A Little Cinful

If everything goes as planned, in a few weeks I’ll be doing a boot worship scene. This will be a definite new experience for me; one that I hope will spark a renewed passion for non-sexual/casual play.

It’s not uncommon, after the initial frenzy for play we experience as newbies dies down, for kinksters to start getting a little bored and dissatisfied with the familiar floggings and spankings; especially at a casual or public play level. I’m hoping that by finding something novel to focus on, I can bring back some of the magic of my early days attending play parties.

As This Girl noted in her last entry there at Kinky Sex Link, BDSM is a drug, an addiction. Sometimes we coast so long on that drug that it loses its intoxicating power and we’re forced to search for a new high. So sometime we search for deeper submission, or higher levels of pain, to bring on that high, and sometimes we switch roles to experience the greener grass on the other side.

And sometimes we just look inwards, find a latent fetish, and drag it out to the light of day.

(Or is that the dark of the dungeon?)

As a little girl, I was already quite submissive. I enjoyed serving, and I enjoyed earning praise and attention from those I adored. Although my mother, being very dominant, was often the one I sought to please, I worshipped both my grandfather and my father.

My father, a part-time country and western singer, often wore cowboy boots and one of my favourite activities as a child was to remove those boots when he’d come in from work.

(I can see the Freudian heads nodding, and the soft Aha’s from the readers already. LOL)

Now cowboy boot removal can be difficult, and the feat is often accomplished by having the remover straddle one boot-covered foot, facing away from the boot-wearer, and gripping the boot heel in both hands. The boot-wearer then plants the other foot on the remover’s ass, and gives a good shove.

Remover and boot then tend to go flying, often landing with a satisfying thump on the floor.

I remember how much laughter accompanied the boot-removal ritual, and how it felt to hold the soft, fragrant leather in my hands. I remember the thrill of waiting for that literal boot in the ass, and how my father would often draw it out, until I was giggling so hard that when the real shove came I wasn’t prepared and I’d be nothing more than a giggling pile on the floor, grasping the offending – and well-loved – footwear in hand.

So many Freudian layers. The sexuality of youth and its focus on the father/mother figure, the feel of the firm power between innocent, but sensitive thighs…It doesn’t take a psychologist to work out the not-so-innocent pleasures in such an innocent act of affection between parent and child.

(Now, lest anyone take offense, my father is a wonderful parent. I had an extremely safe, loving childhood, and in no way am I dealing with anything resembling the resolution of incest issues. Pure and simple, the little girl in me still loves to please her “father”, and the woman in me can’t help but now include her sexuality in this endeavour.)

So, in a few weeks, I hope to be doing a scene that replays this boot removal ritual, along with other boot worship activities that will please the cowboy-boot-wearing dominant friend who’ll be indulging me in this.

Oh, and he has mentioned boot-blacking skills. What?? Time for research, I guess.

Stay tuned…