No Scat, No Blood

So tomorrow, I once again drop off Faithful Companion with the boarding place, and head north to the wood and mountains beyond Scranton, Pennsylvania. I'm going to spend the night with a man we'll call Bus Driver (if you saw the feature about him on All American Kink, you'll get that) and his partner.

We're gonna compare notes. I'm into whips. And during a whipping scene, seeing the first break of the skin, that unmistakeable scarlet, just makes me light-headed. There's something about whipping a man until he bleeds that is the sine qua non for me.

And Bus Driver? Somewhere along the line, he developed a yen for feeding men shit.

There are various ways to approach both scenes. With whipping, it can be about punishment, about power, about causing pain. And with shit, it can be about humiliation, power, and degradation. For Bus Driver and me, it's all about intimacy and connection. About breaking through. About that deep deep deep Yes Sir, where the bottom gives consent, and opens up the muscles of his back and his mouth.

When we've talked on the phone, when we're describing what we like about our respective scenes, the other is listening and saying, "Yes! Yes! That's it exactly!" And so, I'm bringing my bullwhips up to the woods. Together, we'll talk and throw some whips.

We've been planning this trip for a couple of months now. And in the mean time, I've been thinking a lot about shit. Special Guy was into scat, and got me to see it in a new way. Ever notice how beyond the scrim of disgust (the evolutionary-imprinted response to that which is putrid or contaminated), that it smells sexy? It has a great smell to it. It's akin to sweat. It actually smells 'clean' in a way.

But is it healthy? I mean, I met a guy in NYC who was really really really into rimming. He spent about three months of every year sick as a dog. He considered it an occupational hazzard. Amoebas, Hep A, and so much more.

When I draw blood in a whipping, I can take precautions that will reduce the chance of infection to an absolute minumum (not touching my face since staphillococcus lives in most of our noses, keeping my whip out of the dirt if we're playing outside since tetanus lives there, and spritzing with hydrogen peroxide afterwards, as well as keeping my crackers clean and sterile).

But are there ways of reducing the potential harm from scat? I guess you could routinely have a stool sample taken to make sure that you were contagion-free. Maybe paying extra attention to how you feel, indicating whether or not you've eaten something that you wouldn't want to pass on.

I'm kind of nervous about it. I mean, I'm pretty much in bottom mode right now. He's a damn hot man. He's a scat Top. And experience has shown me that the right man--a man whom I trust and to whom I want to submit--can take me just about anywhere. I'm thinking of Aubrey in Seattle, and ARt last October. And, of course, PunchPig this past summer. Anywhere.

Absolutely anywhere.

Just about everybody I've told about this has responded along the lines of "Oh no, not that." Cautionary tales abound.

So we'll see.

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