What follows is a piece I wrote with the intention of seeing it published in GMSMA's Newslink. I owe a debt of gratitude to Past President for his editing and on-target suggestions. Hope you all enjoy.

Oh. It's interupted between Part IV and Part V by a totally unrelated entry. I was having problems with Blogger last night that seem to have worked themselves out.


Singletails: A Bildungsroman in Five Parts

I. Winter Weekend.

I had nothing else going on that weekend. The weather was supposed to be crappy. GMSMA was offering a two day workshop on Singletail Whips. I wasn’t particularly inclined to attend. I mean, those things really hurt.

My older sister had horses when I was growing up, and I remember once attempting to crack her whip in the garage. I didn’t get a crack, but I did feel the intense sting of the whip on my cheek when the thing recoiled. And, within the past year, I had one used on me (thrown as you would a cat o’nine tails) briefly until I indicated to the Top in the strongest possible terms that that was not okay. They really hurt. But what the heck; maybe I’ll meet some hot men. GMSMA is always good for that.

A. and J. recruited by the Education Committee to conduct the workshop, covered a folding table in the appointed room at the Lesbian and Gay Community Center with an array of whips. They spoke briefly about the history and making of whips.

Essentially, there are three types in common use: bullwhips, snake whips, and signal whips. Bullwhips are built with a stiff rod incorporated into the base as a handle. Snake whips have no rigid handle and have a leather thong called a ‘fall’ coming before the cracker. Every cowboy in the American West had one in his saddlebag. Signal whips were developed for use with dogsled racing. They’re shorter, the cracker is incorporated into the body of the whip, and they’re great for scene play in a studio apartment.

After further discussion, our instructors said they’d be moving quickly to the hands on portion, showing us how to throw side-handed. A. demonstrated. Crack! It sounded like a rifle shot reverberating through the roomMy heartbeat quickened. I think my pupils probably dilated. Wow… what was that?

Whips from the table were divvyed up. I selected a beautiful five foot signal whip, the color of whiskey. I stood with feet comfortably apart, relaxed, cleared my mind. (Why did this routine feel familiar? Of course! It’s just like splitting firewood… If you think about it, you screw up. Trust the wisdom of your body). My arm arced at my side, propelling the whip out in front of me.

Crack! Not a rifle shot, but it was a crack. I felt exhilarated. I did it! I made it crack! I tried again, throwing quickly and repetitively. No crack. I stopped, cleared my mind, focused my attention on a dint in the plaster of the far wall. I propelled the whip forward. Crack! Observing me, A. said, You’re a natural! and smiled.

Over the course of the weekend, we learned the overhand crack and the circus crack. Then, we practiced on sheets of brown craft paper marked with the rough outline of a torso hung between ladders. I loved it, just for the kinesthetic value. It was like dancing. My whole body was involved.

A. and J. described what it was like to do a scene with singletails, trying to find words to express the intensity, the connection that you have with the bottom, the importance of building slowly in order to allow an endorphin fueled response from the bottom.

And then they described aftercare. For the bottom, a whipping scene is an intense and intimate experience. The Top has pretty much taken the bottom apart, piece by piece, and it’s the Top’s responsibility to support the bottom as he puts himself back together. It begins with the mechanics of hygiene: spritzing the bottom’s back with hydrogen peroxide. And then holding, holding him closely (and carefully) while he recovers, while he sobs or giggles or rocks quietly. And just as importantly, following up in the days and weeks ahead.

This had me awestruck. What would it be like to have such a relationship with another man? To play this Shaman role? To hold, and help, and father?

I wanted to find out. The first day after the workshop, I went out shopping for a whip. I found a beautiful, kangaroo-skin black snake whip, five feet long with a two-foot fall. I had only worked with signal whips at the workshop. After caressing and examining the whip, the owner of the store suggested that I give it a throw and try it out.

I blanked. My throw was half-assed, and I almost let go, which would have sent the whip sailing across the room into a rack of chaps. “Like this,” said the proprietor, and he took the whip from me, let it extend out behind him on the floor, and then moved his body forward, his arm, his hand, the whip bringing up the rear, to concentrate the energy. “Crack!” It was deafening. “It’s a little stiff because it’s new,” said the proprietor, charitably giving me an out. I took the whip back from him, positioned myself, cleared my mind, found a point at which to aim, and I threw. Crack!

“I’ll take it!” I said, plunking down money I really didn’t have on the counter as I came to own my first whip.

And I practiced. Relentlessly. Every morning before I left for work, and every night before I went to bed. I couldn’t get enough. On the Internet, I saw some trick throws described. In one, you swing the whip in a wide circle over your head, slowly building speed. Then, you slow down, then speed up in rapid succession. This gives a double crack when you do it right. It took a while, but I got it down.

Because that first whip was a little too long for practice in my apartment (let alone play), I bought a five-foot signal whip (no fall) from the David Morgan online catalog. I had it delivered to my office and, when it arrived, I ripped open the package. To the alarm and consternation of my co-workers, I began cracking it all over the building.

They must have thought that this was a departure. What happened to the placid, cerebral, kind-hearted boss we greeted this morning? Who is this maniac with a whip? A good question, and one I’d been asking myself.