Mommy is Dating

The 22nd Challenge requires exploring BDSM. (I had to look up the “B” and the “D” on Wikipedia, myself.) Mominatrix is not making this easy. But then, nothing worth it is ever easy. Except me, of course.

Have I mentioned I’m unattached? And that in my world “friends with benefits” (FWB) are friends with teenagers who will babysit for half price and clean my house while they’re at it? Or someone (man or woman, I’m indiscriminate) who has a really large wine cellar and won’t notice a missing bottle or two? Or someone who bought half a cow and a quarter CSA and decided it was 2x what they needed so they’re off-loading meat and produce to me? For free?

A solo act BDSM sounds a little like an exercise in schizophrenia to me, but Mominatrix assures those of us who are single there are plenty of BDSM options. Just going through the Sexual Resolution solo seems masochistic enough to me. Or is it sadistic? I can never keep them straight.

I had one beautiful idea, I thought, but it was flawed. I had the notion of play acting, a dialog w/one actor who plays the whip-wielding-high-heeled-leather-clad-dominatrix to the knee-socks-MaryJanes-plaid-skirt-Catholic-school-girl. This one actually had me going, though I wasn’t quite sure which character I’d like playing more. The flaw lay in the time required to switch between roles. Too much work, and too much time between changes to keep the fantasy alive.

This challenge truly had me stumped. I turned to my lovely Twitter followers and asked for suggestions. Some were quite interesting:

1. One dude by DM suggested I’d need peanut butter and a flute. I nearly DMed back that he might want to seek help.

2. Someone else suggested a bag of feathers, some bungee cords and a big bottle of cheap hair conditioner. That was intriguing, and I had all that stuff. But I’m allergic to feathers and the smell of the conditioner gives me a headache. I suppose by definition that would be sadomasochistic, but that kind of pain is just so everyday.

3. More than a few suggested I change from my dominant to my submissive (?) hand. That was a cute suggestion, but I’m ambidextrous, so in my case, that didn’t count.
4. Another helpful soul suggested a mirror, video camera and rear entry of inanimate object. Good, but it’s been done.
5. Most popular by far was the suggestion of nipple clamps. Now that would be new for me. I seriously thought about going for the nipple clamps, but I couldn’t find any with Swarovski crystals. And if Mommy’s going to be a bad, bad girl, she has to be rewarded for it. And handsomely. (Now that’s an idea, isn’t it, Handsome?)

Taking my frustration to a new level, I turned to the sexperts. I perused the www.edenfantasy.com site. Clearly the “cock and balls devices” were out for what should be obvious reasons. The suspension kits? Who was going to cut me down once I got up there? Whips? I couldn’t very well spank myself, could I? And I sure as hell couldn’t ask my kids to do it. Not that they wouldn’t love to get even with me. Swings, spreaders, collars and headgear practically had me rockin’ an O with a little scenario I ran through my head, but again, not something to pull off by oneself with much aplomb. In addition there was the challenge of trying to keep The Gimp out of that fantasy.

I briefly considered the bondage bed sheet, dousing myself with oil from a tuna can and letting the cats go at me, but they don’t get people food.

“Look, you’re a smart girl,” I told myself. “You haven’t been stumped yet. Yeah, it’s challenging but you can rise to the challenge!” (Yes, I was a cheerleader in high school.) I pondered. I looked deep into my soul. I faced every limitation, every ineptitude, every if-only. I asked myself, “If this kinky sex thing is about a little bit of torture, what could I do to really punish myself?” And there it was. The answer to the challenge. A perfect little BDSM scenario that would result in sexual stimulation if I played it (and by it I mean me) right.

I poured myself a glass of 1995 Oregon pinot noir, sat down at the table across from it, tied my hands behind the chair, and stared at it for 20 minutes, unable to reach out and feel, smell or taste its velvety sensuality. I have never felt such pain.