories, if anyone ever tried it, would be like reading 100 Agatha Christies – even if you like them it gets old fast. So what I decided to do was make a "permanent" and "rotating" collection. I picked about 20 stories that I thought best represented my oeuvre to have up all the time and then I'm going to put up 6-12 stories for a month apiece. Then after a year I'm going to start over. I know better than to commit to write so much as a single good story between now and then – sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't.
So it was sort of funny, trying to choose these 20 stories – basically because I wanted to choose 50, and maybe I should have posted all 50 of the better ones and just left them up, because I do really like about half of them and have gotten really positive feedback on them. But I cut it down to 22 or something and I'll spread the remaining best ones out over the coming months. Something else that was funny was looking at the dates – my most prolific time was 1995 – 2002 and then I have three recent stories that I think turned out well. All the time I've been living with Cat, however – what happened there? Well, what really happened was that I've been trying to put together a novel, and write chapters, with minimal success. But any writing I have been doing, I've tried to fit it into one of the frameworks I had in mind, making the individual pieces less suitable as a stand-alone story. Third, my earliest stuff is a lot more vulgar than the recent works, even discussing the same situations – because prior to 1998 or so, stories were basically targeted at men buying printed erotica, so that was the only model I knew, while once I got on-line, I discovered a female audience that appreciated a little more discretion.
Another interesting thing (to me), though, was re-reading some of these stories. Some are written to be funny, some are written to catch a particular feeling from a particular moment, but a lot of them are largely written to be hot, and they are, if I do say so myself. In other words, I was a little surprised how hot I still found them to be, after having had them around for years.
Anyway, you shouldn't even be reading this, you should be over there, reading those – so I won't keep you – but I hope you enjoy them!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
An Ideal Fourteen Inches
Not as an endowment, of course – my God! Other than visually, perhaps, would a woman have a use for a man that big? Let's just say that I don't know, obviously...
No, what fourteen inches is ideal for, it seems, is good over-the-knee spanking implements, at least for me. As they get shorter they tend to lose effectiveness in that, basically, it seems like my hand gets in the way and I fear that I'm striking as much with my knuckles as my toy. If they get longer, they get harder to control – at least that's the first problem. Fourteen inches for otk seems just right. (Just right for me, Cat likes a twelve-inch limit for toys she uses otk).
This determination does become important, actually. You may be thinking it'd be best to just try something out and see, or hold it in your hand and guess, either one of which would work fine. Where this leads to trouble, though, is when I purchase a lot of "pervertibles" on-line, with little more than the seller's description of it.
Pervertibles, says David Stein, are everyday objects converted to nefarious purposes, primarily for spanking and BDSM. Hairbrushes, belts, and wooden spoons – and I have literally dozens of each – are high on the list of spanking toys, while other objects might be for restraint or touch/sensation play. I suppose a feather duster isn't a pervertible when used on your lover, unless you tie them up first, possibly with pantyhose...
And let's just say I have a lot of pervertibles, having gone through a stage of collecting – or merely accumulating – them, with a lot of help from E-bay and internet shopping. Most of these objects cost literally a dollar or so, definitely under five – plus five to seven dollars for shipping. Now, a dollar I can waste, I'll just buy one less bottle of water – but eight or ten gets a little steep.
Hairbrushes don't range up to fourteen inches, and I have a very short, very thick one that is very popular, but it's an exception. The better ones might make nine inches and normally I find less than eight a little disappointing. I ordered a maple "cookie paddle" which I believe was listed at about seven inches and looked quite promising but really arrived seeming more like six-and-a-half and, while cute, is not useful like I had hoped.
Cooking spoons are the ones where this really comes into play. I've seen some lovely spoons advertised made of great woods and supporting wonderful causes, but they're only eight inches long, which for a spoon is too short. The magic of a spoon, besides the fact that it lives in plain sight, is that the length and speed makes up for the low weight. Once again, we have a beautiful one (from a shop on Venice Beach) that's ten inches and lacks a lot of persuasiveness.
The "other" reason fourteen inches is ideal, however, is because of the "other" pervertible. One year as a safety award the now-defunct company I worked for gave out briefcase-style carry-alls. I usually find these awards to be useless, but keep them anyway, and in this case I'm glad I did. Besides numerous zippered compartments on the outside which I have yet to use, the bag has three large zippered sections. The first section is divided as if for files, perfect for separating paddles. The second section has interior zippered pockets – I used to keep my thumbcuffs in there (note, thumbcuffs do not qualify as a pervertible) and is a good big pocket for a large pile of smackers. Then there's a third pocket which is expandable (and always stuffed, it seems) where I mostly keep restraints and sensation toys, soft stuff and lotions, plus sometimes nice objects that I don't want scratched.
Longer toys can get folded or rolled and put in there but I've found that I don't really like to do this – they often come out bent or curled. And despite what we learned in geometry, the diagonal on this case is barely longer than the legal-sized width, so angling toys seldom helps.
I had a second victory when I was packing for an overnight trip. I don't really have a suitable small bag for my clothes and things – the next one up is a full-sized suitcase. However, this suitcase is about 15" x 24" inside, so I can perfectly fit the toy bag on one half and have the other half for clothes and shaving stuff. Along the top I run all the longer toys that I don't want rolled or folded – a strap that doubles to 18 inches, a shoehorn, backscratcher, and short looped cane, Cat's favorite narrow "Ladies' Strap," my own long narrow stinging strap, a faux birch, rubber loopy, paintstick, rawhide lace flogger and the like. Oh by the way, over half of which are pervertibles.
Maybe I can put up some pictures – with all the time I've put into pervertibles, I ought to be able to get a few posts out of it.
No, what fourteen inches is ideal for, it seems, is good over-the-knee spanking implements, at least for me. As they get shorter they tend to lose effectiveness in that, basically, it seems like my hand gets in the way and I fear that I'm striking as much with my knuckles as my toy. If they get longer, they get harder to control – at least that's the first problem. Fourteen inches for otk seems just right. (Just right for me, Cat likes a twelve-inch limit for toys she uses otk).
This determination does become important, actually. You may be thinking it'd be best to just try something out and see, or hold it in your hand and guess, either one of which would work fine. Where this leads to trouble, though, is when I purchase a lot of "pervertibles" on-line, with little more than the seller's description of it.
Pervertibles, says David Stein, are everyday objects converted to nefarious purposes, primarily for spanking and BDSM. Hairbrushes, belts, and wooden spoons – and I have literally dozens of each – are high on the list of spanking toys, while other objects might be for restraint or touch/sensation play. I suppose a feather duster isn't a pervertible when used on your lover, unless you tie them up first, possibly with pantyhose...
And let's just say I have a lot of pervertibles, having gone through a stage of collecting – or merely accumulating – them, with a lot of help from E-bay and internet shopping. Most of these objects cost literally a dollar or so, definitely under five – plus five to seven dollars for shipping. Now, a dollar I can waste, I'll just buy one less bottle of water – but eight or ten gets a little steep.
Hairbrushes don't range up to fourteen inches, and I have a very short, very thick one that is very popular, but it's an exception. The better ones might make nine inches and normally I find less than eight a little disappointing. I ordered a maple "cookie paddle" which I believe was listed at about seven inches and looked quite promising but really arrived seeming more like six-and-a-half and, while cute, is not useful like I had hoped.
Cooking spoons are the ones where this really comes into play. I've seen some lovely spoons advertised made of great woods and supporting wonderful causes, but they're only eight inches long, which for a spoon is too short. The magic of a spoon, besides the fact that it lives in plain sight, is that the length and speed makes up for the low weight. Once again, we have a beautiful one (from a shop on Venice Beach) that's ten inches and lacks a lot of persuasiveness.
The "other" reason fourteen inches is ideal, however, is because of the "other" pervertible. One year as a safety award the now-defunct company I worked for gave out briefcase-style carry-alls. I usually find these awards to be useless, but keep them anyway, and in this case I'm glad I did. Besides numerous zippered compartments on the outside which I have yet to use, the bag has three large zippered sections. The first section is divided as if for files, perfect for separating paddles. The second section has interior zippered pockets – I used to keep my thumbcuffs in there (note, thumbcuffs do not qualify as a pervertible) and is a good big pocket for a large pile of smackers. Then there's a third pocket which is expandable (and always stuffed, it seems) where I mostly keep restraints and sensation toys, soft stuff and lotions, plus sometimes nice objects that I don't want scratched.
Longer toys can get folded or rolled and put in there but I've found that I don't really like to do this – they often come out bent or curled. And despite what we learned in geometry, the diagonal on this case is barely longer than the legal-sized width, so angling toys seldom helps.
I had a second victory when I was packing for an overnight trip. I don't really have a suitable small bag for my clothes and things – the next one up is a full-sized suitcase. However, this suitcase is about 15" x 24" inside, so I can perfectly fit the toy bag on one half and have the other half for clothes and shaving stuff. Along the top I run all the longer toys that I don't want rolled or folded – a strap that doubles to 18 inches, a shoehorn, backscratcher, and short looped cane, Cat's favorite narrow "Ladies' Strap," my own long narrow stinging strap, a faux birch, rubber loopy, paintstick, rawhide lace flogger and the like. Oh by the way, over half of which are pervertibles.
Maybe I can put up some pictures – with all the time I've put into pervertibles, I ought to be able to get a few posts out of it.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Carry On!
Okay, I promised something a bit lighter this time:
Carry On!
Has anyone tried to get on a plane lately? I think a lot of the security panic is passe, and now these guards / inspectors / whatever are just plain bored, nosey, and looking to hassle paying customers. Case in point - I try to board with a perfectly harmless carry-on, it’s a normal size, it can easily be stowed in the overhead bin or under the seat in front of me. And what do I get? First it’s x-rayed, then grabbed off the conveyor by a woman wanting to search it by hand. Of course, the search is optional - I can always walk to JFK, if I’d prefer.
“You don’t have any checked luggage, sir?” Unaccustomed as I am to this mode of address, she must mean me.
“No, just this.”
“I see....”
“Is there a problem?”
“You don’t have any shirts with a collar,” she points out. Somehow, this sartorial faux pas has her at a loss.
“Vacation, you know,” I explain politely.
“But you have four neckties.” Forty thousand airport workers, I get a budding Agatha Christie. “You could tie up a flight attendant.”
“Mmmm. Been known to happen.” Not the response she was looking for. Better not joke around too much. “I wear them as a belt.”
“But you have a belt. Four, in fact. A brown one...” Yes, my thick wide western-style belt. “Two black...” One elegant, one casual... “And a red one?” Her eyebrow arches into her bangs.
“That’s a leash.”
“I see,” she repeats, and what she sees is my hairbrush. Holding it dangerously, she stares pointedly at my head. Hey, I'm not bald! Of course, the bristles are longer than my hair is...
Choosing her battles, she retreats, and returns the hairbrush to its rightful place. “Only one of these gloves?” Now she’s come up with a thin leather glove, right-handed.
“Yes. It’s for golf. Or - baseball? Maybe weightlifting.” Stick to the vacation motif, I tell myself.
“One plastic coat hanger,” she continues. There appears to be a pattern.
“For my bowling shirt,” I supply cheerfully.
“And it looks like someone lost a sandal,” she informs me helpfully, holding up one woman’s sandal - straight, flat, wood, rubber soled, and mateless.
“Yes - I’ll bet she regrets it already.” I look full at her, challenging her to challenge me.
Before she has the chance to do so, the gate agent stalks over.
“Tanya, is he clear or not? I want to close the door and go have a smoke.”
“He’s alright,” Ms. Backpack Cop concedes.
“Then stop being a brat and let him on the plane.” If it weren’t for nicotine, I’d probably still be there, discussing the brands of lotion I’m carrying. Yes, I need all six.
Grudgingly, she repacks my carry-on.
“You’ve made a wise choice, young lady,” I reassure her, but she doesn’t seem mollified.
“You’re all set,” she declares, glaring at me one last time. I return her look expectantly. “Sir.” She slides my pack gingerly across the table, as if it might bite her. Always a chance, I suppose. “Have a good flight.”
“Have a good stay,” I offer with a smile.
“Oh and sir?” It’s easy once you get used to saying it. It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “Round-trip ticket?”
“Sunday night return. Are they searching the outgoing passengers these days?” Even with the Fourth of July warnings, that seems excessive.
“New policy, maybe. Just a precaution. I’ll see you get through.”
Carry On!
Has anyone tried to get on a plane lately? I think a lot of the security panic is passe, and now these guards / inspectors / whatever are just plain bored, nosey, and looking to hassle paying customers. Case in point - I try to board with a perfectly harmless carry-on, it’s a normal size, it can easily be stowed in the overhead bin or under the seat in front of me. And what do I get? First it’s x-rayed, then grabbed off the conveyor by a woman wanting to search it by hand. Of course, the search is optional - I can always walk to JFK, if I’d prefer.
“You don’t have any checked luggage, sir?” Unaccustomed as I am to this mode of address, she must mean me.
“No, just this.”
“I see....”
“Is there a problem?”
“You don’t have any shirts with a collar,” she points out. Somehow, this sartorial faux pas has her at a loss.
“Vacation, you know,” I explain politely.
“But you have four neckties.” Forty thousand airport workers, I get a budding Agatha Christie. “You could tie up a flight attendant.”
“Mmmm. Been known to happen.” Not the response she was looking for. Better not joke around too much. “I wear them as a belt.”
“But you have a belt. Four, in fact. A brown one...” Yes, my thick wide western-style belt. “Two black...” One elegant, one casual... “And a red one?” Her eyebrow arches into her bangs.
“That’s a leash.”
“I see,” she repeats, and what she sees is my hairbrush. Holding it dangerously, she stares pointedly at my head. Hey, I'm not bald! Of course, the bristles are longer than my hair is...
Choosing her battles, she retreats, and returns the hairbrush to its rightful place. “Only one of these gloves?” Now she’s come up with a thin leather glove, right-handed.
“Yes. It’s for golf. Or - baseball? Maybe weightlifting.” Stick to the vacation motif, I tell myself.
“One plastic coat hanger,” she continues. There appears to be a pattern.
“For my bowling shirt,” I supply cheerfully.
“And it looks like someone lost a sandal,” she informs me helpfully, holding up one woman’s sandal - straight, flat, wood, rubber soled, and mateless.
“Yes - I’ll bet she regrets it already.” I look full at her, challenging her to challenge me.
Before she has the chance to do so, the gate agent stalks over.
“Tanya, is he clear or not? I want to close the door and go have a smoke.”
“He’s alright,” Ms. Backpack Cop concedes.
“Then stop being a brat and let him on the plane.” If it weren’t for nicotine, I’d probably still be there, discussing the brands of lotion I’m carrying. Yes, I need all six.
Grudgingly, she repacks my carry-on.
“You’ve made a wise choice, young lady,” I reassure her, but she doesn’t seem mollified.
“You’re all set,” she declares, glaring at me one last time. I return her look expectantly. “Sir.” She slides my pack gingerly across the table, as if it might bite her. Always a chance, I suppose. “Have a good flight.”
“Have a good stay,” I offer with a smile.
“Oh and sir?” It’s easy once you get used to saying it. It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow. “Round-trip ticket?”
“Sunday night return. Are they searching the outgoing passengers these days?” Even with the Fourth of July warnings, that seems excessive.
“New policy, maybe. Just a precaution. I’ll see you get through.”
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