This is our truth, tell us yours
Recently Carter wished to take some photographs of me, as we wandered, like two unlonely and very content clouds. Posing for photographs is incredibly submissive for me, the world contracts to the simplest of instructions, the mind is stilled, the body held far more completely than rope or cuffs. He spotted a broken wall, and explained how he wanted me. I understood instantly the picture he wanted, the almost gothic stones surrounding me, with my skirts blown by the wind.
The gap between expectation and reality. As I positioned myself, the stones slipped, the wall almost toppling me down onto the grass. Instead of high gothic Carter captured uncontrolled laughter, as I threw my head back at the way reality intrudes.
A moment, shared, and now immortalised, even if no one else ever sees the picture knows what prompted the laughter. It keeps returning to my mind though, and not just because the pictures show my face and I don’t hate them. We do not give relationship advice here, or BDSM advice, but if I have learnt one thing it is how we react to the unexpected which shows whether you should be doing what you are doing. I use a rare should there because when you are dealing with consent, and even more if you are naked and concerned with consent, how you react to the unexpected matters. Not just whether you can laugh at being clumsy either. Carter’s reaction was equally important. Pretty much every abusive Dom I have encountered, or heard accounts of, starts from a place of the picture in their head mattering more than the other parties in their creation. It is the true evil of reducing people to things (to paraphrase Granny Weatherwax)
With that thought my mind moves outward, to out dysfunctional, self-destructive, political situation. Currently in the UK we are in the grip of the unexpected, and all sides seem determined to treat everyone who spoils their picture of how things should be, as things. It is not just the abuse of people like Owen Jones (although the callousness with which a certain feminist treated him was telling) or Dianne Abbot. Those who voted to remain, or at least a small section of them seem determined to dehumanise everyone who does not see membership of the EU as their only concern. The hate might not be as visceral, or a violent, as is directed towards those on the left, but I fear it may eventually lead there. There is a feeling abroad which derides making do, which praises not coping, not laughing, not being willing to change and adapt.
As individuals, and as a county, we daily grow closer to that which will destroy anything which was good about us, either as a nation, or in the national psyche. Perhaps this is why I have ceased to write about politics. As my own life becomes filled with unexpected moments of joy the national life is a place where both joy and the unexpected are seemingly not to be tolerated.