It is a frequent past time of mine to take in an evening of burlesque - a task made much easier with the increased number of venues providing this risque showcase. However, it can be a costly outing as most places charge a door fee as well as require a two drink minimum. In these lean times, it is important to conserve, but it is also critical to not constantly surround yourself with gloomy news and warnings of disaster. We all need an escape, what better way then to shuffle on down to the clambering cabaret to watch the glittery gallivanting gams of gorgeous gals?
It's always a joy to watch my girl get ready for an evening out. I'd gotten her a pair of Natacha Marro shoes for Christmas, and she had yet found the opportunity to show them off. Seeing as they are a full 8" (with the 2" platform) i suggested she get in a little home practice with them before fully trotting them out. She settled for a more modest 5" pair of black leather heels, matching it with her white swing dress with red polka dots from DaddyO's.
When we arrived at the venue, even though we arrived early, there was still a line out the door. It never ceases to amaze me how popular this form of entertainment has become over the years, and at the time i remember feeling happy that such a showcase was drawing folks out on a cold Saturday night. I told my girl to go find seats and i would check our coats and get us some cocktails.
When i finally snagged two Manhattans (neat), i looked for my doll. I was pleasantly surprised to find her saving a chair for me right at the foot of the stage, despite the fact that it was standing room only at this point. I squeezed my way forward to find her engaged in several conversations with strangers on one subject alone: her look. She has a very striking, beautiful appearance without all the dolling up. However with a bonnet of tight ebony curls atop her head, white alabaster powder dusting her delicate features, bright brown eyes framed by long sinewy lashes, and her signature cherry red lipstick, she is one of the most stunning sights in any room. She gathers many stares and many inquiries as to where she gets her apparel. Always a modest and polite young lady, she deflects their compliments to the various vendors she patronizes and almost ALWAYS tells people that her waist is only as a result of her corset tightlacing (but for some reason neglects to inform them of her dedicated dietary discipline).
With all of this attention helping to pass the time, the show's start happened upon us much quicker than expected. So far, the night had been very enjoyable, and i looked forward to the evening's card of dancers as the stage's curtain pulled a part for the opening.
The famous Julie Atlaz Muz pranced onto the stage, performing a dazzling routine with feathers and dollar bills tossed into the air like confetti. Following her, a very pretty girl who called herself 'Queen Laqueefa'. Her act was a little more gruff, and eventually surprised me when she showed both her off-limits naked tits and cunt by the end of her appearance. A few more dancers went by, and then we were treated to one of my favorite girls in the circuit. Melody Sweets is a rare talent in the field of burlesque dancers as she not only teases the audience with the peeling off of her clothes, she also tantalizes our ears with her melodic voice singing along with her musical accompaniment. Her act finished the first set, leaving a 30-minute break of go-go dancing from Ms. Muz and Her Royal Highness Laqueefa.
I wish i could say with what had transpired so far, that the evening ended on a high note. However, that was not the case. Once the burlesque festivities re-took the stage, the theme of the routines took on a much grittier, even manic tone to them. A few of the girls performed garish acts of drunken clumsiness, and the glamor and grace of the first half was trampled by raunchy hip gyrations. Even the energy in the audience seemed to shift. Whereas before, the crowd hooted and hollered with supporting aplomb, they now roared with a vitriolic, gutty hunger that seemed to demand chunks of flesh tossed to them. All of this was a perfect setting for the next explosive performer.
Rosewood.
Out stumbled this metallic blue, mohawk haired trollop, a bottle of champagne wagging from her flimsy grip. She'd take a mouthful of the swill and then spray it outward into the audience. Nothing about this act struck me as funny, entertaining or endearing. She continued with this pageantry as if she thought it unique enough that no one on stage in the history of live performance had done the same. But, then, even the projection of her salivatized precipitate wasn't enough. She whipped off her tiny G-string, revealing her even tinier tranny member, and proceeded to piss all over the first row (including myself) of spectators. I couldn't believe what i'd just seen. People scattered, trying to avoid her trail of fountainous urea, and all i could do was sit there in absolute shock and disgust.
Nothing about this was entertaining or engaging. I'm a big believer in taking risks and challenging the established set of ideals and values (if anyone doubts this, please feel free to scan my archives), but this act was just plain trash. Burlesque, when it's good, presents the female form in a frollicky, fun and seductive manner. The tease is in fact its greatest asset. Skimming the bottom of the bucket by taking it all off and putting it on display like a cheap, down on her luck hooker is found in strip clubs across this country already. I find that extremely depressing, demeaning and idiotic. By the time i gathered my thoughts enough to realize what i'd just seen, i put on my jacket and escorted my girl towards the exit, sad that the evening had dipped so low.
Showing posts with label rituals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rituals. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, December 28, 2008
THE LITTLE MOMENTS
It’s Sunday morning. Still not quite awake, I become aware of a red dog collar being placed around my neck...and then my nipples being pinched. I can feel myself ‘drop’ as my body is manipulated into another position. It is the beginning of a morning of intense ‘pleasure’ (or pain); a morning that will see me float through the day, and even sustain me for longer than the day. This is the feast.
It’s Tuesday morning. Still not quite awake, he comes to my side of the bed and pulls the covers off; feels my body - my cunt, bottom and breasts. He returns the covers and tucks me in tight; kisses me on the lips and tells me to be a good girl while he is away. He leaves for the rest of the week. This is the famine.
But in between the feast and the famine, there must be nourishment. The little moments constitute the nourishment that sustains me from one feast to the other, without dying of starvation. The little moments reminds me of who I am and why I live this way.
I’m inclined to think that structure, rules, rituals...call them what you will...are the mainstay of our relationships. I’ve often wondered what other people’s rituals are, and I have long harboured a desire for some of my own. My mentor provides delicious moments for his girl. He puts her on an invisible ‘cunt leash’ sometimes when they are out with friends; at a party perhaps. If she breaks the leash by moving away from him, consequences await her upon their return home. So, let’s say she has moved away – by design or by mistake. And, let’s say, he notices. He says to her, “Come here”. Vanilla folk won’t pay much attention to these words, but his girl knows what they mean. She knows she’s going to bed with a bloody sore backside. I suspect it’s a heady moment, felt all the way to her cunt; bittersweet.
I have an exercise that I am required to do daily. It is not my own invention but rather one that was taught to me by a dear cyberspace friend, some time ago. He refers to it as ‘bar time’, so PH if you are reading, my heartfelt thanks. I suppose it is an extension of yoga and requires me to undress, at least below the waist. I spread my legs about three feet apart and I reach down and touch my ankles (or a bar if you happen to have one). I hold the position for fifteen minutes, not moving at all. In that time, I ruminate, and try very hard to think about my decision to submit.
If I am feeling scattered, this exercise is difficult. Three minutes can seem an eternity. But, as I hold the position, I do begin to feel more settled. Upon completion, I feel pleased with myself that I did it. (I’ve had a spot of bother maintaining consistency with this daily routine, to the chagrin of the dominants in my life!) Of course, there is a level of humiliation in the exercise too, which works nicely for me. As well, I keep an electronic journal that I must write daily.
Then, there is the permission seeking for bed time at the end of the day. I owe this last ritual completely to Deity and I sent him my thanks at the time. I just love how such a little thing created harmony between my man and me when before that, it had been something of a stalemate. I can’t keep my eyes open after midnight, and that’s when his eyes widen with all the possibilities afforded him to conjure up ideas in the silence of the early morning. Asking permission and being put to bed was the perfect solution.
It was a particularly golden day recently when I opened an email from my mentor which informed me that:
“Perhaps we need a symbol for you, some sign that you are submitting, so that when your man tells you off that it is clear to him that you are accepting his message to you and submitting to him.”
I just love the way the man reads my mind. He goes on later to say:
“I'm thinking that one way to signal your submission would be to put your hands behind your back. When a sub puts her hands behind her back, she should put each of her wrists in the small of her back, one above the other, so that they are above her waist. This way, if the dom needs to whip her then her hands are already out of the way. The sub should never put her hands over her bottom because this allows her to feel the security of possibly blocking the blows. That's strictly not allowed. So, my suggestion, off hand, would be that at least you stand and put your hands behind your back, facing him and paying attention. This will make it much easier for him to see that you are submitting, and it will also allow you to separate from whatever emotions you were having before he addressed you.”
Brilliant!
Now, if you were not a submissive type, this sort of suggestion would have you very upset. It would be a ‘How dare he make such a dreadful suggestion!’ moment. But, I’m long past pretending that such a suggestion isn’t perfect for me and the type of relationship I want.
It is rather ironic that when I can be so sure of exactly what I want, I have such trouble giving that information to my man. It is not so much that it is embarrassing, as it just doesn’t feel right to be giving your man ideas directly. So, what to do? Well, slipping the idea into the conversation surreptitiously can work; as if it is no big deal.
“Janus sent through an interesting idea today.”
“Did he?”
“Mmmm. He had this idea for me to put my hands behind my back, in the small of my back...you know...sort of one wrist crossed over the other...as a sort of symbol of submission. Go figure, huh?”
“Uh huh.”
“Anyways...fancy a cup of tea?”
And, then? Well, I wait, basically. I wait for him to put the idea into action – however long that takes.
In the meantime, I used the move in Pilates class. There is an exercise where we are required to put our hands behind our backs. There are no prizes for guessing my little variation on this. Of course, I cross my wrists, one over the other, and place my hands in the small of my back, just as Janus suggested, and I pretend that I am required to do so, or else. It’s a buzz, while I wait for the real thing.
I am happy to report that the ‘real thing’ took place last weekend. Inclined to cheekiness at a family gathering, I was sent to the corner upon our return, AND I was told to put my hands in the small of my back, with one wrist crossing the other. YES!!!! After I was given enough time to think about the consequences of my actions that day, along he came and took from around my neck the long, thin silk scarf I was wearing. He tied my wrists together. DOUBLE YES!!!! What he did then really isn’t suitable reading, but rest assured I learned my lesson.
I’m sure there are so many little rituals to discover out there. Why not write in and tell me your favourite?
Postscript: This post was written before my ‘no hinting’ rule came into force. As I re-read it, I see that it is ridiculously revealing! I think I just cooked my own goose. Again.
It’s Tuesday morning. Still not quite awake, he comes to my side of the bed and pulls the covers off; feels my body - my cunt, bottom and breasts. He returns the covers and tucks me in tight; kisses me on the lips and tells me to be a good girl while he is away. He leaves for the rest of the week. This is the famine.
But in between the feast and the famine, there must be nourishment. The little moments constitute the nourishment that sustains me from one feast to the other, without dying of starvation. The little moments reminds me of who I am and why I live this way.
I’m inclined to think that structure, rules, rituals...call them what you will...are the mainstay of our relationships. I’ve often wondered what other people’s rituals are, and I have long harboured a desire for some of my own. My mentor provides delicious moments for his girl. He puts her on an invisible ‘cunt leash’ sometimes when they are out with friends; at a party perhaps. If she breaks the leash by moving away from him, consequences await her upon their return home. So, let’s say she has moved away – by design or by mistake. And, let’s say, he notices. He says to her, “Come here”. Vanilla folk won’t pay much attention to these words, but his girl knows what they mean. She knows she’s going to bed with a bloody sore backside. I suspect it’s a heady moment, felt all the way to her cunt; bittersweet.
I have an exercise that I am required to do daily. It is not my own invention but rather one that was taught to me by a dear cyberspace friend, some time ago. He refers to it as ‘bar time’, so PH if you are reading, my heartfelt thanks. I suppose it is an extension of yoga and requires me to undress, at least below the waist. I spread my legs about three feet apart and I reach down and touch my ankles (or a bar if you happen to have one). I hold the position for fifteen minutes, not moving at all. In that time, I ruminate, and try very hard to think about my decision to submit.
If I am feeling scattered, this exercise is difficult. Three minutes can seem an eternity. But, as I hold the position, I do begin to feel more settled. Upon completion, I feel pleased with myself that I did it. (I’ve had a spot of bother maintaining consistency with this daily routine, to the chagrin of the dominants in my life!) Of course, there is a level of humiliation in the exercise too, which works nicely for me. As well, I keep an electronic journal that I must write daily.
Then, there is the permission seeking for bed time at the end of the day. I owe this last ritual completely to Deity and I sent him my thanks at the time. I just love how such a little thing created harmony between my man and me when before that, it had been something of a stalemate. I can’t keep my eyes open after midnight, and that’s when his eyes widen with all the possibilities afforded him to conjure up ideas in the silence of the early morning. Asking permission and being put to bed was the perfect solution.
It was a particularly golden day recently when I opened an email from my mentor which informed me that:
“Perhaps we need a symbol for you, some sign that you are submitting, so that when your man tells you off that it is clear to him that you are accepting his message to you and submitting to him.”
I just love the way the man reads my mind. He goes on later to say:
“I'm thinking that one way to signal your submission would be to put your hands behind your back. When a sub puts her hands behind her back, she should put each of her wrists in the small of her back, one above the other, so that they are above her waist. This way, if the dom needs to whip her then her hands are already out of the way. The sub should never put her hands over her bottom because this allows her to feel the security of possibly blocking the blows. That's strictly not allowed. So, my suggestion, off hand, would be that at least you stand and put your hands behind your back, facing him and paying attention. This will make it much easier for him to see that you are submitting, and it will also allow you to separate from whatever emotions you were having before he addressed you.”
Brilliant!
Now, if you were not a submissive type, this sort of suggestion would have you very upset. It would be a ‘How dare he make such a dreadful suggestion!’ moment. But, I’m long past pretending that such a suggestion isn’t perfect for me and the type of relationship I want.
It is rather ironic that when I can be so sure of exactly what I want, I have such trouble giving that information to my man. It is not so much that it is embarrassing, as it just doesn’t feel right to be giving your man ideas directly. So, what to do? Well, slipping the idea into the conversation surreptitiously can work; as if it is no big deal.
“Janus sent through an interesting idea today.”
“Did he?”
“Mmmm. He had this idea for me to put my hands behind my back, in the small of my back...you know...sort of one wrist crossed over the other...as a sort of symbol of submission. Go figure, huh?”
“Uh huh.”
“Anyways...fancy a cup of tea?”
And, then? Well, I wait, basically. I wait for him to put the idea into action – however long that takes.
In the meantime, I used the move in Pilates class. There is an exercise where we are required to put our hands behind our backs. There are no prizes for guessing my little variation on this. Of course, I cross my wrists, one over the other, and place my hands in the small of my back, just as Janus suggested, and I pretend that I am required to do so, or else. It’s a buzz, while I wait for the real thing.
I am happy to report that the ‘real thing’ took place last weekend. Inclined to cheekiness at a family gathering, I was sent to the corner upon our return, AND I was told to put my hands in the small of my back, with one wrist crossing the other. YES!!!! After I was given enough time to think about the consequences of my actions that day, along he came and took from around my neck the long, thin silk scarf I was wearing. He tied my wrists together. DOUBLE YES!!!! What he did then really isn’t suitable reading, but rest assured I learned my lesson.
I’m sure there are so many little rituals to discover out there. Why not write in and tell me your favourite?
Postscript: This post was written before my ‘no hinting’ rule came into force. As I re-read it, I see that it is ridiculously revealing! I think I just cooked my own goose. Again.
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