The Home for the Literarily Bent
slave’s corner
Perverts, Inc.
01 year ago
by elizabeth
in slave's corner
Front cover for Perverts, Inc.
By Anthony Crowell
Published in 1967 by Venice Publishing Corporation
This book is not one that Daddy asked me to review. Instead I began reading it during one of those ‘special’ moments we all have when we find ourselves with a little quiet time in the restroom. Now I wish I hadn’t. It was like screeching tires that signal a huge crash with blood and gore. You want to run away, but instead you turn and watch. You don’t glance and look away, you watch.
As promised by the cover of the book, the author claims to reveal the inside scoop on “The nationwide, highly organized underground of sex perversion.” There are fifteen such ‘groups’ that he writes eroticized vignettes about, all in the name of research of course. Crowell claims that somehow these perverts are working actively with intent to corrupt the rest of the God fearing citizens of America and his book is intended to serve as warning to the unwitting. Clearly that is crap and the erotic passages are intentionally titillating as was the norm for the era in which it was published.
This book is one of those old pseudo sociological books Daddy seems to find so interesting, so with that in mind I tried to be open and withhold my modern day, politically correct notions of right and wrong. In the chapter titled “Sodom West” the author lays out the sad tale of Fred DeHaven’s enticement into homosexuality. Fred had been a normal 17 year old guy with no leanings at all toward homosexuality until his surfing friend, Charles, takes him to a coffee house just for young homosexuals. Apparently the deal at this coffee house is that no “older faggots – no old dykes” were welcome. Poor innocent Fred is brought to the coffee house by Charles who slyly and mysteriously does not mention to Fred this is a gay recruiting trip. Charles only gives Fred an inkling that something is unusual by inviting him to stay the whole weekend with him prior to their heading out for the coffee house. Basically this becomes a sales pitch from Charles who eventually ropes Fred into a sexual liaison. Don’t forget that, of course, Charles is a child of divorced parents and, of course, this all happens in California. You know how they are in California!
It made me snicker to wonder if the reason the book is so filled with stereotypes is that this is the source from whence our popular culture got these asinine notions to begin with. Sure, it is also possible that the culture informed the book. It is a chicken, egg, chicken sort of thing but I find comfort in imagining all the bigots forming their rhetoric on dirty novels they read in secret.
The moral of the chapter is, of course, that while the evil Charles is able to go on to lead a normal successful life in which he gets married and has children, poor old Fred gets snagged by the homosexual lifestyle and is a lost soul for the rest of his days. You might imagine why I find this whole construct offensive. It is an artifact of the bad old days when Americans were sure that the ‘fags’ were out to get them and somehow ‘the gay’ would get on you. This harkens to times when a gay man couldn’t serve as a mentor for a troubled teen or babysit a neighbor’s young son without being accused of trying to molest them. Way back when a man would be in fear of being beaten to death if he were seen making out with his boyfriend. It appalled my sense of social justice, right and wrong, freedom and Americanism. Then it occurred to me that actually those things still happen and this sort of propaganda isn’t really all that antiquated.
The book covers the evils of pornography, wife swapping, voyeurism, and fetishism. All the while the book is warning the reader away from their wiles. The chapters on the mass marketing of loose morals to teenagers through advertising based in sexual innuendo and the perils of teen-bop music were particularly trite.
In the end, I couldn’t get through the whole thing. I tried but lost interest and ended up flipping through pages with glazed eyes. I think the fatal flaw for this book is that it sounds too much like current day Fox News. There are so many people who still hold to these stupid notions of sexuality and perversion. Ultimately, it is all too familiar. I am glad Daddy doesn’t ask me to review these pseudo social books and you can bet if you find many more reviews of these types of books here, it is a result of me being a rotten little girl and getting ‘punished’.
The Pain Journal
11 year ago
by elizabeth
in slave's corner
Front cover for The Pain Journal
By Bob Flanagan
Published in 2000 by Smart Art Press
Let me begin this review by saying Bob Flanagan is my personal hero. I am aware that this is sure to color my response to this book so I want to be upfront about that. Now you, the reader, have been informed. I find myself rather confused as to how to write this review without it turning into a persuasive essay intended to draw the reader into their own personal aspiration to be have Bob Flanagan become their hero. Fear not, I doubt that what draws me to him is in many folks. Generally speaking, I am a bit bent. That said, with no further ado, I will begin.
Bob Flanagan was an artist, masochist, and slave who had cystic fibrosis (CF). He described the Pain Journal as “intended to be just a daily record, a minimum of a paragraph a day, and never meant to be read unedited by anyone but me.” His summery beats any I could write so there you have it. The first entry is dated December 27, 1994 and the last December 16, 1995. Bob died a few weeks later on January 4, 1996. Though Bob became known best for his BDSM exhibitions, the pain detailed in the journal is mostly related to his CF and the dying process he goes through.
The journal is indeed a daily record of his thoughts, a simple chronicling of his day’s activities mostly. Things like watching too much TV, feeling bored, losing his ability to orgasm, losing his desire to be sociable while at the same time missing contact with his friends. It is mundane for the most part yet within the entries you get more than you might expect. He is authentic.
Authenticity is sort of a catchy phrase these days. Lots of self help books tell us to be authentic, relationship guides insist on it as fundamental, and hipsters vet their idols on their perceived authenticity. We see being authentic as noble and expect to be able to receive it from others. Meanwhile we are ourselves cloaked internally and rarely even let ourselves be aware of what our own inner demons are up to.
We do not reveal ourselves to anyone, especially not ourselves. How often do we wipe a booger under the front edge of our car seat and send an updating email to our lover? Is it the norm to give voice at a dinner party to our predilection for wishing people in our lives dead so that we inherit money and can sleep late instead of going to work Monday mornings? Or that we fantasize about gang bangs and dogs and lust for power and freedom from being kind or nice or polite or even clean? No, we don’t even say these things in whispers to ourselves. We are hidden and unknown.
In the lifestyle I choose to live, I am a slave like Bob. What is the life of a slave? Exposure. It is belonging to another, fully. Even the dark little twisted places. Those places belong to the Master. All is theirs. Nothing is hidden. Bob is the slave of his wife Sheree Rose. She tells him to write and so he does. He writes all of it, the pretty, the boring, and the shameful. It is all there, even his own musing about his internal thought editing as he wonders if he is trying to think ‘noble’ things so that he can write things people will admire once he dies.
It is his authenticity that makes him my hero. I see his life as a model of authentic living. The model of who and what I try to be as a slave and a woman. The Pain Journal is his real experience of coming to his own end. If I can live my life even half as authentically as Bob, I will be proud of myself.
Perhaps the section of the book that touched me most though was not written by Bob. Sheree Rose writes a short essay as the last chapter titled “In Semi-Sickness and in So Called Health, I’m Still in Love with You.” She tells of falling in love with Bob, their life together, and finally his death. Then she shares an experience she had after Bob died where she felt he was haunting her due to their forever vows of love. An acquaintance tells her that these eternal vows will prevent her from ever finding happiness with another person. She does not feel regret at having this affliction, instead she is “elated that Bob is still so close.” That is the love I hope I will always have for my husband and Master. He is truly my whole world and I wept as I read Sherri’s words because that is a fate I also aspire to. She loves him though he is dead and what could be more powerful than that.
I can’t promise you will enjoy this book as much as I did. I can’t promise that you will even get through it. It is, after all, an unedited personal journal written by a man who is dying and many times heavily medicated. But I do promise you that if you do read it, you will think differently about your own authenticity and how you choose to spend your days until you too come to your own end. It is worth your time.
Lesbianism Made Easy
11 year ago
Front cover for Lesbianism Made Easy
By Helen Eisenbach
Published in 1998 by Three Rivers Press
The first few pages of this book were funny. Then it just got mean spirited. In fact, I hate to even write this review. My only reason for doing so is that Daddy has asked me too. Granted, that may seem a poor reason to review a book, but it works for me. Don’t like it? Oh well, there are lots of things not to like in this world, hopefully I don’t top your list.
Back to the book, Helen Eisenbach’s book appears to be a comical parody looking at the follies of lesbians in America. It isn’t. It isn’t comical nor is it a fair parody. It actually ends up being a rather rude degradation of heterosexual women, heterosexual men, homosexual women, homosexual men, bisexual women, bisexual men, and, for good measure, asexual anyone. The punch line becomes the punch too often to ignore.
I was most directly offended by her chapter on BDSM. She clearly made no effort to understand her topic, did not approve of those who participate in it, and assumes that no one really enjoys that sort of thing. Her suggestion instead is that any woman who engages in BDSM is an abuse survivor with low intellectual ability repressed by the patriarchy. Her disdain for other people’s sexual preferences is too much to look past.
In fact, as I hated the book so much, I began to wonder if perhaps my view was skewed. I thought maybe other folks love this book. Maybe since I am just a bisexual woman and not a “real lesbian” I didn’t get it. A quick Google search found a great review of a different book that refers to Eisenbach’s book. Julie Felner’s review of “The Girls Next Door: Into the Heart of Lesbian America” by Lindsy Van Gelder and Pamela Robin Brandt (http://www.salon.com/weekly/books960708.html) sums up my feelings about Eisenbach’s book best by saying Eisenbach, “fails to grasp the distinction between making fun of people and being funny.” The review appears to recommend a great alternative in “The Girls Next Door.” I recommend skipping the frustration of trying to read Eisenbach and jumping to Van Gelder and Brandt. I haven’t read their book, but based on the review by Felner and the total suckage of Eisenbach’s book, I am willing to go out on a limb here.
Partners in Power: Living in Kinky Relationships
01 year ago
by elizabeth
in slave's corner
Front cover for Partners in Power: Living in Kinky Relationships
By Jack Rinella
Published in 2003 by Greenery Press
When Daddy assigned me this book to review, I thought I might get a few interesting kink lifestyle tips that I may or may not ever find the need to apply. I did not think this book would be really applicable to me since I am already in a solid long-term M/s relationship. Many lifestyle books are fairly shallow - “Screw the Roses, Give me the Thorns” comes to mind. Much to my delight, the first few pages proved my low expectations false.
Jack Rinella has an excellent writing style with what seems to be an authentic voice. He introduces the leather community in a concise clear way that had me thinking, “Why didn’t anyone give me this book when I first entered the community?” Things that took me several years to realize were so simply explained that I would make this required Kinky 101 reading if I were in charge of the world.
For example, when I was relatively new in the community I was asked to serve in a few volunteer roles and quickly nominated to run for office in one of the local groups. I thought serving in the leadership was just that, service. Community service is something my little servant heart enjoys and desires, so I agreed to run for office. Jack Rinella suggests that while it is good to “…’Volunteer to do grunt work,’ like stuffing envelopes, setting up chairs, and bringing a snack. Be slow to get elected to anything and, if asked, politely decline and profess your ignorance.” (p.89) Heeding his simple advice would have saved me a great deal of aggravation.
As an aside, in case you have not yet had the pleasure of being involved in BDSM politics please consider the following: politics in the leather community is a bit like a PTA without social restraints. Anyone who has ever been involved in a PTA will readily agree that the thin film of social restraint is truly the only thing that keeps those whackos from turning into a cannibalistic mob. Just say “no” to running for office.
Some who knew me when I was naïve would say they tried to warn me off of being elected to anything, but I did not listen. I think this is true, I didn’t listen. So why is it that I am so sure this book would have dissuaded me? I believe it is because Rinella takes the time in his book to start at fundamentals and build a foundation of clear advice. He begins with definitions of terms, guides the reader toward taking time for genuine internal exploration of who they are, and adeptly discusses relationship styles and how they impact the kinky relationships we seek. Within this context, the “slow down a bit Skippy” warning makes much better sense. Rinella effectively makes a case for the benefits of taking time to develop your own journey into kink at a thoughtful pace.
As I read, I found that I had to stop every few pages and digest. Often I would talk with Daddy about things that I found challenging or familiar. Rinella’s discussion of being honest with yourself and others led Daddy and I to have several evenings of conversation about what we had wanted from the lifestyle prior to being together, where we are now with our relationship, and what we hope to try/do/experience before we die. Self-actualization is heady stuff but Rinella leads the reader there without pomp.
My experience with the ideas he presents has been very personal and moving. It is rare that I read a book that changes me. In fifth grade, “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach, in tenth grade the Foundation series by Isaac Asimov , in college, “The Painted Bird” by Jerzy Kosinski, and now “Partners in Power” by Jack Rinella. I really cannot recommend it strongly enough.
Bootblacking 101: A Handbook
21 year ago
by elizabeth
in slave's corner
Front cover for Bootblacking 101: A Handbook
By Andrew McDiarmid
Published 2006 by The Nazca Plains Corporation
Review written by my slave elizabeth
There is no small irony in my Daddy’s choice of books to assign to me for my first contribution to his library. His area of expertise does not include providing bootblacking service to anyone. In fact, I feel confident in suggesting that should someone request that he perform this service for them, Daddy would laugh his ass off. For my part, I love watching him laugh so that seems like a good time for me. But for the one who asked Daddy to kneel down and lick their boots it would not likely be as fun. I am confident their boots would remain in whatever slatternly condition they were in when they made their ill begotten request. Don’t think that I mean to suggest that Daddy isn’t able to shine boots, it isn’t that at all. Instead, as this book educates the reader to understand, bootblacking is much more than simply cleaning and polishing boots. Bootblacking is an act of submission.
In the introduction to Bootblacking 101: A Handbook the author, Andrew McDiarmid, forewarns his readers that this book is intended to provide more than the basics of maintaining leather footwear. As McDiarmid puts it, the book will help readers learn the “why-to” of bootblacking. McDiarmid expresses his experience with the “why-to” of bootblacking as the “7 Tao of Bootblacking” but he is clear that he does not intend to suggest that his “7 Tao” represent ‘the’ way to bootblack. His acknowledgment of that is commendable. So often in our community of perverts we hear some blowhard professing their divinely inspired knowledge of the ‘right’ way to do something. Very few things define someone as having their head up their ass as quickly as when they say their method of doing XYZ is ‘the right way’ to do XYZ. McDiarmid does none of that; instead he encourages several times that the reader should explore and learn through their own hands-on participation in bootblacking.
Bootblacking had always been one of the fetishes I just didn’t get. Perhaps I was alone in my naiveté, but I was sort of confused the first few times I saw bootblacking at kink events. I thought the bootblacks were simply being generous and helpful to their kinky community. After all, I had seen many dirty, scuffed, dusty, worn out looking, and downright ratty shoes in our ranks and so I was always glad to see the bootblacks cleaning things up. Choosing to be a bootblack was a mystery to me. Why would these men (all the bootblacks I’d ever seen were men) choose to spend a whole day or even just a few hours working up a sweat to perform community service? Were they working off bad karma? Were they ‘bad’ and their Daddy’s were making them polish boots? Or perhaps they had some sort of service hours they needed to perform to attain membership in a group? I was sort of flummoxed by them. What they did in an odd way felt sexy to me, but my presumption was that they were somehow immune to the intoxicating scent of leather and they were simply polishing up the riffraff for some non-sexual reason.
Reading Bootblacking 101 did not begin my change of heart about bootblacking. That began the first time I put my Daddy’s knee high leather boots on to him. The smell of his leather, the feel of his boots, looking up at his handsome body, and seeing the lusty pleasure he took in my kneeling in front of him were all very erotic. By the time I finally laced him into his 30 eyelet boots, my fingers were blistered from the stiff bootlaces and my panties were soaked. After a while, I had the amazing experience of receiving a lesson from an outstanding bootblack in my local community. During a fetish gathering, Daddy and I saw that the bootblack, flanked by his Daddy who for all the world looked like he stepped out of a Tom of Finland drawing, had an empty chair. Daddy had begun to have me polish his shoes for him and so he asked the man’s Daddy if his boy would be willing to teach me how to polish correctly. The couple was very gracious and the bootblack got to work giving me quiet instructions and tips as he demonstrated his art. The really fantastic part of the whole process was when the bootblack asked my Daddy if he could lick the boots to put the spit on them for the spit shine. My Daddy nodded and the man knelt to his task. There is no way that I can really convey the way he did this and how it was that it was so erotic. My Daddy is a straight man but even he stated afterward that the licking of the boots was damn exciting. As I leaned in close and watched this whole process I ‘got it’ in a way I never had. I was well and truly hooked. Daddy bought me my very own shine kit for Christmas and I love it very much. I shined Daddy’s boots with vigor because I understood what is sexy about shining shoes but I still did not understand the bootblacks themselves. I am certain I still don’t fully understand them. I think it would be foolish to ever think that I can really understand someone’s fetish that I do not personally share. Everyone is different and to suggest otherwise is to become the blowhard making declarative statements that serve only to inform those around them of their lack of clarity.
What McDiarmid’s book has provided me with is a finer appreciation for and better understanding of bootblacks themselves. They are not just providing a cleaning service the way a lamprey helps keep a shark from being poorly groomed. The bootblacks are engaging in a fetish that generously includes those they choose to serve. The community is lucky to have them but they are having their own needs fulfilled as well. Bootblacking is hot.
I don’t mean to sound as though Bootblacking 101 is a perfect book. It is really more of a compilation of a basic leather care “how-to”, a presentation McDiarmid made at the International Leather Association ‘Living in Leather’ event in 1999, some erotica excerpts from his other books, his take on his experiences in the competitive bootblacking arena, and an interview from 2007 with Power Exchange Magazine. The knitting together of these freestanding elements is not elegant and there are many repetitions of key concepts. If I were reading the book with an eye to fine literature it would not hold up well but as it turns out it is still well worth reading. The “Tao” and the insight into the reason for that nifty shoe shine station in the corner of my local events is reason enough that I am glad I read the book.