Gollum

Five days away from home so distracted me from everything but dirty laundry that it took Pat Robertson’s idiotic blatherings to draw my attention to the disaster in Haiti. It’s sad but true. If not for his opinions (and the similarly unconscionable statements made by Rush Limbaugh) I would have blissfully ignored the crisis long past the time it fell from the news in favor of the next big thing.

I have to wonder how many others stirred from impartial apathy to submit donations based on a sense of anger toward the ignorant? Will the unintended consequence of Pat Robertson’s words be even more help flowing to Haiti? Is it possible that he’ll be the unlikely hero of this story?

Perhaps anger will move you to action too. You should check out this list of reputable organizations accepting aid for Haiti and consider making a donation right this very second. It’s can be as easy as sending a text.

Pst, Valentine’s Day is coming soon

The Lovely Bones

“Mom, I really want to read this,” my eldest said, watching yet again as the trailer played on the television set.

“That’s a book for grown-ups,” I told her. I wondered, not for the first time, why the ad was being shown during a family program.

“But I can read it! I’ve read other books for grown-ups!”

“Honey, it’s a scary book. I know the commercial doesn’t make it look that way, but it was written for adults.”

The bargaining then began in earnest. The child pointed out the all the other “grown-up” books with “scary” situations she’d read (The Lord of the Rings and Nancy Drew fell into this category). “I like scary books!” she whinged. “And you know I’m a good reader!”

I allowed that she was indeed a good reader. “Nevertheless,” I told her, “This is a book about a murder. I don’t think you really want to read that sort of thing.”

Oh but she did. “And,” she pointed out, “I’ve read other books with murders in them.”

I didn’t ask for an accounting of those books. “Honey, the murder is of a girl, someone not much older than you.”

“Mom, that’s ok! I’m not a baby anymore! And it looks interesting!”

“It is interesting!” Before the words were even out of my mouth I knew I’d screwed up.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why can’t I read it if you’ve read it?”

I went with an old standby. “Because I am an adult and you are not.” Bedtime fast approaching (and my patience dwindling) I threw down the final card. “Child, the book is about the rape and murder of a fourteen year old girl. Is that really what you want to read right now?”

She looked puzzled. “What’s rape?”

Oh lord, I thought. Can we possibly have talked as much as we have about sex without any prior mention of assault? “It’s when one person forces another person to have sex when they don’t want to.”

The puzzlement morphed into disgust. “Oh,” she said. “I don’t want to read that kind of book.” And without any desire to pose further questions (believe me, I asked), she trotted off to bed.

I remember watching her sleep just weeks after she was born, amazed that this tiny human being had not yet experienced anything worse than the most fleeting touch of hunger. I dreaded the time when real life would invade that dreamy existence even to the extent that I would have to tell her no.

By now she’s suffered under my gentle and at time far from gentle correction for ten long years. I’ve told her no more times than she has hairs on her head. And yesterday I introduced the concept of rape into her life, reminding me of the strange mixture of love and cruelty necessary in parenting, wherein too much love can only be cruelty and a tiny bit of seeming cruelty must be used in order to temper love.

Philosophy Referee Hand Signals

Response

A location otherwise used for performances of Shakespeare, art exhibitions and weddings was transformed late last week into a classroom, one whose centerpiece was a towering portable bondage apparatus. For two hours an avid group listened to rope instruction and tried out new techniques under the tutelage of one of the most charismatic and interesting teachers I’ve ever heard.

The class officially ended at 9. The planned question-and-answer session morphed into cock-and-ball bondage (as no one volunteered to provide demonstration equipment, Monk himself dropped trou) and even more suspension bondage. A group of us chatted while watching from tiled steps near the tripod; opposite a handful of experienced rope tops from a local bondage group pulled their chairs a respectful distance from the rig’s legs.

Monk tied and retied a smiling bottom, a woman who clearly loved every physical permutation he put her through. He pushed her upside-down body to demonstrate the fun that could be had with a sub in motion, but as she oscillated out and between two legs of the bondage tripod the opposing leg lifted well off the ground. It looked as though the swing would only stop when her body hit us or the rock-like steps on which we were sitting.

We threw up our hands as if to protect our faces but before we could take any more appropriate action her swing reversed and in an instant she was safe in Monk’s arms. His eyes never left her, so he had no idea that that behind him, the easy-to-assemble leg pieces — held together only by the weight of the rest of the apparatus — had completely fallen apart. Only the rapid action by the local bondage tops kept Monk and the bottom safe from the other two collapsing legs. They were able to catch the pieces and lower everything gently to the ground.

It all happened in half a blink of an eye.

Their response was impressive, seriously impressive. They could not have acted quicker if they’d been warned in advance that the device would so spectacularly fail. Even more impressive was the response of the product’s manufacturer, who accepted full responsibility as soon as he was told of the failure. Units already in use will be fixed and no more will be sold until Monk’s had a chance to test the improvements he’s already planning.

Accidents happen every day in naughty situations and in not-so-naughty, in kinky play and in vanilla. Everything, including stepping out the front door, involves some risk. Risk is common. Accidents are common. What’s not so common is to see such a beautiful response from everyone involved.

————

Monk talks about the incident here, and there’s more information about that night on Carnal Nation.

If you’re a member of FetLife, you can read what the manufacturer has to say here.

Acting Like a Grownup

Considering the fact that during the five days of my trip I probably had more face-to-face adult interaction than in the previous five years, I think I did pretty well.

For example, I did not attempt to cut up anyone else’s dinner. Nor did I demand that my roommates pick up any dropped clothing from the floor before they got out any toys. And I’m almost entirely certain that I wore pants each and every time that pants-wearing was socially expected (and perhaps even a few times when it wasn’t).

I also, believe it or not, used makeup (including foundation, powder, mascara, lip gloss and eyeliner [yes, even eyeliner!]) multiple times per day on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Do you understand what a big effing deal this is? The last time I had the need to wear five kinds of makeup five days in a row was well over a decade ago when a full-time job more or less forced me into regular applications of paint. Let’s hope that ten years need not pass again before I find another reason to be fancy, or at least fancy based on the very lax standards of my usual life.

Maybe next time I’ll have matured to the point that I can wear something other than jeans and black t-shirts.

Common old-fashioned fuck

via KinkyDelight, Jonnodotcom

My Favorite Photo of the Night

***Traveling today, probably without wi-fi. Posting will resume tomorrow, provided that I don’t collapse into my own sweet bed in exhaustion and stay there all bleedin’ day. Thank you Vegas. It’s been truly amazing.***

Subversive

The only sensible thing to do in a casino.

Photos!

Wanna see some pix of my first full day in Vegas? Go here.

***whoops, link corrected now!***

From the Archives: In the Mail

Got this in the mail today. Not quite sure what to make of it. Not even quite sure how they found me. It was in snail-mail, you know:

January 9, 2006

Dear Ms. AlwaysArousedGirl,

It has come to our attention that you personally have the potential to perform a great service for your country. You can serve your fellow citizens in a remarkable way.

It may surprise you to find out that we have discovered an enormous possible source of energy in your neighborhood. In your very house, as a matter of fact.

More specifically, the energy comes from you, yourself. After further testing, we’ve determined that the source of the energy stems from raw lust. From your raw lust.

Our best guess is that the raw lust generated by you alone could power your city and possibly several neighboring cities. The potential is huge. As you are doubtlessly well aware, this discovery comes at a time when we are attempting to reduce our dependency on foreign oil. We are thrilled that such a source of new energy can be found within our own country.

There is also a possibility for the development of a weapon of mass destruction from your unchecked lust. We have our best minds hard at work on the creation of such a device at this very moment.

We will be back in contact with you very shortly.

Just as soon as we find a way to plug you in.

Sincerely,

The US Department of Energy

——
Please enjoy this post, which originally appeared on aag nearly four years ago, while I’m having a marvelous time in Las Vegas.

Travel Day!

As you read this I’m on my way to Las Vegas for the Adult Entertainment Expo, where I plan to hobnob ’til my nobs can take no more hobbing — or until my never-far-from-the-surface misanthropy overwhelming shyness kicks in and I have to find a corner in which to cower.

Then on Saturday night I have the honor of being EssinEm’s date for the Adult Video News awards show.

I’m so looking forward to meeting in real life some people I’ve known for years in the cyber realm. Expect periodic reports here and on Twitter, and wish me luck in not feeling too terribly out of place amongst all the beautiful people.