Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 5

I stroked Jennifer’s bottom and slim flanks gently, enjoying the heat radiating from her apple-red buttocks and the upper slopes of her thighs, and the relative coolness of her mid-thighs where her panties were bunched. I patted her hot little bottom again, because it was irresistible, then squeezed her. She sighed. She liked being under my hand.

What was I going to do about this? Jennifer would do whatever I said. Without limit, I knew that. But although something had become personal between us, very personal, I still had to protect her and her interests.

Hot, he thought. Wet. Submissive. One, perhaps two, strokes of one finger and she'd be his

Hot, he thought. Wet. Submissive. Confused. One, perhaps two, strokes of one finger and she’d be his

I continued to caress her gently while she stayed in her dreamy space. And I thought. I was sure she didn’t do any thinking at all. She’d been close to orgasm. So close that when she was more experienced she’d be frustrated, but for now she knew only that she’d been in wonderland. She would make sure she returned. At last I said, “Right. That’s that. Up you get.”

Jennifer looked up at me, red-eyed. She’d cried a little. She’d also forgotten how to move her body. I lifted her carefully, one hand under her belly and the other raising her shoulders. She stumbled back to her feet, skirt still tucked above her waist, panties still at half-mast on her thighs. With a deep red glow of spanked bottom and thighs between.

I wanted to keep her, to have her stand with her nose to the wall and her hands on her head, decorating my room.

Waiting for me to call her to me, and tell her what to do. Hoping that what she had to do would end that yearning she felt. End it in explosion and fulfilment. 

I was aware of the silence from the photocopying room. Maddie was listening intently. Jennifer was watching me, wondering if she had permission to pull up her panties and lower her skirt. 

Life had to move on.

badge-ww

 

 

Go back to the five and dime, Jimmy Deen, Jimmy Deen

Stoya

This is Stoya. I picked this shot since it’s as close to a demure pic as I could find.

I‘ve never met Stoya. And, weirdly, I’ve never seen a porn with her in it. But I decided a long time ago that she’s cool, because she did a song and video with Amanda Palmer.

And I’ve read interviews, in which she comes across as smart and funny. She isn’t just intelligent and savvy, though; she’s remarkably beautiful.

Therefore (for the other reasons, not the beauty), if she says something about conditions in the porn industry, I’m inclined to think it’ll be the view of a sensible, smart person.

So when she said she was raped by James Deen, I didn’t think that on its own was legal proof, but that it was more likely than not to be true. 

I haven’t met James Deen, either. He’s a male porn star, maybe the only male porn worker to be a star in his own right, right now. I haven’t seen any of his videos either. I mean, I do watch porn, but I don’t have time to keep up with all of it. 

But I knew submissive women who thought James Deen was supremely good news. He was much more fanciable than the tattooed, muscle-bound caricature that the porn industry thinks is an attractive man. Deen looked like a regular guy, someone a woman might meet and decide to take home and fuck. So, over time, his videos became starring vehicles for him. The naked women got equal or second billing to a man, which is incredibly rare in porn. 

James Deen is almost always clothed in his porn and publicity shots.

James Deen is almost always clothed in his porn and publicity shots.

In the bdsm-flavoured porns he did, I’m told the vibe was both rough but also playful. He’d be savage, but politely so, and he’d manage to communicate the idea that he didn’t hate the woman performer, or think she was bad. They were just playing a sexy game. 

So a lot of people were reluctant to write him off when Stoya complained. He’d managed to make himself an acceptable face of porn. And it’s a “he said/she said” scenario. What can you do? 

Well, you can follow the balance of the evidence. When Stoya said he’d raped her, and not stopped when she used a safe word, I thought that was probably true. Short of legal-standard proof, of course, but enough to decide that he’s probably not a nice guy, and not what he seemed to be.

But then the balance tipped dramatically in Stoya’s favour: there are now eight other women with similar stories about Deen. So it’s not “she said/he said” any more. That’s nine women with similar stories: of course it’s true. That is, of course Deen rapes women, and he can’t be trusted to respect a safe word. 

Which takes any potential pleasure out of watching any of his old videos. I’m not going to look at the bloody things, I’m afraid. 

His career is effectively over, I hope. The one thing is that I’m pleased about is that it seems the porn industry didn’t fuck around on this, like other media have with their rapist creeps (e.g. the BBC and Jimmy Saville; American media and Bill Cosby, and so on). 

Anyway, sometimes you just have to let someone go. He may have looked like an “acceptable face of porn”, but it turns out he wasn’t. Now’s the time to drop James Deen. 

And Stoya had things to lose by reporting her experience publicly. That took courage. But assaulting women, using the ambiguities of the setting and your own fame, doesn’t take courage: it’s bastardy. What else may happen depends on the women concerned, but it’s to be hoped his career stays over. .

Falling off horses, and gate-keeping at bdsm meetings

Falling off horses

Even bad holidays are holidays, and holidays end. So I stood on the road with my suitcase waiting for the country bus that would, eventually, take to the airport that would take me home. My uncle and aunt waited with me, not overwhelmed with grief that I was going. Samantha was there too, not grieving either, but giving me the full force of her disdain. She was good at disdain. She wished me a good trip, going home.

So I was sadder, though not much wiser. Still, I had two new pieces of knowledge.

The first was that girls didn’t pick guys for their niceness or their intelligence or whatever. It was something subtler, that Greg had and I didn’t. He was a shit, and he was sexy. I could whine about that, or I could try to work out ways of being sexy myself, while still being me.

“Thou wilt never come for pity;

Thou mayest come for pleasure.”

If I really liked girls, and it was clear that I did, then I’d have to be someone girls enjoyed hanging around with. I had no idea how to go about that, but at least the project was clear.

Ruth is stranger than Richard.

Ruth is stranger than Richard.

The other thing I learnt was even more depressing, because there seemed to be nothing much I could do about it. It was that there was no reason to think that even I met a a submissive girl, or woman, and we got on well, she’d want the same things as me.

Bdsm is a big tent, and it includes all sorts of tastes, desires and practices. They’re not always going to be compatible.

At the time that seemed like bad news.

Of course, as you know, you can almost always find common ground with a lover, and you can pervert them in your direction, and they can teach you a few of their own favourite things. I just didn’t know that yet. 

Bdsm meetings

Girl in fishnets

Girl in fishnets

So – and now I’m going back to something I said in those posts about running bdsm meetings, especially this one – the fact that bdsm is a big tent  also means that it’s hard to draw lines about who is and who isn’t into bdsm. And that woman Ruby, who came to my bdsm meet’n’greet wearing a fishing net, and who got dissed for only being interested in getting spanked and fucked, is definitely inside the tent and under the umbrella. 

If anyone wants to identify with us, it seems to me that (except for people who advocate non-consensual practices) we don’t need gatekeepers to keep them out.