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The SCENESubmissions 2003 Archives
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"Some Dominants I know are not particularly good
looking or successful in traditional terms, but have had great success
because of their willingness to play with a variety of people, not just
a narrow subsection of one race, size, gender, or other specialty. " What’s This Crap About Protecting a Submissive? - By Screamer, Author of Screaming Inside Erotica Revelation of the Master – Poem By Bearzdragonlust By Arin Reddog Reprinted with permission from Body Play and Modern Primitives Quarterly Vol.2, No.1 http://www.bmeworld.com/flesh/altered/alterkavadi/arin.html Publisher fakir@bodyplay.com My head started to reel from the three hours of chanting I had been doing in preparation. It took me that long to peel off the layers of doubt, hesitation and that endless chatter in my head I call "motormind". Thoughts that I had gone quite insane kept cropping up, but I didn't try to suppress them; I let them have their say, then released them. My head and heart were calm and my intent clear: today I would bear the Spears of Shiva. My kavadi dancing would be a prayer to Lord Shiva to destroy my fears, my false sense of security, and even my happiness. Soon the frame was fitted on me and it was time to dance, to celebrate, to die. I continued to chant "Om Nama Sivaya" as Fakir and Stacy lovingly pierced my flesh. Fear and adrenaline coursed through me as my body opened to receive the spears. The force generated by releasing lifetimes of fear was too great; I passed out. My physical body shut down as my spiritual body made a great leap into nothingness/everythingness. When I opened my eyes, the world shimmered and vibrated with a soft golden light. My new body rose slowly and began to test the limits of sensation. I walked carefully at first, then started to sway with the beat of the tribal drums. My siblings, Stacy and Wolfie, watched over me, keeping alert for signs of physical and/or psychic danger. I knew I was in a safe, sacred area, so I danced harder and faster - driving the spears in deeper. The weight of the frame bit into my shoulders; the points of the spears clawed at me; the grass sliced my feet; the breeze tore at my skin - I was one large, exposed nerve. I was so completely open and vulnerable and yet, at the same time I felt trapped, caged. I panicked and wanted to shout," Let me out of this damned thing! Let me out of this damned body!" but my mouth only permitted screams. I became feral, the Divine Canine, the Dog of God - strong, alive, tearing, growling. I wanted to rip out the throats of my captors. I yearned to pull off my own flesh. Then I saw Her. The Death Goddess before me: skull burning, hair matted, eyes aflame, mouth foul and full of flies. But I was not scared. Fear is a reaction, and I could no longer react or even act because I just AM. And I say "I" for the sake of clarity, but "I" did not exist at that moment. Arin RedDog was not there - that person had been stripped away, leaving behind the essence of Self which is all selves. I felt my consciousness at the tips of the spears, in Wolfie's eyes, in a sibling's sarong, on the top of the mountains - everywhere. Separation is an illusion and for a brief instant, I was not fooled. The Death Goddess just watched me watching her. I felt Her fetid breath on me. She did not dance with me; she danced through me. Then She slowly dissolved as other gloriously indescribable dimensions overlapped in my field of vision. I sensed Stacy and Wolfie by me and they grasped the Kavadi frame and shook it like a death rattle. The sensation was amazing, liberating - I SHOT OUT OF MY BODY AND RACED INTO PURE LIGHT! I screamed the scream of the ancestors in my blood - all their joy, fear, hope and pain were mine, and through my pain, I screamed and released us all.
This article is reprinted here with the explicit permission of the publisher. If you would like to share it with others, please contact the publisher for permission. It is a violation of copyright law to distribute or reprint this piece without that permission, however you may include a short quote from it, not more than 20% of the total text. Please respect the integrity of this work. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/\\//\\//\\/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ What’s This Crap About Protecting a Submissive? By Screamer screamer_girl@hotmail.com http://www.thescreamergirl.com Screamer writes erotica under the pen name Kanthra Adair. Her new book Screaming Inside is available for $12.50 from Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1893006387/thescreamergi-20/104-5857078-5020762 ~~~~
I see it all the time. "A real (or true, insert your own fantasy based word here) will protect his submissive." From what, exactly? First of all, as you have seen me say ad nausium, there is no such thing as a true or real dominant. Those words are manufactured by people who want to elevate their status and make themselves feel better about who and what they are. Avoid those people. They are the ones that we *all need to be protected from. Secondly, I don’t need to be protected from anything (well, sexually transmitted diseases, and car accidents, but that’s what condoms and seat belts are for, right?). I’m a 36-year-old woman. I’ve gotten this far in life, I’m pretty sure I can get through the rest of it without needing a Big Bad Dominant Type Person to protect me from the evil of other Big Bad Dominant Type People. I learned how to say no at a very young age. As a matter of fact, it was one of my first words (and I’ll bet it was one of yours, too). I have perfected its use in many various forms from the spoken to the written to the type that only a hand gesture will suffice. Are you afraid to say "no" to any dominant person? If so, then you need to stop hanging around dominant people. Protect *Yourself. And then take an Assertiveness Training Course before you venture back out into the dark, seedy world of DS. It doesn’t make you less submissive if you fend off the advances of a Big Bad Dominant Type Person that you are not interested in interacting with – quite the opposite. If people see you kowtowing to every Tom, Dick or Harry that enters your field of vision, you’re going to get labeled a "doormat". It’s your body and your mind. You have a right to be picky. Do so. I guess, for many people, DS envelopes a fantasy of a person who puts their partner on a pedestal and envelopes him or her in the warm glow of cherishment and honor, shielding them from any perceived or real threats that come their way. The White Horse Syndrome, I call it. It’s yet another way to elevate one’s status. Being a protector is a noble thing, right? Defending the honor of a woman is the stuff that romance novels are written about. And if your DS is all about how romantic you can make your relationship, then I guess the White Horse Syndrome is for you. But that’s not DS to me. That’s dependence. And for some folks, maybe that’s what their DS is all about. <shrug>. I do not live in an Ivory Tower. I do not need to be rescued from the fire breathing dragon or the Black Knight. I am not looking for a guy on a horse to sweep me off my feet and take me away to his palace. But if you are, then ignore what I’ve said, because it won’t fit you. Whatever cracks your whip, cracks your whip. Nothing wrong with that. But don’t reflect it on me. Cause it’s not what I’m all about. Go forth and defend yourselves gracefully,
Copyright 2001, Screamer All Rights Reserved. This article is reprinted here with the explicit permission of the author. If you would like to share it with others, please contact the author for permission. It is a violation of copyright law to distribute or reprint this piece without that permission, however you may include a short quote from it, not more than 20% of the total text. Please respect the integrity of this work. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/\\//\\//\\/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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