Molly Ivins remembers Ann Richards

Several years ago there was a big political do at Scholz Beer Garten in Austin and everybody who was anybody in political Texas was there, meetin’ and greetin’ at a furious pace. About halfway through the evening, a little group of us got the tired feet and went to lean our butts against a table by the back wall of the Garten. Like birds in a row were perched Bob Bullock, the state comptroller; me; Charlie Miles, a black man who was then head of Bullock’s personnel department (and the reason Bullock had such a good record on minority hiring); and Ms. Ann Richards.

Bullock, having been in Texas politics for thirty some-odd years, consequently knew every living sorry, no-account sumbitch who ever held office. A dreadful old racist judge from East Texas came up to him, “Bob, my boy, how are yew?” The two of them commenced to clap one another on the back and have a big greetin’.

“Judge,” said Bullock. “I want you to meet my friends. This is Molly Ivins with the Texas Observer.”

The judge peered up at me and said, “How yew, little lady?”

“This is Charles Miles, who heads my personnel department.” Charlie stuck out his hand and the judge got an expression on his face as though he had just stepped into a fresh cow pie. It took him a long minute before he reached out, barely touched Charlie’s hand and said, “How you, boy?” Then he turned with great relief to pretty, blue-eyed Ann Richards and said, “And who is this lovely lady?”

Ann beamed and said, “I am Mrs. Miles.”

Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification. -John Donne

A while back, I tackled this topic for the book, Sex Kitten Presents The BDSM Issue. In writing that essay, Erotic Humiliation is Not an Oxymoron, I took a personal journey, an internal retrospective of sorts, recalling my initial shock upon receiving such a request and my eventual delight (and maybe even a bit of sexual excitement) with this particular form of domination.

I wrote:

The slave brings his desire to be dominated and the Mistress brings her dictionary and thesaurus, because it is her facility with language which authenticates her authority in this empyreal dungeon.

It’s no secret that I deeply believe in the power of words. They are, after all, what saved me so very long ago and far away. When I was too small, the world was too big and too many caretakers were impotently wicked and/or emotionally anemic. Even today, a library is consecrated ground for me–my church, my mosque, my synagogue, my cathedral–my sacred place of transformation.

And yes, at certain times, my dungeon.

Think about sex: the sex you do have and then the sex you think about having. I would bet that, regardless of your particular kink (high heel fetish? spanking? hard fucking? cuckolding? controlled masturbation? cross dressing? romantic sensuality?), the sex you think about having includes a lot of verbiage.

i.e.

• Rub your dripping prick down the length of my stiletto heel. That’s it. Now take the tip, just the tip, and run it around the ankle strap. Slowly, very slowly.
  
• You know you’ve got it coming. Over my knee. NOW! Hmmm. Should I use this ping pong paddle or my hand? Such a tender little ass.
  
• Beg for my fat dick, you little slut. Spread those legs like a dirty little whore and jerk off your clit. Beg for my fat dick, and then I’m going to ram it into you so hard that you you’re going to cry like a bitch in heat.
• I love you, baby, but I need big cocks and lots of them. So get in between my legs and clean up the mess, baby. Marcus and Jerome fucked me sooo hard. Look how swollen my cunt is. Lick it baby. Make it feel better.
  
• Do you like it when I wrap my little hand around this thick man-cock of yours and stroke it like this? Oh, you’re throbbing. What if I rub my pretty little French nail back and forth every-so-lightly across the frenum?
  
• Oooh…your cute little satin panties feel so good between your little sissy stick and my wet pussy. But I think little panty sluts deserve a good fucking. Go get the strap-on, sweet bitch-girl.
  
• I love you so much, darling. Fuck me harder, my beautiful lover. I want your cum deep inside of me, honey. I need it. I need it so bad.
  

See what I mean? (and if you don’t, you might want to schedule an EEG)

Anyway, for those of you who haven’t run off to call your neurologist, can you understand how verbal abasement can up the ante for the submissive man or woman? And for some, perhaps even be a more-intoxicating form of domination all by itself? More powerful than whips and chains? And is particularly apropos when the dungeon is virtual, a creation of the imagination, the meeting of two minds? Two well-developed, very kinky brains?

I also wrote:

This is BDSM without the net, unconditional love on Prozac, Creatine-enhanced tough love.

And I believe it.

Some of the most intense phone domination sessions I’ve participated in have been humiliation fantasies. Meaning that I have almost dived –and perhaps even did a very feminine swan dive– into subspace with the target of my verbal venom on more than one occasion. What Tom Petty calls “free-falling.”

Done correctly (dispensing “tough love” requires a measure of love, of trust, of mutual respect), Erotic Humiliation can turn the known world upside down for both Mistress and Slave–defying physical boundaries, transcending emotional and psychological bastilles.

It is a thing of great beauty and deep mystery.

And it all starts with words. Simple, yet all-powerful words.

Now and forever. Amen.

I had all intentions of putting in a serious amount of time on the kink-O-phone today.   Honestly.   Don’t raise that eyebrow.

Got up at a reasonable (all things considered) time. Jogged five (ok, walked some of it). Took a superbath, washed my hair, brushed my teefies. Donned my business suit (t-shirt nightie and sockies). Made my bed, started the dishwasher. Ingested relatively massive amounts of the Sulawesi. In other words, got all the personal necessities neat and comfortable around the edges.

Put together an I’ve been a bad girl discount email (because I’ve kinda-sorta been MIA going on two weeks now–I had my reasons) to send to the good guys (a demographic that I, of course, define differently than most)–letting them know that if they wanted to strike while the iron was hot (that would be moi), today would be good. So everything was set to go. But then I remembered.

Remembered this piece of crap attempt to rewrite history is on tonight.

Propagada Trailer.

Harvey Keitel is not afraid to spank Disney’s ass.

A liberal perspective. (And I do agree.)

And my own personal Pervert Savant sent me this:

I’ve got an idea for a great movie!

It will be called “The Path to ‘The Path to 911′” hopefully directed by Michael Moore. It will depict how a right-wing cabal of born-again Christians dragooned Tom Keane, a group of Disney television execs, and the ABC broadcasting network to produce a $40,000,000 docudrama (now labeled a “dramatization”) based (sorta, except for the parts that weren’t and that never really happened) on the famous 911 Commission Report and then tried to market the movie to American viewers (and to schoolkids through “Scholastic Magazine”) as “history”.

I think it will make interesting viewing.

My choice for the lead Disney executive would be Peewee Herman.

I’m hopeful that Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder will reprise their dual roles from “The Producers” and play the born-again writer and director.

Like its predecessor, the sequel to “The Path to 911″ could be the greatest work of historical “drama” since “Springtime for Hitler”.

*****

I gotta watch…you do understand, don’t you? You will forgive me?

******

And Democrats? …’cuz we need you to step up to the plate real bad:

I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero until the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong
And he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight

I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero until the morning light
He’s gotta be sure
And it’s gotta be soon
And he’s gotta be larger than life
—Holding out for a Hero

No, you can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometime you find
You get what you need
—You Can’t Always Get What You Want

*****

This whole mess just makes me terribly sad. But what do I know? I’m just a poor little orphan girl who tells dirty stories.

God is sitting in Heaven when Science says to Him, “Lord, the world doesn’t need you anymore.  I’ve finally figured out a way to create life out of nothing.” God chuckles, grins indulgently at Science.

“Just what,” God asks, “do you mean by that?”

“In other words, I can now do what you did in the ‘beginning’.”

“Oh, is that so? Tell me more,” replies God.

“Well,” says Science, “I can take dirt and form it into the likeness of you. Then I can breathe life into it, thus creating man.”

“Well, that’s interesting. Show me.”

So Science bends down to the earth and begins to busily mold the soil. God chuckles, a bit hardier this time, then interrupts.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

“What,” Science asks, stopping to look up at God.

“That’s my dirt. I made it. Go get your own dirt.”