BDSM RTV NEWS!!!!

14 february 2009


SEX ISSUE: Thud or Sting?
An Outsider Explores BDSM


Source: www.studlife.com Student Life - St-Louis,MO,USA


Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be flogged? Yeah, me neither. But recently, I was having a conversation with a friend who is a bit kinky. As it turns out, a few more of my friends have admitted to their own fantasies in the past couple of weeks. Soon enough, it started to feel like too much of a coincidence-I had to find out what all the fuss was about.


I started with a simple Google search. This approach was ill advised, especially without the protection of SafeSearch. I managed to discover Fetlife.com (think Fetish Facebook), and a quick look revealed perhaps a thousand or more kinks out there. I was forced to narrow my quest down, so I resolved to learn all I could about BDSM.

BDSM, for those not in the know, is a layered acronym. B/D means Bondage and Discipline. D/S means Dominance and Submission. S/M means Sadism and Masochism. Clearly, I was going to need guidance for all of those categories. Luckily, Wash. U. has just the thing.

The Alternative Lifestyles Association (ALA) is, as one member described, a group dedicated to educating the Wash. U. and St. Louis community on alternative sexual practices, including BDSM, and helping students and staff explore their sexual interests. It’s also perhaps one of the most misunderstood clubs on campus.

“We are not a sex club,” this member emphasized. “Our meetings are not orgies or play parties. They are discussions or workshops or tutorials on how to properly do the things we do and how to learn more about things people are interested in.”

It was the ALA and their connections with the larger St. Louis BDSM community that really started me on my journey. They directed me to a monthly BDSM get-together known as a Munch. You might be expecting people in leather harnesses and nipple clamps, but not tonight. It was all plain clothes, plainer food and surprisingly plain people.

Looking back, I realize my stereotypical views were awful, but in my defense, I’d never met anybody into BDSM. Or maybe I had and just didn’t know it. Save for a studded collar or two as a hint, this gathering could’ve easily passed for a family reunion. And with no hesitation, they took me in as one of the family. When I revealed that I was writing a newspaper article, they were more than happy to help. The people at my table even invited me back to their private dungeon for an interview.
Adventures in dominance & submission - the private dungeon

At this point, I’m morally obligated to tell you, you should turn down that invitation. The BDSM community, as I learned, is built on principles, notably that everything must be safe, sane and consensual. Going to a stranger’s private dungeon is not safe. I was later told that I should have found someone I trust who could vouch for them, or at the very least, called someone and told them where I was going and when I expected to return.

The dungeon belonged to a guy named Bob, who lives with his wife/slave Cat, as well as his submissive, Mouse.

The master/slave dynamic is a voluntary power exchange. Cat (the “slave”) will do anything Bob (the “master”) tells her and has given him total control of everything in her life, including finances, while Mouse (the “sub”) has negotiated a more limited power exchange.

“As far as I am concerned, whatever he says goes,” Cat said. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t have my own thoughts, my own opinions, my own ideas…I have input, but the final decision is his.”

However, not once did I see Bob order either Cat or Mouse around, nor were either of them sitting quietly at his feet waiting for commands. I wouldn’t have even guessed except for the occasional “sir.”

Still, how one could give up total control? Couldn’t they be forced to do horrible things?

“I know his boundaries, and so I know my boundaries are safe,” Cat said. “I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me that would actually physically or psychologically harm me. I don’t have to have limits because I know he does.”

While a voluntary loss of power may be baffling to some, submissives want someone to take the reins; one sub told me she’s uncomfortable making her own decisions. Doms, on the other hand, are more than willing to take control given the chance.

BDSM is also more than just kinky sex. In fact, most people I talked to were in committed long-term DS-type relationships. In hindsight, it shouldn’t be that surprising.

“What we do is, in a lot of respects, dangerous. It’s a lot of trust, a lot of communication. You have to be able to talk to the other person and have your needs and wants known,” Cat said.

When asked how exactly getting beaten can feel good, Cat responded by explaining the concept of “subspace.”

“It’s just like flying, like being on the best high ever,” she said. “The beating is enjoyable even before reaching this state, because that’s how we’re wired, but ‘subspace’ is the ultimate goal, because nothing is better. After the first time I reached it, I couldn’t find my butt with both hands, literally.”

I was informed that Cat prefers more ‘thud’ type hits, while Mouse prefers ‘sting’ type whips.

After a while, I started to feel at ease with these people and my surroundings. I stopped thinking about the eight-foot x-shaped cross, the man-sized birdcage, spanking bench, drawers full of ‘pervertables’ from Home Depot, various swords and knives, edible paint and no fewer than two dozen whips, floggers, canes and paddles.

After almost four hours of chatting, laughing, sharing stories and testing a few of their toys, it was time to go. But something Bob said near the end of the night stuck with me:

“We are no different than the person next door,” Bob said. “We still lead normal productive lives. We are still members of the community and society. We put our pants on one leg at a time, even if they may be leather.”

It was an inspirational lesson, for sure. Specifically, it inspired me to visit a leather bar.
Letting loose with leather

JJ’s Clubhouse is a gay/leather bar, the city’s only one as far as I know. I had heard horror stories before but had never dared set foot inside…until now.

The front bar was dark, grungy and mostly empty, but the back room was much larger, consisting of a respectable bar and dance floor, bizarre wall decorations and many more people.

Aside from a few cowboys in hats and boots and a couple of fat guys in leather harnesses, JJ’s appeared the same as any other gay bar. It also played the same annoying techno-pop remixes. The only major difference is the inclusion of a small leather shop right next to the bar. If you ever have the inclination to buy leather shirts, vests, shorts, undies, hats, boots, collars, harnesses, paddles, oversized dildos and unrealistic cock rings (not leather), you’re in the right place.

I wasn’t the only customer in the store. I happened, very unexpectedly, to be joined by Mr. Missouri Leather 2007, Scott Fausz, who had an interesting take on the fetish.

“Leather to me means being in charge of owning your sexuality, feeling a freedom to explore whatever turns you on,” Fausz said. “It could be in a realm of clothing, or it could be any sort of kink or fetish. It can be that you feel sexy in leather or are turned on by seeing images of another person in it, or it could just be the sexuality that’s represented by a person wearing it.”

The Mr. Missouri Leather competition is part beauty pageant, part talent contest-“Pecs and Personality,” as Fausz put it. His winning speech was about domestic violence in gay relationships. Bit of a looker too, boys.
Play party time - an experimental perspective

After my foray into leather, I was finally ready to take on the play party-a monthly get-together hosted by a local fetish group. Unlike the Munch, fetish gear is encouraged, toys and couture are sold and BDSM play does happen, on stage.

As I walked toward the door, a woman breezed out through it. A frilly green skirt, purple stockings and a black corset-the walking piñata looked satisfied. An unassuming man came up behind her. They struck up a conversation with another woman, and through shameless eavesdropping, I came to learn they were married. In fact, they’d met at this very same event, eight years ago.

Another man came out of the dark room. He was wearing a homemade red latex vest, a latex trench coat and latex trousers, the snazziest outfit I’ve ever seen. I knew immediately who he was; he was Latex, the man was talked of so reverently at the Munch and who personally constructed Bob’s cage.

Several tables were set up to sell everything from leather clothes to candles to a homemade device called the “finger flogger,” which was demonstrated on my hand for eager buyers. All around, people browsed the items, chatted and spanked each other. Few noticed the savage beatings on stage.

One woman, almost naked, was whipped with a stiff rod until red. She was crying, clearly upset, but never used her safe-word. Safe-words are a way to stop play when something really goes wrong. The party’s general word is ‘safeword,’ while ALA encourages a Green-Yellow-Red system.

When she was finally taken down, she was immediately wrapped in a blanket, caressed and cuddled. ‘Aftercare,’ they called it. She was rapidly cycling between laughing and crying, but mostly she was just exhausted.

I knew if I came to the BDSM party and walked away with only my hand flogged, I’d have failed in my mission; I had to go through with the real deal. We found a man named Steve who was willing to beat me. But before he agreed to anything, he sat me down for a serious man-to-man talk.

“You might be ready for someone to hit you, but are you prepared for unexpected emotional consequences? You realize, a [S/M] scene is a very intimate thing, like kissing. Asking a stranger to flog you is like asking them to kiss you. Would you do that?”

He was right to warn me, but I knew if nothing ventured, nothing gained. I got up on stage, took off my shirt, spread my legs and saddled up to the giant x-shaped cross. We were the only ones on stage; any remaining eyes turned to me. I turned my head to face Steve’s lady friend and grinned, and was rewarded with a harsh blow to the back.

I was whipped, thudded, stung and kneaded in rhythmic crescendo by a variety of flogging devices. He explained each toy and technique as he used it, and I listened, half naked and studious with the occasional wince. At times, it felt like a strong massage, at others it felt odd, novel and almost pleasurable, but usually it just felt like I was getting beaten. Within five minutes, or possibly an hour, it was over.

Afterwards, as I donned my shirt and coat and walked down off the stage, I felt a bit tingly and slightly woozy. Endorphins! It was then that I started to understand why someone might enjoy this. For the right person, this feeling could be downright sexual.

The next day, I asked my friend in the ALA why she enjoys getting hit.

“Why does hitting feel good? That’s a silly question,” she said. “It’d be like asking why a blow job feels good. It just does.”