Thursday, July 31, 2003

Too Much? Too Fast?

I saw this article last night regarding a backlash against queers. The legality of gay Canadian marriages and the sodomy ruling pushed conservatives pretty far. Backlash makes sense. Yeah, it's troublesome, but recently encountering this very thing in my own life causes me to believe it's part of the natural order of change. Think of the pendulum.

Here's an absolutely ridiculous example. Remember when I wrote about cutting my hair? Just the mention of an extreme change freaked people out. I took 6 months and 3 separate cuts to get to where I desired. The stages made it easier on others. Granted, I so did not do it in that manner with those intentions, yet instead discovered that to be one of the results.

I'm not comparing gay rights to cutting hair; I'm talking about drastic change.
Although, as I just now read the above paragraph out loud to my coworker, he said, "helloooo....what are you talking about? Gay rights IS all about cutting hair!" LOL.
Love him.

The exhilaration that rises and bubbles over when we've turn the world on its head can't be compared to anything else. It is truly indescribable. But it takes continued effort for persistent topsy turvyness.

I think what needs to be remembered is that an impact was made. If nothing else, people were touched. That fact alone is massive and radical. These are the moments that wake the dead.
Yes backlash happens. So we need to keep on keepin' on.

Too much, too fast?
Nope....just right.

Wednesday, July 30, 2003

Today's treat from my little wisdom of the east daily calendar. Actually, this was the thought for Monday, July 29.

Among the most remarkable features characterizing Zen, we find these: spirituality, directness of expression, disregard of form or conventionalism, and frequently an almost wanton delight in going astray from respectability. -D.T. Suzuki

love this.
I just returned from the book reading. Samuel R. Delaney is impressive....quite impressive. We spent 2 hours with him. He read for over an hour, and then answered loads of questions. I was going to purchase a book and have him sign it, but opted not to. I wanted to fall in love with his work first. Then, if there's an opportunity...I'll do it. I don't know why...but that felt like the way to go this time.

He read to us from a novel that is still unfinished. He didn't give the title of the book. For sci-fi fans, this book begins and ends realistically. The fantasy is the bulk of the book...the creme in the middle. What he treated us to this evening was the prologue.

It was a tease. I'm quite curious to discover how he bridges this with whatever fantastical setting is up his sleeve.

As impressed as I was with the reading, I was more so with the man. I had a better sense of him while he answered questions. Strong, brilliant, sensitive, free thinker. He has the presence of an icon. And, I am not familiar at all with his work. I hadn't even heard of him until I discovered I was attending the reading.

He has this beard. This fabulous long white beard. As he thought about answering a questioning, he would grab a middle section of his beard, with his right hand...and stroke it. Over and over. It was a very sensual move.

He is extremely provocative with his responses.

I noticed the provocation in his writing as well. In his reading, he shared 2 characters with us. I think they were Scott and Sean, but I don't really remember. Sorry. One is an actor who happens to be gay and the other a straight man with HIV who shows up on his doorstep with the assumption the actor is the straight guy's father. As they talk and get to know each other, the straight guy lifts up his shirt to show the actor a tattoo. He had tattooed "HIV+" on his body.

The straight guy mentioned that his decision for doing so was to allow anyone he fucked to be clear about his status. He didn't want to hear "he didn't tell me he was infected."

I was chilled by the thought of the tattoo. My head immediately went to the same place that Mr. Delaney went to a little later in his book. The two men enter a short discussion of the tattooes applied to Jews by the Nazis.

Powerful, huh?

I am so thrilled to have tonight's experience.

What I found curious, although it shouldn't surprise me, are the questions the students asked. Apparently, there is a writing course, and he was involved in some way, either by teaching or critiquing students' works. These students were there tonight. Their questions all centered around the technical. "What do you do to get motivated to write?" "How is such and such done?" "How do you bridge the gap between these ideas?".

He walked around all those questions. They craved step by step how to tips. He gave philosophical insights...normally a couple words or very short sentences. His responses were very zen. I loved it.

This reminds me of the leather community, and different communities in general. People want to know the surface stuff, when the meat is found in the internal...or what many call the spiritual. Yes, technical knowledge is important. But once learned and practiced, it's the other stuff that makes a scene dynamic. Otherwise we are robots. And the digging inside isn't taught in a recipe fashion.

These students were all advanced writing students. One would hope they knew the mechanics by this point. Once learned, the rest of their lives, our lives, is spent figuring out who we are...and how we relate to our passion...touching it, drawing it out.

At some point the questions need to evolve from "how?" to "why?"
And even tougher, learning to be comfortable with the ambiguity of answers to "why" questions.
That's when we begin to trust ourselves and the richness that lays within.
That's the turning point that makes one a writer, a painter, a Leatherperson, a...fill in the blank.

Tuesday, July 29, 2003


The Bear and the boy invited me to a book reading tonight. Actually, it went more like this. The boy says, "the Bear bought us all tickets to this reading cuz his favorite author is in town. It's on Tuesday night and we are meeting for dinner before."
LOL. Gotta love them Tops.

The author we are going to hear is Samuel Delaney. I've never heard of him and so did a little googling. I was looking forward to the event anyway, but now I'm really excited about it.

Yesterday was take care of girlfag day. First on my schedule was the chiropractor. And then later in the afternoon I was off to the doctor for my second injection in my Hep A & B series. From there...right to my dentist. Yanno...might as well get it over with all at once.

It was my second visit with the chiropractor. Never having experienced this before last week, yet knowing it would be somewhat intimate, regarding touch, I was concerned about seeing a het male. But I remained open and figured I'd feel it out first, and then decide. He's pretty cool. There's a gentleness and sensitivity about him. I didn't catch a whiff of arrogance yet did pick up on quiet strength. I think this will work. Last week the doc told me he would start me off easy. This week he tackled my neck. The pops and the feeling were quite profound. But I was breathing through it, so didn't feel any pain yet felt strong sensation. I was quiet throughout it. After back doc cracked my neck he stepped back, looked at me quite puzzled, and kept saying "" He asked if I felt that. "Yeah, it was intense," I replied. He laughed and said I took it quite well. (It's one of the joys of being a masochist). My dentist has mentioned the same thing to me in the past. He would keep apologizing for hurting me, and I would look at him questioningly. I hadn't felt anything.

About 4 years ago, I went for my first mammogram. The physician I saw at the time said that I could expect a lot of discomfort and pain considering I have essentially no boobs. I was blessed with nipples, but not boobs. And honestly, I've always been thankful for that. I am so not into breasts. I've never understood the fascination with breasts and size and am glad I don't have to deal with it. Oh, back to the doctor's comment. After warning me about the pain, she then looked at me again and laughed. She said "never'd probably enjoy it". I was shocked and thrilled that she felt comfortable enough with me to make that statement. It was my first visit with this doctor.

As far as the mammogram went...I honestly was disappointed I didn't feel anything. The technicians were apologizing for the discomfort I MUST be feeling. But nada. Nothing.

I am out with all my doctors, to the extent that they need to know. For example, my dentist doesn't know I'm into rough sex. But, if I were wearing lots of gags and began to have jaw irritation or something, I would totally tell him. He can't treat me unless I'm open with him. Regarding my primary physician, I am completely queerness and my Leather. Actually, I was out with my acupuncturist as well. It is critical for them to know.

I since have a new primary doctor. But she too is absolutely amazing. She's another straight married woman who had a large gay male patient base. (Due to many deaths over the last 10 years, I'm not sure how large it is now).
She's even supported a fundraiser we've done at the Eagle in memory of one of her patients who had passed away last year, by attending in black jeans, black t-shirt, baseball cap and a borrowed flogger to wear at her side. How cool is that?
This is the same physician who's spent lots of time with me talking about anti-depressants and stuff a few months back and then nixed the idea so it didn't squelch my creativity.

Geez.....okay...I've given you an earful of pointless info regarding my doctors. I suppose the only important thing in here is being honest with them. I've heard of too many who are afraid to tell their doctors, etc. But I think people shortchange themselves when they do that.

And I suppose the other point to all this is I know this is another step in my healing process regarding grief. Taking an active role in my physical well being is a positive thing. I need to remind myself that even if I'm feeling glum at times, I am still moving forward.

Monday, July 28, 2003

I have a little time and really wanted to write to you. I didn’t mean to remain silent all weekend. But, I've been busy.

The mundane first.
On Saturday I assisted with a catering job for my two best, actually. I spent most of the day doing food prep and then we went to the clients' home to serve a wedding feast. A home, overlooking Lake Washington. A big home with lots of porches, near the water and a fabulous private garden. We all agreed it was our dream home. Warm, and quite large, without being ostentatious.

Catering really kicks my physical ass even though I’m hired only for the day of. It’s incredibly hard work. It begins days before…the shopping, prep and the cooking. Then load everything into the van, which of course needs to be unloaded at the destination. Sometimes there are stairs and hills to navigate with cases of plates and glassware and food and trays and warming containers and cooling containers. Setting up in what will be control central for 5 hours…to set up the buffet, provide water and coffee service, replenish the platters…and then bus the tables, rinse off all the plates, pack everything up, load it in the van and get home. Home…to crash. Then there’s the cleanup.

And yet, is it very satisfying. You are feeding people. It’s basic and nurturing.
To connect with people, catch the question in their eye regarding more food or maybe a drink. Yeah…it’s satisfying.

Sunday found me on the couch. Beat, although not in the same manner as Singletails.
And by evening, I needed to walk and be outside. One of the boys came by to pick me up. We went down to Coulon Park at the southernmost tip of Lake Washington, grabbed a couple burgers and then walked our asses off.

So that’s the weekend. Good, busy, restful.

Here’s the cool part.

Friday, after writing my “I need a hero” piece, I went to see two of my guys. I called them during the day and asked if I could come by for a few minutes. I needed hugs.
By the way, my family doesn’t read my blog. They all have the url. But it’s interesting how many times those closest to you don’t have the desire to read it. Singletails mentioned that this would probably happen. I was prepared, and do not take it personally. If I write something that I really feel is critical for them to read, I’ll copy it into an email.
I mention this because no one knew what I had just written regarding heroes.

I arrive and both guys were outside. They approached and met me with touches. The Bear grabbed me tight. So tight that I felt myself sink into his flesh and was surrounded by it. My breathing slowed and I felt him sharing in my pain. He’s amazing like that. There are times when I’ve either been so hurt or tired or whatever and I’d walk into his home. My walls would be up. He would grab me and hold me…tight. It’s like he’s squishing my insides out. He’d hold and hold until stuff spills over.

I’m really glad he’s in my life. He’s big enough for me, big in character and spirit. He’s strong enough to take who I am and what I have. He doesn’t allow my stuff to ooze into him, yet it flows over him onto the floor. His touch helps release it from me.

He and his boy then mentioned that I was staying and we would all be doing Mexican and margueritas in a few hours. It’s tough saying no to the Bear.

When I arrived at their space, they had just unpacked a brand new grill. The very large empty box was tipped on its side, on the front lawn. After my greetings, they returned to work around the house. I sat outside, sketched a little, and chatted with them. Periodically, I’d look over at the box. Longingly.

I finally went over, turned the box so the opening was away from the street. I crawled into it, and fell asleep.

That was the containment I needed. It wasn’t any different than being in the cage. It was enough to keep the world at bay for a little while. It sheltered and held me. I felt my emotional strength returning. It was my spiritual B-12 injection.

I believe that being a Leatherperson vs someone who does kink on weekends, is about allowing Leather into all aspects of our life. It’s a knowledge that what happens in the dungeon is integrated and applied to each part of who we are. It is also the knowledge that we take who we already are and bring that into the dungeon.

What pisses me off about the SSC credo is redundancy. I believe that it’s about common sense. And if we don’t already live in that manner in our daily lives then we have no business being in a dungeon. I am so not into playing with people for whom it’s a light switch. Turn it on as you walk into the space and turn it off when you leave. It’s the same with talk about respect, honor and trust. Sigh. Either you got it or you don’t. But I digress.

By crawling into this large box on a front lawn of a residential neighborhood, on a sunny Friday afternoon, reinforced how integrated Leather has become in my life.
Being in the box was the same as if I were in the dungeon, stripped and then locked into the cage. Now the cage can be a multitude of experiences. I am not speaking of the thrown in, locked, and have the dynamic of abductor/abductee type of experience. I speak of gentle bondage. Being held.

After dinner I arrived home. There was a phone message from Sir. He wanted me to come by because He said He had a present for me. Turning around I headed over to Sir’s.

When I walked in, after kisses and hugs…Sir handed me a book.

It was a signed copy of Carol Queen’s “The Leatherdaddy and The Femme.”

Perfect, isn’t it?

Last week, when I took Bill to the book reading, I was so busy helping out that I didn’t get a chance to purchase the book. And I knew there were limited copies of this at the store. I figured, easy come, easy go. I hadn’t told anyone that I wanted it.

And yet Sir knew.

Friday, I fiercely needed heroes. And I received it from unlikely sources. I thought they were all incredibly busy. They were. And they heard my silent wail.

That’s family.

Friday, July 25, 2003

I need a hero.

That statement really flips me out. Me…the one who can do it all herself.
But in these last few days, I’ve realized I need a hero.

Life has become so very hard. The next week has two anniversaries, both extremely painful.

The first is the one year anniversary of a loved one’s illness. It’s a day of death and rebirth. The person I knew died that day. I am getting to know the new person that inhabits their body. This person is still wise and brilliant. The parts that are damaged have been compensated by a heightened sensitivity and incredible intuitiveness.
What a frightening and tumultuous week the hospital stay was. Grief over what couldn’t be done, joy over each new achievement and anxiety over the unknown.

The other anniversary is an odd one. I dread the first weekend in August. I’ve dreaded it for the last two years.

There is a gay men only private outdoor bondage weekend that takes place at someone’s home here in the PNW. The first time I heard about it was two years ago. Sir and I were speaking. He said He had something to tell me, and it was going to be simultaneously very joyful and very painful.

He then mentioned the weekend play event that He and His house attended. During the course of the weekend, another boy asked why I wasn’t there. And then apparently a bunch of boys chimed in saying “girlfag needs to be here…she belongs with us.”
They were told by a Top that yes, although I would fit perfectly at the event, they could not invite me. The reason being….if they invite one female, then a few years later you’ll have two…and that of course will slowly increase. It will change the energy of the weekend.”

I’ll never forget that evening. My spirit soared as I heard “yes, she belongs…we want her here”…and a minute later that same spirit was a puddle on the floor, my face wet with large silent tears. I can still see the knife that ripped my heart. And, I’ve encountered that same knife many times since.

The logic of the Top at the bondage weekend didn’t make sense to me. Simply by allowing me to attend does not open it up to all women. It would have been an invitation. How many other parties are invitation only, with specific parameters, and yet even though there are many who would comfortably fit within those parameters, they aren’t invited? That’s normal.

What I mourn is how we see things as one or the other. It’s black or white. Yes or no.
I don’t understand why this world doesn’t always see or seek out other alternatives.

I agree with and support exclusive space. And, I believe there is room for all types of exclusive spaces. There are so many fucking permutations. Damn…when I have my own space it too will be exclusive. But my determining factor is about energy, not physical. Is there a connection of sorts? Is the intent and spirit of the play similar? For me, that is more powerful.

I’ve heard too many stories of men who attend Delta or Inferno or other private gatherings. Although they enjoyed their specific play and time…they weren’t crazy about the overall energy of the group. There wasn’t a clicking of spirit. That doesn’t make sense to me. I understand why it’s happening. But what I’m hearing from these guys is a longing for private space where people connect. I believe there’s a big need for this. And if it’s not working with the old way of doing things then maybe it’s time to think out of the box and try something new.

I don’t normally hurt when I hear about men only parties. What pained me about the bondage weekend was the fact that some wanted me there…and there was an agreement I would fit. And yet, I couldn’t access it. That hurt. The logic that barred me was fallible and fear-based.

A while back I was invited into men only space. Everything was fine for many weeks. I received lots and lots of quiet and loving support from men I didn’t even know. These men approached me. A few even wrote to me and said I belonged with them more than at least half the guys who attended that venue. I still have those letters.
When I get down…I reread them.

And then…the ruckus. Dissatisfaction, discomfort, hatred and fear are loud, screaming personalities. They make the most noise. The gentleman who invited me, and yes, he is very much the gentleman, worked to have the men take me on as an exception. He said “I hoped they would adopt you.” Alas, it didn’t happen.

I ask why a whole lot. But I am not into being a victim. I believe in taking action. I know that if there isn’t a ready made community I need to create one. And…that’s what I’m slowly doing. This is where I need to develop patience. Sometimes it needs to go faster, says me.

A few months after Sir spoke with me about the bondage weekend, Sir and I planned a play party. This was a few years back. The invitations were left up to me. 20 gay men, a butch dyke couple…who are fags as well, and a straight couple, although I’m hesitant to say straight. She was a dyke and met this straight guy and have been together for many years now. I’d call them queer.
The room was filled with artists, writers and musicians. All highly creative, sensitive people as well as very intense, hard core, extreme sadists and masochists, and sexually open players. It was a good party, a gathering of similar spirits.

Last year, with the assistance of another member of my family, I threw a penis party. I invited 30 of my favorite penises. :-) And yes, I was the only female.

I currently don’t have the space to throw parties, otherwise…believe me, I would. Whipping parties, fisting parties, piss parties, bondage parties…and parties in general. Parties with glorious food and play.
I am holding onto my dream of having a space...some space.

Dear readers, bear with me as I go through this journey. I’m actually learning to find myself within the ashes created by the fires ignited by Sir’s hand. I’m anticipating the flight of the phoenix.

As my therapist reminded me yesterday, I’m still grieving. Although it’s been over a year, it takes as long as it takes. I’m grieving for Sir’s illness. I’m grieving the loss of training. I’m grieving the loss of a d/s relationship. And most importantly, I’m grieving the loss of my innocence, my days of Pollyanna-ness. There is so much truth to the blissfulness of ignorance.

I do find magic moments and powerful spaces. Two of my coworkers reminded me yesterday of different major incidences this year where I made incredible surprising impacts. Little by little I guess.

But sometimes, even in spite of those times, we all need heroes, don’t we…at least for a little while?

That’s what I mean when I say I need a hero. I don’t need a 24/7 carry me hero. I seek heroes who can provide an oasis for a few hours or a weekend. I need rejuvenation, to then have the strength to move forward.
I need to rest. I’m tired.

Sexy Leather life, huh?

Thursday, July 24, 2003


My demons are back. Imagination is an impressive thing...a fucking blessing and a bloody curse. My art and my ideas stem from my imagination. I'm a classical painter. One day, I promise, I'll show you some of what my hand/heart has created. (I need to figure out how to imbed an image and slap a watermark on it)

Hand in hand with the positive side of creation is the same mind that creates its own endings to situations and instances. And then, once I've decided what I believe is really happening, I emotionally work myself into a frenzied mess based on these lies...complex concoctions. Only when I can distance myself and take off my cobweb-covered glasses, can I then see the truth in the mist.

These goblins appear when old hurts are exposed to air.

Last night I remembered a little blurb I wrote in 1999 about the critters.
This explains what it's like when I'm feeling tormented.


Sunday 22 August 1999

Demons haunt me during the night. They slither through the crevices of my mind, infiltrating every nook....preparing themselves for the moment my eyes open and then make their presence known....forcefully. Blood red eyes that glow...slimy bodies with open sores, oozing, dripping....covering me with their absesses. Scores upon scores of them...encompassing me....wrapping their icy fingers around my thoughts....transforming everything they stroke to gloom, and a forboding incarnation. They attempt to hatch their eggs in my heart....the warm nest that it is. Menacing....their one rob me of me.

I used to see those gossamer beings as tangible and held onto their lying tongues as reality. They were my soothsayers. I became so caught up in the twist and tangle of their evil maze....thick, thorny vines pulling at my hair and tearing at my body. I couldn't see the path to light. I didn't know where freedom was. Each step I took, was another step into their endless abyss.

These vampirical beasts still invade my body...sitting heavy on me when I wake. Yet now awareness has taken hold and I see them for what they are. Daybreak is the time for shaking off the darkness...not allowing them to grip my heart and encase my soul.

Some mornings may take a little longer than others....some mornings may find tears...or anger...or fear. But feeling it and opening myself to the dawn....and letting the bad wash experience another morning...a new day....with unique experiences... knowing these demons are not a part of my reality....yet just a nightmare....a fantastical, fictional event.

That's life.

Wednesday, July 23, 2003

"Lean into the pain," He says.

"Lean into the pain."

Tuesday, July 22, 2003

I read an email yesterday that warmed my cockles. In the past, I've received wonderful feedback on my blog. It's greatly appreciated. Bloggers are putting energy out there, and it's tough when they don't feel energy coming back, in some form. Do me a favor, and write to your favorite blogger/s. You can keep it short. Sometimes a "thank you" or "I really enjoy reading" will suffice. That way, bloggers won't feel they are writing in a vaccuum. I think it's especially important with new bloggers. Check out the new folks who've created blogs in 100 bloggers. A few have ceased writing, but some are still chugging away. Drop 'em a line, eh?

Back to yesterday's email. This person wrote to tell me that although he didn't share my way of life, he enjoyed reading my words. That meant so much to me. Isn't that what diversity is about? I am not recruiting nor handing out toasters while attempting to convert the world to Leather queerness. I desire that each follow their heart, their bliss. While doing so, allow others to follow theirs. And maybe, just maybe, enjoy each others' unique path in the process.

That's my world dream.

In my late teens, as I've previously written, I left the Catholic church. I could no longer abide by its doctrine. And I didn't believe in being half hearted, or picking and choosing. I don't believe that religions are a la carte.
My dad and I would have awful fights about my choice to leave the church. The typical teenage developmental stuff intensified the continual battle between us.

It was my continual questioning...that directed me to leave. I felt the church was so wrong, so off base. But, I knew, even at 16, it was only off base for me. We all have different paths, right? Even though dad and I disagreed, I had no desire for dad to leave the church. The church was, and still is, his heart...his incredible passion. He needed to continue. My only desire was for him to allow me the same courtesy.

When I think back on it, that is the very first time I strongly felt the need to be seen for who I was, not what others assumed I should be. This was also a big turning point for me to realize that 2 people may see things very differently, and yet still both be right....right for their individual life.

Monday, July 21, 2003

wow...I just realized that my email address is no longer in this template. I haven't a clue how long it's been missing. But, the matter is now rectified. I've included it in the description...again.

Sorry about that folks.

Write me!
Last night I attended the Summer Smut reading series at Toys in Babeland.

The featured authors were Bill Brent of Black Books in SF
and Carol Queen.

Bill is staying with Sir while in Seattle. So once again, I had the opportunity to play chauffeur. The first time we met was last year, while he was here doing a reading. I drove him around, and we had a chance to talk, and click. Bill is a kindred spirit. If you read the article I linked to, he articulates some of his viewpoints in a wonderful manner. Also, what I enjoy tremendously about his writing is the fact that his stories aren’t the typical wanking material. He and I have discussed this, in regards to books and art. He plays with the internal happenings evoked in specific sexual situations. This morning I realized that Bill enjoys writing about the most powerful sex organ. The mind.

The stories chosen last night were, for myself, downright eerie. Talk about synchronicity.
Bill read his story “Cage” which can be found in “Rough Stuff: Tales of Gay Men, Sex, and Power".
And Carol Queen read from the hot off the press newly reprinted “Leatherdaddy and the Femme”.

Considering my life…whoa.
I was probably the only one in the room who was shaking inside as the words encompassed us. It hit way too close to home.

Leatherdaddy and the Femme.

By the way, the new edition of “Leatherdaddy and the Femme” includes segments that the original publisher chose not to print. At the time, they felt that discussions of gender and orientation weren’t appropriate for smut. Carol read some of that last night. It’s perfect.

As an aside, please, please, please buy books from the independent small publisher and/or your local independent bookstore. They are in danger of becoming extinct. Between Barnes and Noble, Borders and Amazon, the little businesses are going under, one by one. I'm afraid that people are going to wake up one morning thinking "what have we done?". Granted, there's an ease to Amazon. But at times, when you have the option, please support the little places. Think of Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi".

Anyway, after the reading, I unexpectedly found myself heading to dinner with Carol, her partner Robert, Bill, a few of Carol’s Seattle friends, and Raven Gildea. Raven is also a writer who lives here in Seattle. Raven’s story, “boy bashing” was published in “Best of Bisexual Erotica” edited by Carol Queen and Bill Brent. The story is a fantasy about a young straight man who mistakes a butch dyke for a man and begins to harass the dyke. The tables turn and the young man then finds himself behind a dumpster, gagged and fucked with a strap on.

Last night was a wonderful evening. I love twists and surprises. And every once in a while….life throws one at you. This was it.

Sunday, July 20, 2003

I wish it would rain. We desperately need it. The earth is parched. It seems that we haven't had a good soak in about 3 months. In the last few days, we've even had brush fires along the highway, right near town. So much for wet Seattle, eh?

Saturday, July 19, 2003

I just read this:

"...[T]he desire to be a slave or claim human property for one's erotic use cuts across all lines of gender and sexual orientation." -Guy Baldwin

It's a nice ideal, given Steve Sampson's writings which I linked to about a month ago. I'll link again for ease.

heart of Master

heart of slave

But, I wonder how realistic Mr. Baldwin's quote really is.
Whoa. I am friggin' bushed.

My day began at 6 am. I went to work and cranked through the first draft of a major report that was due today. I was almost done yesterday afternoon...and then noticed, at 5 pm yesterday, that my computer glitched out and therefore the amounts in this 12 worksheet spreadsheet were incorrect. Sigh. I was so frustrated and angry, knowing I needed to redo everything that I shut down my computer and went for a very long walk at the water. It helped.

Today, starting from scratch, things went smoother. After finishing the report, I needed to do about 300 thank you letters from gifts received this week. Most of them were standard, with no they printed fairly quickly.

I could feel the stress slipping off my shoulders as the thank you letters were printing. After two weeks of 12 hour days...I was almost all caught up from my 2 week vacation. I saw light.

Sir called this afternoon, and requested my help after work. So off I went to assist with tiling that is being done at His home. He suggested I nap a little when I arrived...and then start in afterwards.

While laying on the floor napping...I felt this thump near my belly. Opening my eyes I notice the cat. She's headbutting me! Apparently she wanted attention, and I hadn't noticed her (being asleep). So she took pains to make herself known. I laughed and reached out for her. She's never done that before. I snoozed again, and then woke and went to work. Sir fed us dinner about 8:30ish. And then I needed to drive Him to the bookstore.

It's now 10:30 pm and I just got home a little while ago.

In spite of being tired, I love being able to help Sir. When He called, we chatted for a bit. And then I asked "how may I help You Sir?"
For me, there is something so special in that question. And, my heart sings when He says "This is what I need from you..."

Yeah...I am a service slut.

Friday, July 18, 2003

Same and different...and the same.

I know it's been a few weeks since I've shown you any art. So how about we look at some now? And, let's do something new. Compare and contrast!

About a month ago I began a file called "art links for girlfag gallery."
I originally pulled from my bookmarks, and have added to it as I find something that intrigues me.

While cruising through this folder, I came across a painting I enjoy in spite of the fact that I'm not a big fan of slick realism. I want to see brush strokes. It's my druthers.
This is a painting by Guy Diehl. As well as being a still life, it's a still, silent image that moves at the same time. I think the sense of movement comes from the light that appears to dance.

I then popped open another link, also a still life. This other painting is very different from Diehl's work. But I had a strong sense it was like the realistic image. So, me being me, I opened each in a new window, and sized them accordingly so I can view them side by side. What fun!!!!

Yes, the colors are similar. In a strange way, the light is also similar. This second painting is a still life by Hans Hoffman. Due to its abstract quality and marks, Hoffman's painting, at first glance, appears electric. But in many ways, also feels like a quiet piece.

Now there's really not a lot of point to this unless you have each side by side on your monitor. Look at them...first this one, and then the other. Look at them together and individually...and then together again.

Whatcha think?

Personally, I think that both of these pieces are equally special. I would seriously enjoy hanging them together.

Thursday, July 17, 2003


I think there's a fine line in activism between working to gain acceptance for what do versus being accepted for who we are. Human.

Sometimes I wonder if we as activists are expending too much energy in the wrong direction. I wonder if there's a lack of balance in our activism.

You may read this and think, "I'm not an activist." I believe everyone is an activist by the mere fact of living; inhabiting our bodies. We are active, albeit at times unconsciously, in being an example of one life to the rest of the world.

A while back, I wrote that for successful longterm activism, hearts, not only minds need to evolve. It's my thought that living, opening one's self and allowing others to see you, is where change happens. Vulnerability...egads!
I've seen it in my own life. Many times I've encountered people who didn't know what to do with me, or didn't want to talk to me for who I am. Yet, due to circumstances, we would need to engage on a level irrelevant to my sexuality.
With time, they would see me as a person...not even a scary one. Sacre bleu!!!

They may not be comfortable with how I choose to live my life. We may agree to disagree. But they get to a point of "live and let live." Beautiful.
Ultimately, isn't that all we want from the rest of the world?

Think back to the civil rights and the feminist movement. Or, look at gay rights and now the leather community attempting to break into mainstream culture.

The basic premise is all the same. The goal of each is to be allowed to exist and live without hassle, with the same opportunities as the small, extremely vocal minority who sees fit to set the rules.
And also, in each case, as in all forms of prejudice, the root is fear. Fear of the unknown.

So, do we throw in their faces the very thing they are afraid of or do we show them that irregardless of what we do, who or how we fuck, we are people as well? We have the same hungers, desires, and needs.

In my book, that is the way to be a proactive activist.

Now, working in conjunction with this is reactive activism. For example, the big one was the sodomy ruling. Although the Supreme Court ruled in our favor, it isn't the law that will change people's minds. The ruling offers protection, which buys time. And hopefully, with this time, people will change. In time, they'll see that even with the ruling, we aren't about to overthrow the country or sodomize their children. In time, hearts can change.

What am I saying? My concern is that we spend so much energy on reactive activism, which tends to focus on what we do, that we forget, or do not realize the importance of creating change through living an honest life.
I’m concerned that we do not believe in the immense power of being.

Wednesday, July 16, 2003

This just in from Sydney: "Frequent masturbation may be good for you."

Actually, it's a newly released study on masturbation lowering the risk of prostrate cancer.

Busy, busy, busy

I dashed out the door last night to meet the two boys for dinner and movie. One of the boys is moving to NY state at the end of August...and although I'm thrilled for his new adventure, I'm also sad. Clicking from the first time we met, we've been making a concerted effort with finding time to hang out and get to know each other more deeply. He's a wonderful leatherboy, a great player. Sexy. He's also an assistant teacher with the Body Electric School. I'm going to miss him lots.

Getting home late I fell into bed...only to wake about 6 and rush off to work. And, I didn't get home until after 9 tonight. I had another hair appointment with the Bear. We cut it even shorter than last week. A friend met me at the shop and we grabbed some dinner and walked around town before they needed to head to the Eagle to bootblack. Tomorrow, after work, needs to be a stay home night. Rest, rest, rest.

Work is way too intense right now to be out all the time.

I had a great talk with my therapist this morning regarding this whole connection stuff and slavery. He said something very interesting.
He mentioned a progression in development.
Codependence to independence to interdependence. He said my longing for a strong connection these last few years was natural due to the 15 plus years I've spent being strongly independent. He said..."it's time".

So, thoughts are still fresh in my mind and I'm not quite ready to put into words. Maybe in the next few days.

Monday, July 14, 2003 Connection.

Thank you Singletails. I hope you don't mind if I quote from your latest post.
This afternoon Singletails wrote: Maybe that's it in a nutshell. Only connect. The experience of connection with another human being, even with the most mundane of apparatus, is far more powerful than the solipcism (sp?) of fantasy, no matter how wild.

Now I'm wondering if connection is one of the driving forces behind what we do. Or maybe "the" driving force?

My ego is such that I always fall into the pit of thinking there's something wrong with me if connection is involved. Like, maybe I'm too weak to go it alone. Or maybe too needy.

What if it's all about connection..period? What if that's the reason we are put here?
What if no matter where we set our sights, be it a new job, or s/m or painting or....whatever, that down deep our motivation is connection. In that case, what's wrong with connection?

Maybe, in this oh so stubborn head of mine I've been throwing out the baby with the bathwater, or something like that.

I need to let this simmer seeing I'm headed out the door to meet two boys. But I had to get this down first. More later.
Vocation and Slavery

\Vo*ca"tion\, n. [L. vocatio a bidding, invitation, fr. vocare to call, fr. vox, vocis, voice: cf. F. vocation. See Vocal.] 1. A call; a summons; a citation; especially, a designation or appointment to a particular state, business, or profession.

2. Destined or appropriate employment; calling; occupation; trade; business; profession.

3. (Theol.) A calling by the will of God. Specifically: (a) The bestowment of God's distinguishing grace upon a person or nation, by which that person or nation is put in the way of salvation; as, the vocation of the Jews under the old dispensation, and of the Gentiles under the gospel. ``The golden chain of vocation, election, and justification.'' --Jer. Taylor. (b) A call to special religious work, as to the ministry.

Source: Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc

I attended Catholic schools for 13 years: grammar school, high school and one year of college. Although I am a recovering Catholic, it’s become a part of me, my personal history.

The first art contest I won, back in grammar school, was a poster contest about vocations. From the time I was little, I was taught there are 3 vocations: marriage, single life and religious life. As a teenager, I had this recurring irrational fear that God was going to punish me by making me become a nun. I felt like such an alien, a black sheep, and so feared the nunnery would be my destiny. It was a confusing feeling because from what I knew of vocation was that it is a calling. One is drawn to a specific way of life, not handcuffed and dragged to it.

About 2 years ago, that memory returned…the scared teenager who was going to be taken by force and thrown into a convent to lead a life of service. Service. Hmmm. Service.

Smiling to myself I further considered this. I am a service bottom. Am I a slave? I’m still learning about that one. But I wondered if my teenage self intuited my future. And because at the time, in my world, the only vocation that offered service was religious life, that’s where my fear came in. I am so not a nun.

I’ve also since learned more about service. Top or bottom, we are all creatures of service. And there are many ways to serve. We are all connected. I believe each action begins a chain reaction and cosmically affects all. In serving ourselves, we serve others. Mind you, it can be bad service as well as good. In zen, they speak of being mindful. Aligning ourselves with each moment keeps us centered, there in turn, assists to center all.

A Mentor serves the community by taking on a student. Bootblacks are Tops as well as bottoms. Bottoms, be they submissives or slaves or whatever, serve their tops. We read about the sexy service such as licking boots and offering our bodies, our asses, our mouths. How about less popular service? Doing a job well is a service to yourself and others. When your Top needs you to not be around for a bit, that also is service.

Okay, that’s all general service. But aren’t some called to a specific life of service?
I wonder because for the longest time, about 30 years…I’ve felt this hole. It’s a longing for a specific something. As I’ve gotten older, I see that it’s a connection missing. From what I’ve experienced with Sir, I’ve seen the difference between doing a task, even enjoyably, and the difference with doing it in a space where you are part of the other person.

The only way I can really describe it is becoming someone’s arms or their legs. Not that they aren’t capable of doing it themselves, but the wholeness that comes from being that much in sync.

I’ve experienced moments where I felt so in tune, it was as if reading the other’s mind. Sir would begin to say something, and I’d already be there, handing Him what He needs. Or we’d be in a crowd and He’d look over at me, and I knew. I knew from His eyes what He desired. It’s the feeling of two individuals melting into a third, moving as one entity with double the stuff because we are still each unique.

I believe slavery is a vocation. It is something so ingrained there is no escape.
Resistance causes distress. Acceptance is freedom.

But, am I a slave?
Or is this longtime longing actually for something else? Shouldn't I be able to find it within myself? Is it actually dependent upon some type of relationship with another or others? Or is it all of the above?

Sometimes I wonder if this is all a joke. I wonder if it's a fantasy concocted and passed down to increase the likelihood of wet dreams. I wonder if the actual reality of a Master/slave relationship is possible. Not in the sense of we are partners, both into s/m, and seeing I'm the bottom I am then, therefore your slave.

I wonder if a Master/slave relationship can exist as is. I know there are a few out there. But I don't know what their relationship is actually like. Reading about it isn't always helpful. We all put on the face we want the world to see.

Yeah, I'm questioning today.

I'm not very inspired this morning.

Saturday was a long day. I went to Sir's early in the morning and spent the whole day working in the garden. I was focusing on a strip with roses and lilacs. This piece has been sadly neglected, due to lack of time, not desire. The grass around these rosebushes was about a foot high. I needed to approach it with large scissors, grab the grass and just begin hacking. I love being able to clean out an area. I'll touch the plants as I work, letting them know they are cared for. As I clear out the garbage of weeds and unwanted grass, I feel I can actually see the roses begin to breathe again. That's partly why I enjoy weeding. It's a nurturing thing.

Sir had invited a few of His friends for dinner, so I helped out with that as well. I even managed to nap on the floor, curled up with the cat and the dog beside me between the garden and dinner. A good full day.

Yesterday one of the boys called early, and wanted to hang out. So we went into Belltown. We had brunch at Macrina Bakery, a delightful little establishment. Sitting inside, seeing the tall ceiling and large windows, my eyes roamed over the walls and then to the shelves. I scoped a basket of wooden bread boards, not rectangular, but one piece with a handle. They make perfect paddles...solid and a good size. Checking out the rest of the room, I discovered 2 large floor to ceiling concrete beams, instead of what could have been wooden beams. A turn on. A major turn on.

To be in this intimate little establishment, smelling wonderful foods, and simultaneously see the massive, solid concrete claiming it's place was a feast for all my senses. Turning to the boy, I mentioned how all the windows could use deep, blood red velvet curtains, floor to ceiling. In the evening, the curtains would be drawn, tables pushed to the side and it would morph into a very different space.
The place could feed bellies during the day and souls at night.

After eating, we walked for a while and then opted for a matinee. Pirates of the Caribbean-The Curse of the Black Pearl. I wanted fun and light. This was that.

Actually, it's a good movie. For this genre of film, the writing was quite good. There were touches of brilliance in the script. Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow makes this movie. He was immediately one of the most likable characters I've seen in a long while. From the first moment he appeared on the screen, I was enchanted.

This is a totally lighthearted, good fun kind of movie. I couldn't keep my eyes off of Jack Sparrow's wonderfully distressed, brown leather pirate hat. I wanted to hold it in my hands and just run my fingers all over it.
And, I really appreciate that it wasn't a cheesy romance.

Saturday, July 12, 2003

Writing about my dream yesterday reminded me of an ongoing joke that some of my family and I have. Especially one boy.
He and I enjoy going for walks. We prefer neighborhoods, checking out homes.

He's been teasing me for over a year about how when he wins the lottery he will buy me a house. My house.
So during our walks...he'll point to one and say "that's your house."

My response is, "can I walk around naked?".

I can't imagine spending the money on a home unless I could stand next to the windows naked and be in my garden naked. Absolute privacy. I don't want to have to worry about neighbors. And Stepford communities don't turn me on.

Also, the other non-negotiable is noise factor. My noise. I need to be in a place where I can make all the noise I want and not bother neighbors or have them call the police.

Yes, it's happened a few times. Some from s/m play and also from basic sex. Cops show up at my door. After the s/m scene, not only did a cop show up, but I noticed 3 cruisers in my driveway. "No officer, I haven't heard any screams this evening", as I'm standing there clutching my bathrobe closed.

Nope. It won't do. Just won't do.

Friday, July 11, 2003

"Am I fucked up for not desiring traditional, romantic love relationships?"

That's the question I asked my therapist the other day. I was asked half kidding and half serious. My views on relationships have drastically changed over the last 3 years. Before Training. And yes, BT is a definite line of demarcation in my life. Think of the Mason-Dixon line.

Huh. That's funny. The Mason-Dixon line separated free states from slave states. I'd have to say my BT was a state of slavery. With training...increasing awareness of myself, my potential, and the ongoing discovery into slavery, I am making my way into freedom.

Before training, when I was a shiny new leather kid, I ached to have a Top. I wanted this person to be my Top, my lover my all. Yes, the knight in shining armor story. A tough dominant, with me kneeling at their feet, hands chained...and making a life together. A collar and a wedding band.

Within six months of training, a quiet shift happened. One day, out of the blue, I realized I didn't want my Top and lover to be the same person. A d/s or M/s relationship is a very different dynamic than a lover/partner relationship, with different parameters and needs. So I wanted 2 people. One for each. I personally felt that by having two, the sanctity of each relationship would not be contaminated. I didn't want to live with having to continually flip the switch between "are we in d/s role or partner mode?" I was seeing that my Leather wasn't a role. It was no longer something I could put on or take off. It was who I was.

About one year ago, I woke up, startled, because I knew I no longer desired the traditional lover/partner. Talk about a fucking major paradigm shift. I could envision myself having a Master. And I wanted lots of other available Tops and boys to play with, cry with and open my heart with. But I had and still do not have any desire for a marriage type primary partner.

I discovered, that for myself, other sources of intimacy were more powerful and connected than regular love relationships.

Thinking back on it, I am more emotionally intimate now, with about 5 or 6, than I ever was with past girlfriends or boyfriends. Yes, we were in love and had great relationships. But something always felt as if it was missing.
I wanted more. Always wanted more.

Deep intimacy was missing. Sexual diversity was missing. Creativity was missing. I felt boxed in, bored and smothered.

In this society, we see intimacy and sex tied together to create the "ultimate" relationship. I believe that although it can happen, it seems that setting manifests in huge unrealistic expectations.

My desires for the future

I crave my own household.
I envision a house with a Master and at least one other Top (could be switch...actually, that would make more sense, less chaos). There needs to be a minimum of 5 people. You see, in my world, a house of two smacks too much of convention. With three, one will always feel left out. Four creates two couples. So there needs to be at least 5 people.
See? I've given this lots of thought.

Also, I come from a large family. One of my greatest joys is having many around the table every evening, sharing food. I deeply miss that. I love having loads of other energies and personalities to bounce off of. It's one of my hungers.

I currently have a family...but it's still in transition. Being a former student of Sir's....I will always be a part of His family. Slowly, my connections are building. I see my current intimate circle as the first step in my new life. And one day, I will have my own family. It's called moving on.

This family needs to be artistic in some fashion. Out of the box thinkers, powerful personalities, minds that are always creatively focused...working on their painting or writing or photography or music, etc. Ideally, at this time in my life, I envision lots of beautiful boys. The boys and me.
There will be a large studio space for us to work on our stuff. There will be a dungeon. There will also be place for us to retreat to...because we need to rejuice with alone time. There will be gardens. The earth heals the soul.

There will be a very large hedge or wall around this property. People driving past will have no idea what goes on inside. Europeans have the right idea. Their homes and properties have gardens that are hidden from view. Private. We don't do that in the U.S.

There will be invitations...comings and goings...guests who desire to take vacations to spend time.
This space will be a pocket of radical thinking, refusing to live within the confines of what society or even mainstream Leather considers normal. We will provide solace and comfort for the tired and the isolated persons who can't take one more day of conventional living. Rejuvenation.

It will be a secluded place. No workshops, no conferences. We will rekindle the days of one on one mentoring. Word of mouth. Underground. Hmmm...I just flashed to the underground railroad. Yeah, it would be something like that.
Created by those who are not afraid to live provocative lives and have dangerous sex.

That is my vision.
Just wanted to say hi before I head to bed. I'm bushed...having worked over 36 hours in 3 days. It's called catching up from a 2 week vacation. See why I don't normally take vacations?

I received an email from a really good friend today, regarding the librarian action figure from my earlier post.
He said "I have to buy one to keep my Billy dolls in line."

It's perfect.

And on that note...


Thursday, July 10, 2003

This totally tickles my toes! Only in Seattle.... :-)

In this morning's paper- New action figure doll is a librarian!!!

A few quotes from the article:

"Granted, librarians aren't known for Terminator-style stunts. Rarely do they need to be faster than a speeding bullet or leap tall buildings in a single bound...

Pearl herself comes across as modest and unassuming, but she's an unabashed booster of her profession: "The role of a librarian is to make sense of the world of information. If that's not a qualification for superhero-dom, what is?"

Seattle City Librarian Deborah Jacobs, Pearl's boss, said anyone who doesn't view a librarian as a potent force doesn't understand the job. "Ideas are more powerful than bombs," she said. "Information is the way to take over the world."

Pearl, 58, enjoyed sitting with a group of creative twentysomethings who batted around ideas about what the action figure might do, or carry, and what attributes — such as likes and dislikes — would be detailed on the package.

How about a cardigan sweater draped over the shoulders? Or glasses on a chain? Those were considered and rejected, Pearl said.

To Pearl's delight, the figure will be holding a (removable) copy of her new book, "Book Lust: Recommended Reading for Every Mood, Moment and Reason." The book, Pearl's third, is being published by Seattle's Sasquatch Books and is due out in September.

No action figure can exist without action; Pahlow said talk boiled down to two options: Put the figure's hair in a bun that could pop off, or have her right arm rise to put a finger in front of her lips in a silent shushing gesture.

"The ejectable hair bun had many technical hurdles to overcome and we thought doing two clich├ęs was over the top," he said. "So, we went with the shushing action. It gives the figure a certain dignity."

Cool, eh? Now go read a book!

Wednesday, July 09, 2003

Notice...I'm procrastinating this morning? more and then I NEED to get to work.

My homepage site on my work computer is Arts and Letters Daily. It's a journal, put out by the Chronicle of Higher Education. Updated daily, it's chock filled with articles, essays and reviews on everything from the arts to sciences to gossip. Love the site. This caught my eye this morning. Anyone interested in writing a textbook?
What's in that tea, Singletails? Pretty damned creative for the morning! And nope, I don't feel you are betraying confidences. Ease that sadistically imaginative mind and focus it on what you do best.

You see, I sent Singletails an email early this morning. He responded pretty quickly with this beautiful piece of writing that grabbed my belly and wouldn't let go. One day I expect to see and feel that bite of yours. And yes, as twins, I know you can effectively torture me psychically as well as physically. I'm going to tell Daddy on you. ;-)
Gay Man, Citing Supreme Court Ruling, Fights '97 Army Discharge

I'm going to keep an eye on this. With the sodomy ruling a few weeks back, I wondered how the dominos would fall.
Have you ever had the feeling that something was just out of your grasp? My internal struggles, definitely spiritual, are beginning to nag me. Yes, they've bothered me and I've angsted over it. But what is really nagging me is the fact that I feel I'm not "getting" something. It seems the solution is hovering around me, like that damned fly that wakes you in the morning when you are out camping. It's a continual buzzing around your ears. Still mostly asleep your hand reaches out to keep shooing it away, but the fly redefines stubbornness.

Walking into work this morning, I know the answer is right in front of my face. And, I'm sure it has something to do with simply letting go. Breathing. Harumph. It's always about breathing, isn't it?

A couple days ago, I was sitting on the steps with Sir, at His house. He was speaking about something, and unintentionally, it touched a hurt inside me. I immediately became silent, and felt a wall go up. After a few minutes, Sir, still sitting next to me, simply says, "breathe". I realized I hadn't been. He then put His arms around me...and tears fell. Large, silent drops.


I wonder how often we really shield ourselves from our pain. I know that some of it is circumstantial, in the moment stuff. Other hurts come from long ago. And I believe even other hurts come from before birth. We carry the pain of our parents and of their parents. It's a small thorn that is lodged inside our hearts. We are all wounded animals. And by not breathing, we attempt to protect ourselves from all this.

Don't we try to do the same in our s/m? We hope for the endorphins to escape from the pain. Or we can allow ourselves to remain present, feel it, and then in acceptance of the pain, transcend it. this all bullshit?

Anyway, I'm going off on tangents. Back to my original thought. I think I'm on the verge of figuring how to let go and access this elusive whatever. Once again, I wonder if it's about patience. Sometimes, I think my analytical side is detrimental to the intuitive me. I can toss things around and exercise energy attempting to figure out, do it correctly, be objective. My other option is to...breathe. Breathe and feel it.
Three attempts. I’ve tried three different times to write and somehow can’t seem to do it. I’m dealing with something very large. What you see in this blog are snippets. Or better yet…you see the periodic steam come out of the pressure cooker. But I haven’t taken the top off, and so you really can’t see what it’s like under the cover.

How do I write about what is bothering me without giving specific details? How do I keep it general enough and yet not have a page filled with empty words?

I’ve been thinking about transitioning. It’s not a new thought. I’ve thought about it on and off for the last few years. I don’t see it as a great solution, but a solution nonetheless. I know I will still be who I am after hormones. I know we all carry our personal suffering no matter what choices we make in life.

I’m proud of who I am. I enjoy being a fighter and someone who stands strongly for what they believe in. I relish bucking and challenging the system…whatever that is. I don’t do it mindlessly or simply as a game. But if I believe in something strong enough, I do question and attempt to create my own niche.

Sometimes, though, it gets difficult. Sometimes, I feel I don’t have the energy to continue standing alone in the face of what appears to be the rest of the world. Sometimes, I want to lay down and give in to what is. That’s when thoughts of transitioning come back to me. For myself, (note I didn’t say for everyone), but for myself, I do believe that transition would be the coward’s way. I feel I’d be selling out on myself. But when I’m feeling pretty bruised, I do think about it.

Our world insists, no…it demands that we are one gender or the other. Of course, what takes precedence is how we are born. And then, it challenges us to pick our sexuality as well. And yes, it approves of some orientations over others. Everything is boxed in. Tidy, little labels. It’s comfortable that way, isn’t it?
So when we have the ability to make a choice, create change, sometimes that choice is simply the lesser of two evils, and not really the ideal for an individual.

On a good day, there is something absolutely glorious in standing on a mountain in shades of gray. Have you ever seen how much color there can be in grays? It's an exhilaration I don't experience in anything else. aren't a Muggles, or better yet, knowing, as Hannah Blank would say, knowing you are a question mark, for the rest of the world. There's power in creating paradigm shifts all over the place.

But today's not a good day.

On my way home from work, I was thinking about bisexual men, and the article that I previously posted the link to. The first time I ever stepped into the Eagle was enlightening. I had some great play, and a bunch of it. Many blow jobs, boot play, some whipping and hot kisses. But I remember after sucking one guy's dick, some boy came up to him, and was upset that this guy let a girl suck the same dick that the boy wanted to. That kind of ignorance pisses me off. And yet right after that, the owner of the Eagle went up to Sir and told Him that I was welcomed anytime. Bless you.

One time, a few years back, Sir and I played at a large party. Afterwards, a few boys came up to Him because they were upset He had played with me. Sir relayed the experience to me and essentially said He told them that He’s not into playing with boys with such attitudes.

It is those very attitudes that keep bisexual men quiet. And, it’s the same in the lesbian community. I’ve experienced it and seen others attacked as well. Now interestingly, in the straight kinky community that I’m somewhat familiar with, it appears to be cool to be bisexual. It is a different energy than queer energy, but they seem to be enjoying a freedom in exploration. They are having a good time. And I am all for everyone having happy, healthy play lives. It’s important.

What confuses me is how threatened people are by something different...threatened enough to have to attack. How about reveling in the fact that folks are getting off? What’s the problem with relishing that people can be sexy and not have shame around it?

If our world were filled with people living without shame…imagine…wow! I believe much of our fears, prejudices, and judgements come from our own personal shame.

Tuesday, July 08, 2003

Singletails wrote a while back that maybe he and I were cosmic twins.
I just read his new entry for today.

I concur.

Where are all the bi boys, the boys who would rate themselves about a 4 or 5 on the Kinsey scale? The bi boys who actually are into getting emotionally involved with men…and the occasional female.

The Invisible Men

Why is it that when someone wants me at a party, they feel the need to include other women? What’s up with that? Why can’t you have a non or mixed gender party with one girl? I tend to find it insulting. It means that I'm not being seen for who I am, yet instead for what I am on the outside. Egads. Do you also make sure to have your quota of brunettes, blondes and left handed people at mixed parties also?

Why can’t there be guy only events, and mixed gender events, and the guys and me events? Isn’t there room for all? Isn’t there room for me?

I’ve been to a few parties with all guys and me. And I’ve been to a few that were mixed gender. Personally….I prefer the all guys and me parties. They are somewhat more sexual. At the mixed parties, the guys were told to at least have jocks on. Geesh.
It’s all about seeing beautiful dick, isn’t it?
Why is this society so phalliphobic? (is that a word?)

At the mixed parties, I’d hang out in the dungeon with the guys where the smell of sex was a thick stench. I would bask in it. I was home.

What happens to the occasional female that’s been told all their life they are too sexual? I remember in my vanilla days, so many times my long ago female friends would be shocked because I could fuck without dating. There were times I wouldn’t even allow some into the bedroom. And I’d kick them out after we were through. They could not spend the night. That was intentional. I had to set clear, hard boundaries. My friends thought I was cold and calloused.
Sometimes, sex is sex. It’s like eating and sleeping. We need it. I don’t understand why there needs to be so much wrapped up into it.

It’s a matter of smelling sex and going for it.

What happens when one is a female on the outside, yet their sexual orientation is gay male?

This chick is into sucking. Getting my ass fucked and fisted. Getting beat and pissed on. Slapped and punched. Whipped and caned. Caged and bound.
That’s what my sex is about.
It’s about boots. It’s about service. It’s about raunch.

I’ve become so much more than what traditional ideas of sex are. Yes, I can and will do it. I have the occasional play partner and we tend to have traditional sex. But there’s currently a big gap in my life.

Where can this female find lots and lots of sex and play partners?
I have no desire to do breakfast in the morning. I have no desire to be taken out to dinner. I have absolutely no desire for a traditional relationship. I’m not into Valentine’s Day, and Hallmark cards.

Where are the places I can go to meet these guys?

What’s annoying is, I get the straight guys who’ll come up to me. And they don’t get it. It’s about being queer. I’m queer. There is an energy that comes with being marginalized and that’s an integral part of the turn on. The other turn on is brilliance and sensitivity. Creativity.

Am I asking for too much?

Can you tell that my hunger to play has fiercely returned?

Sunday, July 06, 2003

Wow. Where did the time go? I can’t believe it’s Sunday already. The last time I blogged was Thursday. Trust me…I was filled with good intentions about writing each of these last few days. I even have a big blog begun…and saved in a word document. I’m attempting to write my views on erotic art in less than 500 words. Did I mention I was a masochist?

By the way…. here’s a warning. I’m writing after having had two margueritas, with dinner, which was my first meal since last night. Yes, I’m a tad buzzed. Who knows where this ramble will go. Sir, and BT (bondage top) and I went out for food. BT came by to spend some time with Sir. I saw him on Friday, and we talked about playing again. Interestingly, it seems we connect, play wise, once a year…each August. And, it looks as if we’ll be running true to form. August it is.

I don’t think much has happened the last few days. Yes, I rested. I did some weeding as well. But I’ve been taking things real slow this week. Very little of anything. The biggest exertion was the trip to Port Townsend. Apparently, it was what my body needed.

Oh yeah, I chopped off my hair yesterday - almost 12 inches worth. I needed short again. But, it’s not what I’d call a dykie-doo. I went to the fabulous Leather Bear who tends to my hair…sat in his chair and totally topped. I said, “I need this gone…and gone now. I don’t want to have to mess with it. I need to be able to get up in the morning and leave the house without touching my hair. I do not want femme, or butch. Nothing froufrou. No products, no blow dryers, no fuss.” See how I am? A totally high maintenance request from a low maintenance person. The last thing I want to do is spend time in the mornings messing with me. I am who I am.

The Bear so got it. He needed to visualize, and he listened to my hair and scalp. He followed his intuition. I got into it. I enjoy sitting in his chair, expressing my needs and/or wants, and then trusting him. Total scene, isn’t it? And by the way…I love it. No hassles. It’s a tad messy looking, which is perfect for me. It’s freeing…and great.

What is fascinating to me about long hair is how others get attached to it. It isn’t even a part of the person anymore, but becomes a separate entity. My hair used to go down to the middle of my back. I needed to chop it off in spurts, not for me…but for everyone else! I had to gently get them used to the different lengths. When I would speak of cutting it, the uproar would crack me up. You’d think we were cutting off their hair.

Granted, if I were owned, and my Master had specific desires regarding my hair, that would be a different story. But, I’m not owned and therefore not property. My hair is my own, not my Master’s.

I’m not headed back to work until Tuesday. I’ve decided I will continue to take Mondays off, and work four 10’s. If I don’t, I’ll be working five 10’s plus.
Self care, yanno?

Thursday, July 03, 2003

I left for Port Townsend about 8 a.m. yesterday, and didn’t return until about 1 a.m. this morning. Long, good day. The weather was perfect. Sunny, not too hot. We walked around, ate good food, had intense conversations and napped on the beach. I sketched pages of children playing. Their movements shifted about every 3 seconds and therefore are great for loose drawings. How little of the figure can I lay down and retain a sense of movement and stress?

We then went to dinner and afterwards took in a film at the Rose Theater. This enchanting little theater opened in 1907. Love that. We saw the 7 pm show of L'auberge Espagnole. Wonderful, delightful film. After the movie we had an hour drive back to the ferry terminal and napped in the car another hour while waiting for the boat to show up. How much can I pack in a day? Quite a bit at times. I immerse myself so deeply in what's around me - many things at the same time.
It's ADD living.

Is it any wonder why I love being caged? The whole world stops when I’m caged. Or, more accurately, the cage becomes my whole world. All I feel is my body, the sound of my breathing, the hard steel, and the knowledge that, if so inclined, the Top may never release me.

The longest time I’ve ever spent in the cage has been 24 hours. A couple years ago, anytime I asked for cage time, I would generally be left in for about that time. Once Sir locked me in, I really had no idea when He’d let me out. It would happen about once a month.
There is no sense of time in the cage. I couldn't track it by meals.
Day and night becomes irrelevant. Time no longer matters.

A little food, water, an itchy wool blanket, and a urinal.
What more does a girl need?

Sometimes the big black dog would wander down to the dungeon, and stand beside my cage, poking his nose between the bars. I was his captive audience. He had me where he wanted me. What else could I do but give him attention and affection?
In those moments, he knew who was alpha dog.
That’s a big part of the appeal. Animal.

It is good.

We are animals. I believe that we do not touch that part of ourselves enough. We must be in control, we need to act appropriately, yadda, yadda, yadda. I wholeheartedly agree.
BUT, that’s where the cage is perfect. It is an appropriate place for animal.
And animal needs its time for release.

I would like to experience 3 days in the cage. And then, one week. Slowly increasing the time. I'd like to play with the edges of insanity and reality. I often wonder how long I could immerse myself in animal and retain it. I wonder if I would come to a place where I no longer remember human. I wonder what that edge feels like.

I can’t even attempt to explain what being caged does to me. I’ve tried to write about it and continually fail. Sometimes, things hit my belly so deeply that words aren’t accessible or necessary. And even if I attempted to describe it, your experience via my words, will be…well...your experience, not mine.

Wednesday, July 02, 2003

What a month!

First, gay marriage in Cananda. Then the sodomy ruling. And now, Walmart adds policy to protect gay workers.

I'm off to catch a ferry to spend the day playing tourist in Port Townsend.

I'll write more later!

Tuesday, July 01, 2003

Just received this week's issue of the Village Voice in my inbox.
Check out this article regarding last week's sodomy ruling.
Before I was introduced to this lifestyle, it was never in my realm of vision. I didn't fantasize about it or read about it. I listen to others say how they loved to play power games when they were little. That wasn't my experience.

But a month ago, a memory came back to me. I was about 4 years old. The downstairs neighbors had a teenage son. He was like our big brother, for my sibs and I. One of my favorite things was getting stuck in the garbage cans (without garbage). When the can was empty, I'd beg him to put me in, put the cover on and not let me out. It was my favorite game.

Guess my love of bondage came early.
I'm curled up on my couch. My deck door is open. The air is fresh and cool. And even better....I am catching the strong smell of salt air...ocean air. I tend to smell it in downtown Seattle, near the water. But my apartment is not near the Sound at all. This is the first time in this apartment that I smell it. It's one of my favorite smells. I love the ocean. And it brings back so many amazing memories. That's my treat tonight.

Want to see some art? Sure you do.
I stumbled upon this painting a few weeks back. I'm not familiar with the artist. I fell in love with this piece. I don't want to own most of the art I see. But I really want this one. I'm captivated.

Look at the light. The quality of the light is ethereal. There is an energy that's poignant, and absolutely lovely.

I find myself at a loss for words when I see art that moves me. So take a peek for yourselves. The artist is Marc Bohne. The painting is: Daniel