Sunday, August 31, 2003

I don't have a whole lot to say. But wanted to pop in for a bit and say hi. I spent yesterday assisting Sir. We made a huge vat of applesauce with the apples from His tree. He combined apples and rhubarb from the garden. It's quite good. The sauce is nice and mushy, and on Monday we'll finish the process by running it through the food mill. Sir is totally into cooking. Over the last few years, He's been teaching me little things, here and there.

Before I returned to school in the mid 90's, I used to cook all the time. But then school and work. After I graduated, I was working all the time. The last thing I wanted to do was think about cutting foods and cooking. And there's been a shift. I used to love to make fabulous meals for myself. Now, it's not so much fun. It hasn't been for about 3 years. So I don't bother. There's something about having others to cook for that delights me.

In a couple hours I'm leaving to assist with a catering job. It's going to be a full day affair. I woke at 5 am, so sick. My asthma kicked in and my sinuses were screaming. It's eased since, but it will make for an interesting day. I'm going to load myself up with drugs to ease the symptoms. Hopefully that helps.

Friday, August 29, 2003

Labor day weekend in Seattle is Bumbershoot, a large arts and music festival. For the curious, here is the history of the event. I attended a couple years back, and saw some great jazz and blues. Then at the end of the day caught part of an Ani DiFranco concert. It's a good time.
Although I have a love/hate relationship with The Stranger, here is their take on the weekend.

I can't make it this year. But I would like to see and hear the strung up Space Needle. I'm quite curious about the sound and so may pop in to check out the world's largest musical instrument.

The weekend will mostly be spent with service for Sir and a catering job on Sunday. It'll be good, spending time with those I love. And nice having 4 days off from work. Hopefully I'll have the opportunity to purge many thoughts that have been taking up headspace.

Thursday, August 28, 2003

Tuesday night I happened to catch P.O.V. - Family Fundamentals on PBS. If you have a chance to see it...please do. Homophobia takes so many different forms. I find it easier to deal with blatant hatred. What do you do when it's your family, and they still tell you they love you although can't condone your life? What do you do when they keep silent about your partners? What do you do when your nephews and nieces ask their parents why you aren't married and your sibs simply skirt the topic? What do you do when your parents say "I love you" in one breath followed by "and we are praying for you to find your peace"? What do you do when you actually feel their love and yet they can't deal with your lifestyle? It's not acceptance of you. You can feel their awkwardness around who you are. It saddens them as well. They really can't seem to deal with it due to years and years of traditional religious upbringing. That's strong stuff.

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

I promised to show you more art. Here you go!
Art and more art.
Click on each image to enlarge them.

I find these to be sexy, stable and vital. There is a classical presence to the work. Especially in the first link. If I had the money....I'd purchase a few.
The artist is Jennifer Moses. She's based out of Boston and is on faculty at University of NH. She was one of my profs during my years there.

(EDITED 1/23/06 ~ I noticed the art links were bad and so I am giving you two new links. It is for other work. From portfolio and this one is from portfolio archive.)

The professors at UNH are phenomenal. Tough stuff. And after attending 4 different schools, I realized that the BFA program at UNH is a well-kept secret. It is quite challenging. Or at that time it was. My profs pushed me so hard. Thesis year required us to present our work to the the same time. Ugh. I began to dread those days. It came to a point where I would literally wear my leather biker jacket into the presentation. I needed the second skin...until I could build my own, that is. I appreciated the hard pushes and the rigors of the program. A big part of me misses it.

The other schools I attended didn't push students enough. Also I felt there was a lack of basic structure. You've got to learn to crawl before you can fly. Step by step. Yet other schools were about making you feel good and pushing your creativity without any stress on basics. Everyone wanted to go off and be a DeKooning without being taught how to really draw. I know that works for some. But, I'm about learning from the beginning. There's something about having a strong foundation no matter what the passion is.

I listen to WMVY on my computer, while at work. It's Martha's Vineyard radio. The dj just mentioned something about being thrilled for the 10 straight days of sun.
Yesterday Seattle broke a sunny, warm weather record. 50 consecutive days.

Last night, while driving home, I found myself in a thick traffic jam. Apparently, there was a large brush fire on the other side of the interstate. This morning, driving past, I noticed the large, black, charred area. Although most fires are needless, sometimes the earth craves rejuvenation. And what better than fire? It’s how we grow as well. Our souls need sporadic searing.

I’ve been struggling with something for the last couple days. I don’t normally shy away from anger if I feel angry. But, I’ve been on the edge of major anger and I haven’t given in to it because of a fear I’ll be controlled by the anger. It’s one thing to see it, feel it and then watch it dissipate. It’s another to immerse myself and then get stuck in it. I don’t want to be one of those angry people who live life tainting everything with their bitter, cynical self.

What sparked this you ask?

A comment. One crummy comment. I mentioned to someone I care about that I had the opportunity to play again. They made some statement about the boy’s internalized homophobia and that’s why he was playing with me. Sigh. Insulting? Quite.
My being female had absolutely nothing to do with AE’s choice to play with me.
And…I am not out to singlehandedly dismantle the gay men’s community.

Statements like that knock the wind out of me. And I can’t allow them to.
When I hear them I need to remember that those words are a reflection of that person themselves, and really have nothing to do with me. But, it is my Achilles heel.

I’m not standing on any solid ground. I haven’t been for a few years now. I’ve jumped off a cliff and am flying. When I reach momentum I can glide for a while. Things go fine when I keep my head up. But out of the blue this cold wind hits me and I look down and begin to fall. Panic sets in. Doubts come into my head. A voice enters my head barking, “who the hell do you think you are?” or “you are fooling yourself. Make yourself fit into what is there.”

That’s when I begin to feel the anger. Actually, as I'm writing, I've just figured out that it’s not the anger I’d get stuck in. It’s the isolation and victim feeling combined with the anger that cements the feeling of rage. Anger alone won’t control me.

For a bit I saw myself plummeting to the earth. Yet recognizing this, I’ve been intent on keeping my head up and flapping my wings a little harder, attempting to regain the altitude I lost.

I think I'll make it.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

Last night I was half awake and half asleep while laying on the couch watching the news. I thought I heard something about a body order ban. This morning, when it came to mind, I wondered if I had actually been dreaming.

Nope. It's true. And this truly annoys me. Body order, be it sweat or perfume should be handled in a one on one fashion. A city ordinance???? Puleeeeeze!!!!

And what about the subjectivity of this issue? Who ultimately decides? I think this is quite ridiculous.

It's a good thing I'm not the deciding factor. I detest perfumes and colognes of any kind. Give me natural smells.

Seattle Post-Intelligencer: AP: "Tuesday, August 26, 2003 · Last updated 7:10 a.m. PT

Smelly employee fuels hygiene policy

MURFREESBORO, Tenn. -- City officials say one smelly employee is responsible for a new policy that requires all city employees to smell nice when reporting for work.
The Murfreesboro City Council adopted the good hygiene policy Thursday:
'No employee shall have an odor generally offensive to others when reporting to work. An offensive body odor may result from a lack of good hygiene, from an excessive application of a fragrant aftershave or cologne or from other cause.'
City attorney Susan McGannon said the problem had never come up in the 11 years she has worked for the city. But one employee, who was not named, has a problem with hygiene despite repeated counseling.
'They were stymied,' McGannon said. 'This (amendment) further details the city's authority.'
The definition of body odor was left intentionally vague. City Councilman Toby Gilley said the standard would be the same one a U.S. Supreme Court justice used to identify pornography.
'We'll know it when we see it,' Gilley said. 'We'll know it when we smell it.'
Murfreesboro is about 30 miles southeast of Nashville."

This morning was a sweet ride into work. Traffic was...well, it was there. But I could keep my mind off the traffic by looking at the landscape. The sky was almost hazy but not quite. There were so many different shades of blue and green, with subtle pinks thrown in for flavor. That's what I noticed as I came over the hill and saw the Seattle skyline. And then I turned my head to the west and saw the mountains. Blue gray mountains intermingled with blue gray clouds. At times I couldn't differentiate between solid rock and air. I was utterly captivated. There was a complexity to the atmosphere. The northwest does a smashing job with off beat weather conditions. It's some of the most beautiful I've ever seen. The city and area shines when clouds roll in. Blue, sunny skies, although pleasant, becomes a bore, especially when it's overstayed its welcome (so says me.)

Monday, August 25, 2003

Gee...I haven't shown you any art in over a month. Mea culpa! I'll need to rectify that in the next few days.

So, how was your weekend? Mine wasn't bad. I kept it more low key, although that was also in part to a lack of physical energy. Sometimes, I feel like such a woose, not having loads of energy. I need to remind myself that I cram 44 to 48 hours in 4 days at work. And then I help Sir a couple days a week and my day off is spent with a full day catering job or attempting to keep up on my own home.

NW LeatherSir/leather boy contest was this weekend. I planned to attend the contest...although I'm pretty conflicted about contests in general. Actually, I have pretty strong opinions about it. But it's the scent of a room full of sweat and leather that draws me to the space. I rarely watch the contests. Instead, will have my own fun on the sidelines with a few of the guys. Last year, we were told to keep quiet. Apparently, we were having more fun than the fantasy segment that was going on. I was being attacked by the tattoed Bear and a few others. And this Bear knows my secret about how I can cum with all my clothes on and no genital contact. He enjoys teasing me with it. Although, now that I think about it, after my cumming he had grabbed his big thick hand and rammed it down my pants to play with my cunt. He then pulled out and made a show of smelling and licking his fingers in front of the other men. He’s a pig and it’s part of why I enjoy him. Tattoed Bear knows who he is and doesn't need to prove himself to anyone. That's a big part of his appeal. He is who he is. He also gets off on shocking the other guys around. So we make a fun team when we see each other out and about.

After helping Sir on Saturday, I went home to nap. Unfortunately, I didn't get up in time to make the contest. Sir and I spent the day loading and hauling a van load of stuff to a thrift shop set that donates its proceeds for AIDS programs. And then we went out for sushi.

Yesterday Always Erect and I had tentatively planned to play again. He wanted more of my fist. Although I was very much looking forward to a replay I wasn't holding my breath because I knew he's leaving on Tuesday, moving to the east coast.
We spoke yesterday morning, and the poor boy was incredibly stressed. He still had lots of packing and cleaning to do before leaving. There was no way he'd be relaxed enough to open his ass. I was glad that he was honest enough to let me know. One of the things I hate the most, in a friend, is when they aren't true to what they need in the moment and therefore hold back out of fear of disappointing another.

I still needed to hook up with AE because he was giving me his shelving unit for my studio. So later in the afternoon, wonderboy and I drove over and loaded it in the van. We were going to grab dinner afterwards. AE was tired and anxious. I knew he hadn't eaten all day, so we asked if he'd like to take a couple hours off from work and come with us. He opted for Alki Beach and the three of us had a great time. Liquor and chowder, yeah….!

Watching AE's move brings back so many memories of 5 years ago. Deciding what to sell and give away, and mindfully choosing what comes with you to your new home, (due to space), is an intense life change. It’s exciting and stressful at the same time.

I wanted to give AE a journal. When we were camping, he had grabbed my sketch book, and would write and write. While running errands with Sir on Saturday, we popped into one of my favorite bookstores where I purchase journal books. I found a really cool one. It was something I’d never seen before. The book is bound with 3 large metal rings. The very first page in each of these is a random page picked from an old first aid manual, with 1950’s illustrations. Bizarre and fun. The cover…was the icing. It is rubber. Thick, black wonderful rubber with big metal snaps. It’s a sexy journal and perfect for this leatherboy.

In addition to the book, I had a little something else for him. After our scene last week, I intentionally wore my red hanky every single day, letting it fill up with me. Last night I gave it to AE so he could take it with him. The surprised look on his face was awesome. His eyes replayed our scene. We kissed and held each other a while. I’m going to miss that boy.

Friday, August 22, 2003

Enter a piece of writing on this site and it will attempt to figure out the gender of the author. Here is an article on the algorithm used.

Note: that doesn't translate to whether or not I think it's good or accurate. I am fascinated by the fact that someone could come up with key words generally used by males or females and develop a program based on that. I haven't done any research to determine for myself whether there's any validity to this or not.
I went out to dinner with Sir and the household last night. We hit Duke’s on Alki Beach. Sitting on the roof deck about 8 pm, we felt hugged by the Sound. Ferries quietly slipped toward Bainbridge and Bremerton as the sun set behind the Olympic Mountains. Shades of vermillion sliced through indigos and teals. Perfect.

Sir and I had a few chances to talk without the boys. As I was relaying my scene with Him, something dawned on me. Lightbulb moment. “Sir, everything You taught me in the last 3 years was with me in those few sweet hours.” Somehow, fisting AE felt like a graduation of sorts. Sir reinforced many times that self-awareness and working on our own stuff was the most important part of Leather training. He kept reassuring me that everything else would come with time. Learning about myself, acknowledging my weaknesses and reveling in my strengths would heighten my intuition. And holding my intuition close, trusting myself, would create a power player. Sir told me time and time again that He could teach me how to bind someone, be whipped, service boots or accept piss and yet it wouldn’t make me an exceptional player. All the technique in the world is well…. just technique. Granted, there are things that need to be learned to play. I sure as hell wouldn’t allow someone to singletail me unless I was confident they knew what they were doing.

There needs to be a balance between the two…as in all of life. Balance.

Sir had given me a few critical pointers on fisting. During the scene, the Bear was there to point out one thing or another…if required. And yes, I did research on my own as well regarding anatomy. I needed to see and know what I’d be exploring.

But when I sat on the stool in between AE’s legs, I knew I was diving right in. Something cool happened. There was a little bit of healthy fear, which is good. Taking a breath I began touching him. My spirit, continually tossing aside the question of whether or not I’m doing it right, directed each move. I trusted myself. While keeping the electrical connection to AE, my inner self directed my hands and my body. My eyes remained on AE, his eyes, his breathing, his ass, and his heart. And my hands…just knew. Somehow they knew the path.
Today is National Slacker Day 2003!

"Stand up for your right to sit back down again."

Thursday, August 21, 2003

I have noticed a pattern. I prefer blog writing in the mornings. If I'm running late, it's difficult to find time later, although it may happen. The mornings are when I have the coolest thoughts or the oomph to really take the time to write, regardless of whether or not I'm fully coherent or awake. It's the morning person part of me.

When I was working on my thesis, I would attempt to stay in the studio late to paint. But I would slow down about 4 pm. As hard as I tried, 8 pm was the latest I'd stay to paint. I'd be the only crazy student in the studios at 6 am in the morning. It was nice and quiet then.

It's strange. Many creative folks appear to be night owls. All the artists and writers I know seem to do their best work when the moon comes up. For me, I've had a full day of extra stuff in my head squeezing out other ideas and it saps my strength. The moon calls me to unwind and relax. I believe that night owls are those who need the fullness of the day to juice them into a creative task. Whereas morning folk need to creatively dump the night's remains before their head fills up again.

Wednesday, August 20, 2003

Yesterday's good day ran into today, in spite of gruesome work stress.

I still feel open and clear. What is it about play that does that? Release? It's an oddity for me because normally, my release comes from bottoming not topping. But I'm not going to question it too much, and instead, accept the bounties of the universe.

I had a therapy appointment yesterday morning. Can I say how great it is to relay a fisting scene to your therapist and have him understand because he actually knows the experience? He's so cool. It's continually refreshing to not see the typical sympathetic nod learned in some psych class, and instead, receive an actual empathic response. It was good to have a confidential place to open up and share the experience. As I was speaking, my voice was breaking and tears would flow, remembering mystical moments. Hopefully I'll have a chance to see Sir tomorrow. I've had a couple very full days with many appointments, so there wasn't time to get together with Him. But I did dash off an email letting Him know the scene went well and all parties were happy.

I also called Always Erect to check in and connect with him. I wanted to see how he was doing. AE was quite chipper when he answered the phone. He said he was great with a slightly sore butt. If schedules work out, we are planning to do it again on Sunday. Yeah!!!!!

Have I told you about Much Loved boy's fuschia? I know this appears to be a non sequitur but it really isn't. Be patient. :-)
Much Loved passed away a few years ago. There are two people I've heard stories about that I ache to meet and I can't. They are both dead, and both died much too young. Much Loved is one of them. The other was a bootblack with a big love of bondage. I was specifically told about the bootblack because Sir saw a strong similiarity in how we both are with boots and bondage. Just from hearing about these boys I know we would have strongly connected. I grieve for these two boys, especially Much Loved. He enjoyed life, including plants, art, sex and s/m. Apparently, he was quite the pig bottom.

Back in March I was given a fuschia plant. It was the last remaining fuschia that belonged to Much Loved. The plant had fallen into a sad state due to lack of attention from too many other life things. It was in really bad shape. I was handed a dirt-filled pot with a brown stick and a few brittle branches attached. Now, I am a novice gardener. The little I know comes from Sir in the last year. But I took the plant home and placed it on my deck. I didn't know what to do except water it once a week. So I did. After a month, it began to sprout a few leaves. For months afterwards, it remained a little stick with small green leaves. A couple weeks ago, when I was especially blue, I'd sit on my deck, touch the leaves and talk with Much Loved, as if we had known each other all our lives. Within 4 days two little pink buds appeared. I knew he was listening.

For almost 2 weeks it stayed that way. A stick with leaves and 2 round pink balls. Monday, the day of my fisting date, I looked at Much Loved's plant. The balls had opened up and fully blossomed into two vibrant magenta flowers with deep purple centers. It's gorgeous to look at and filling out nicely.

By the way, did I mention that Much Loved LOVED to have his ass fisted?

Tuesday, August 19, 2003


What an amazing, outstanding, delectable, otherworldly experience.

Yes, I'm flagging red left this morning.

I'm not sure how much I want to talk about the actual scene...for a few reasons. First, there were 3 of us involved. And I know that if I do write something, I would at least send it to Always Erect and get his okay before posting it. Secondly, it was so incredibly intimate and magical that I'm not sure I want it out there for the general public at large. I have shared with a few close friends.

I will say this. I'm flying high this morning. And...I want more. Lots more.
To feel an ass tight...and slowly open for me. One finger, and then two. Working it with both hands, slowing watching him blossom. Whoa...this is powerful stuff. Feeling him around my hand.

After the scene, we all did cuddle time and then socialized. I then left before food came. I needed to be alone. As soon as I sat in my car, tears fell. I cried all the way home. I think I was stunned somehow. It was the first really long, intense play I've had in almost a year. And I played in uncharted waters. Feeling totally vulnerable, I had a strong desire to be caged. Contained for a bit.

What struck me during the middle of the scene is the fact that I tend to jump into things with both feet. I realized that part of this was crazy....learning to fist on a novice bottom. And yet, it was perfect. It would have been a very different scene with an experienced bottom.
I stopped by Sir's for a hug before heading to play. He mentioned that He had a boy coming to visit who was really into being fisted. Sir would set it up for me to experience him. Cool.

Back to the vulnerability. I remember Sir and the Bear both speaking about the vulnerability of Tops during play. And yet, other than those two and one butch Top, all my past experiences were with Tops who wouldn't open themselves to me. They used their "Topness" as a way to not be intimate. As a bottom, you needed to open to them, but they would reveal themselves in spurts...maybe.

I discovered it's a whole different feeling to be on the other side and still remain open. There is great power in baring yourself as a bottom during a scene. As a Top, this vulnerability is as potent and strong yet in such a different way. I can't explain it. Right now it feels fragile and cherished.

I'm not very eloquent this morning. There's so much inside.
But if you could look into my'd see the whole story.

Monday, August 18, 2003

Are there any fisters reading? I'm not talking about cunt fisting but ass fisting. If so, and if you blog...I'd love to hear about your first time as a fisting top. If you don't blog, or even if you do, how about sending me an email and sharing with me?
I could post the experiences here...(anonymously if you desire, and only with your consent, of course).

Any takers?
Email me. (
A semi-awake fragmented entry.

I'm up but barely.
Asleep by 9 pm last night. Assisted with a catering job yesterday and it made for almost a 12 hour gig. The job site was 2 hours north. I'm beat.

I dropped by Sir's on my way home yesterday and crashed on His couch. It was nice. Sir was watching a movie and so I curled up next to Him and vegged. The cat joined me and decided to nap on my lap.
Sir then gave me a handful of plums from His tree and home to bed.

In a couple hours, I'm going back to Sir's to work for a few hours, and then spend time alone regrouping. Fisting date is later this afternoon. I'm excited, but currently so tired that I'm not sure what will happen. Gotta run to the store and pick up gloves. My box of gloves is so old that I don't dare use them. The Bear had loads of J lube so I don't need to buy any.

Yeah, I'm excited. Looking forward to playing with Always Erect. Afterwards we'll all go out for food.
I really don't have any expectations for what will happen with AE. That's refreshing. Honestly, spending quality dungeon time will be good. The Bear has a beautiful dungeon. It's warm and it's sexy.

I'm going to finish my ginger peach tea and attempt to wake up some more.
Talk with you later.

Sunday, August 17, 2003

Pho and Leather

Weird, huh? I think so.
For the last two weeks I’ve had a major hankering for a good bowl of Pho. Since I’ve moved into this apartment, my favorite Pho restaurant is somewhat out of the way.

Yesterday, Singletails mentioned he went out for Pho, which seriously increased my yen (no pun intended). Today, after working at Sir’s, I gave Him a hug and said I needed to go find food. He looked at me and asked, “would you like to go for Pho?” Yes!!!!!! We went out of the way to my favorite place, this little hole in the wall. It’s on the edge of the International District. From the outside it’s seedy looking and somewhat dilapidated. The tables could be cleaner. No air-conditioning and the windows and doors are closed up. All they serve is 5 types of Pho, in a large or really large bowl, for 5 or 6 bucks. And to drink, there’s water, lemonade, a really good iced coffee and iced tea. I think a couple sodas as well. No frills. It is so all about the food. The broth is exceptional.

Sir introduced me to the awesome soup about a year ago. It was love at first sight, first smell and first taste. A few months before, He had me watch a movie. Tampopo. It’s a Japanese flick, bizarre, funny and …well…it is what it is, in a genre all it’s own. It’s the journey of a woman who seeks to make the perfect noodle. What struck me was that she sought out a mentor. This elderly Japanese man would patiently explain the proper way to make it…and how to really experience the noodle. The woman persevered because she needed to learn. Many misses, but she was disciplined. It’s about passion. Sitting down in front of the bowl, she was taught, would involve all her senses. I was struck by the movie because it reminded me of how Sir has trained me. His teaching involves being fully present with what is presented to us….be it the whip or the food on our plates.

When I sat down to my first bowl of Pho, even thought it’s Vietnamese not Japanese, the movie came to mind. Sir stopped and explained the different sauces I could put in…and how to really savor the meal. It was a full body experience. Smelling the broth. Picking up a basil leaf and feeling it between my fingers. Bringing it to my nose to smell this aromatic leaf. Deciding how much to enjoy with bean sprouts and without or if I want to add peppers. Choosing whether or not to put a hot sauce or soy in.

One time the masochist in me engaged in Pho when I popped too many peppers in my soup. Intensely hot! That time, Sir realized what had happened because my face began to redden from the heat. The whole left side of my tongue was on fire and I couldn't bear to eat another bite. He laughed and said I wasn't supposed to be hurting myself. That was His job.

Pho. Isn't it strange how sometimes things may appear so unrelated and yet they are quite similar? Or something so off the cuff and seemingly ordinary can remind you of something so integral to your being? Pho does it for me everytime.

Friday, August 15, 2003

"Ad Astra Per Alia Porci" - "To the stars on the wings of a pig".
- John Steinbeck

I think I'll blatantly take Steinbeck's personal motto as my own. The one critical difference is context, which changes the intent of the quote. My definition of pig is in contrast to his.

Thursday, August 14, 2003

I left out an interesting tidbit last night, relaying our camping experience. It was intentional, because I was tired and wanted clarity of mind when I wrote.

Sunday, on the ferry to the peninsula, Always Erect and I were at the back of the boat, watching the Seattle skyline slip away. We hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks and were playing catch up. I told him about my idea for a separate studio/play space. And then I mentioned my newfound desire to learn to be a fisting top. We were leaning over the rail of the boat, feeling the wind and smelling the pungent scent of salt. As I was speaking I noticed he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at my hands. Thinking it odd, it didn’t dawn on me what he was doing. Okay, see…I’m definitely a novice fisting Top. I wasn’t even picking up on clues!

AE then looked at me and asked “would you fist me before I move away?” He continued with “I’ve tried to be fisted a few times and couldn’t do it. But I’d like you to try.” He mentioned he was getting hard just listening to me talk about my desire.
This energy rushed into me and I looked at him, stunned. I said I’d be honored. And that’s exactly what I felt. I mentioned that I’d never done this before. He said we could ask the Bear to be there…as coach. And we will have wonderboy there, keeping AE’s mouth occupied.

Even now, thinking about that moment, I remember and can still feel the surge of….I don’t know what it is…coursing thru me. I’m being entrusted to violate this boy’s body. To invade and explore. To touch his heart. Whoa. It’s really going to happen. And it wasn’t even a week ago when I wrote my desire to learn how to fist. Taking a deep breath.

We are on…for Monday night. Tuesday, I just may be flagging red left.

When Sir and I went out to dinner the other night, I spoke with Him about my desire to fist…and mentioned the play date. One of Sir’s passions is fisting. Each time He’s spoken about fisting, His love for it permeates the space around us.
As I explained my desire to learn and why, He looked at me…a little surprised and excited. Sir said “you understand. You understand the substance behind the act.” He then said “you’ll make a great fisting top.” It’s about sensitivity, intuition, and compassion. Whether it’s rough or gentle, whether punchfucking is involved or not, it’s all about the spirit.
Sir then encapsulated my feelings exactly when He said “The Top brings his brain and his heart to the scene. The bottom, his heart and his butt. In that magic moment, there will be one person with one brain, one butt and two hearts.”

Replaying that conversation leaves me shaking. Talk about powerful.

Sir then gave me loads of tips, and more stories of what fisting was like 15 and 20 years ago. He mentioned that it appears to be a dying art, and it’s difficult to find good bottoms to fist…bottoms who seek the vulnerability and connection of the act of fisting, not only a pig who wants his butt filled.

One of the most important things Sir spoke of was about goals. He said that most bottoms are goal oriented. Tops too. It’s human nature. But it can work against you in a scene. Bottoms feel they’ve failed if they can’t take a fist when they’ve tried. Or if they can take a fist, they've failed when they can't take past the elbow. Or, we couldn’t last 10 more strokes. We wanted to increase our endurance. Sir said that in His experience, new fisting bottoms may take up to 3 or 4 tries (with the same Top) to take a fist. And, if all I do is play with AE and enter with 2 or 3 fingers…that is success. Or if I can relax him enough to get past the sphincter…we can both revel in that.

Hearing that takes a lot of pressure off me. Now, I need to speak with AE and make sure he’s on the same page. If we go in with loads of expectations, it will cause anxiety. There will be no way for him to relax in that state.

I want him in the sling, spread open before me. I want to worship his ass with my eyes, my fingers and my mouth even before I attempt entry. I want to make love to his hole.
And then, with lots of patience and breathing, maybe, just maybe I can claim his body as he claims mine…for a single moment in time.
Camping was so groovy. God, it felt great to get away for a bit. It was a tease, because it seemed we could have all used an extra couple more days. But the time we had was special.

We camped at Mora in the Olympic National Forest. This was my first camping experience in the Pacific Northwest. Can you say jazzed?????
This campground was great. We were able to find a site that was somewhat private. I was in awe of the size of the trees at the campground. I’ve never seen anything like it when I camped in New England or Nova Scotia. It’s such a different enviroment. All wonderful, but quite different. I do miss the New England landscape as well as the oldness of the area. The seacoast is intimate, filled with nooks, crannies and curves. Here in the PNW, everything is large. It’s about grandeur. I enjoy it tremendously.

Monday morning, we went to Rialto beach.

It is a magical place.

Low tide was around 6ish…and we wanted to hike the beach and check out the tidal pools. What a feast! I’ve never seen starfish so large (at least the size of my hand) and vivid, bright oranges and deep purples. They were plastered all over the rocks.

After a few hours of exploring we went back to the site where we ate and kicked back for the afternoon. We relaxed, talked. I did lots of little sketches while the Bear was playing guitar. We taught AE how to play the guitar. He did quite well. He memorized 8 chords, and we had him playing Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” by Monday night. He was so jacked! Actually the Bear and I were pretty pumped as well. We each brought our guitar and decided to figure out the music to Lenny’s piece. Once we had it resolved…then we taught it to AE as his first piece. No “Take Me Home Country Road” for that boy.

The other boy crawled into the tent and snoozed for a while. Everyone works so hard. Getting away and just being was perfect medicine.

In the evening, we went back to Rialto to check out the sunset. It is a glorious beach. I enjoyed the quiet and the obvious lack of crowds. I really enjoy people and need to be in groups, and yet at the same time, I don’t.

Two of the guys ended up in the water. I was tempted. But the air was cold, and I knew the water was cold. That wouldn’t have stopped me. I was the one who was discovered to be skinny dipping in the Altantic, at Rye, NH about 3 am one November morning. Back then, I knew I’d be headed back to my home where I could take a hot shower. We didn’t have hot water at the campsite unless we boiled it. And we didn’t have showers. So, I chickened out. I didn’t want to spend the night chilled. Tough limit for me. I can take the most intense pain. But I detest being cold.
And speaking of skinny dipping, once the sun set, we walked further down the beach, away from a bonfire, so one of the boys could dip his dick.

Toys had been packed, but we never pulled them out. It wasn’t needed. The intimacy and energy was great just the way it was. There were times of little impromptu play moments…which was fun. My chest still hurts from being pulled, pinched and prodded on Monday. And yeah, it was early in the morning and therefore needed to keep quiet not to wake other campers.

We headed back Tuesday about lunchtime. It was tough to leave. We stopped for a late breakfast in Forks at a delightfully, cheesy diner type place. It had hunks of varnished log pieces attached to the walls, along with stuffed heads with antlers. Moose and stuff. Before walking in, we took bets on our waitress’s name. Shirley, Velma? Never got the name. We were so hungry we focused on these large platters of really good food. Bacon, eggs, hotcakes, biscuits and gravy, omelets, sausage, homefries. Being outdoors really helps with the appetite.

The one sad thing about the trip is the same sad thing I’ve seen the two other times I’ve been on the Olympic Peninsula. Tree graveyards….and the obvious rape and pillage of forests. To see what old growth really is…and then see it end and have a huge section stripped. Almost just as obscene are the new forests that are being planted, without a stitch of biodiversity. I’ve cried each time I’ve seen it.

Returning home, I hopped into the shower for the first time in 3 days. As soon as the water hit my skin, the thick smell of campfire filled my bathroom. It was great. For a minute, I was transported back to my mini vacation. Life is good.

Wednesday, August 13, 2003

I'm back!

Arriving home last night about 7ish, I spent a half hour checking email. Then Sir called and I went over, picked Him up and we went out to dinner and caught up on stuff. I just wanted to take a quick moment right now and let you know you are not forgotten. I'm playing catch up at work. I'll blog later today about this little camping expedition. It was wonderful!!!

Sunday, August 10, 2003

The freakiest thing just happened.

I came in tonight, and there was a message from a long ago friend. She said something like, "I'm looking for girlfag, and I don't know if this is the right number." She finally mentioned her name...and I was floored. I haven't seen or heard from this person in 6 years. She knew I had moved to Seattle, called information and was given 3 possible numbers.

I called the number she gave me, and left a message. Well...she just called back. We started talking a bit and then I realized today's date. 5 years ago today, I drove into Seattle for the first time, claiming my new home. It's my anniversary, and I hear from an old friend from the past.

This is where I came from.

Saturday, August 09, 2003

Busy, busy, busy!

Yesterday was crazed, with work problems flooding my brain at 5 am. Of course I couldn't get back to sleep and figured I'd head into work. There were a few breakthroughs regarding projects I've been working on for a while, and that thrilled me to no end. Extremely productive.

I also had interesting confrontation with a coworker. Interesting in a curious way. It was hurtful actually….came out of the blue…and I was hit. I’m very surprised because we all get along very well. Personalities are different…but we enjoy each other. So I found the incident quite bizarre. Apparently she needed some attention, and I was so overly focused on a problem that I didn’t acknowledge her when she popped into my office. Then the verbal bomb. I hate shit like that. I think it’s since been rectified. This was really weird.

After work I went to meet one of the boys. The Bear who cuts my hair does Beautiful boy's hair as well. BB had an appointment and so I met him there. Yesterday, the Bear’s shop was like the local leather bar. I saw a few others that I hadn’t seen in a while. One had just finished a massage. The other was doing some business for a local leather contest. We hung out, talked, and teased the Bear, while he had a razor in his hand shaving the boy. Sometimes Seattle feels like a small town. It’s one of the things I like about this city.

The other thing I enjoy is how accessible cultural events are. Today I realized that I’ve managed to attend an event once a week this summer. It hasn’t been intentional, just happened. Between theatre and readings and film openings and art museums…it’s all good.
And this coming Thursday, I’ve been invited to go see Puppetry of the Penis. I’m looking forward to it.

After Beautiful boy had his hair done, we went to grab drinks at my favorite place. Sat, talked, caught up. He’s having a really difficult time right now. A few hours later we left and drove to the Sound to walk at Myrtle Edwards Park. After our walk we drove back to the same restaurant for dessert and more drinks. Honestly, there’s this waiter….hot, hot, hot. BB and I could both have a piece of him. And his service is fabulous. It helps that he knows us because we frequent this joint. Fun to flirt.

This morning I went to Sir’s to finish work I began on Thursday night. Then He and I were out and about, running errands. Early afternoon, I needed to excuse myself to come home and be domestic. Laundry…clean…and pack. Yup, I’m going camping. Yahoo!!!!! And we’ve changed the days. We are heading out tomorrow afternoon and will return Tuesday. AE had theater tickets for Tuesday night. I haven’t asked him yet, but I bet his tickets are for Puppetry of the Penis as well. So we upped the trip a day. And before we leave to camp, I’m headed over to a former student of Sir’s. He’s moving into a new apartment and I agreed to help him move for a couple hours.

See? Busy, busy, busy.

I can’t wait to finally get on the road and leave town. The call of the mountains, the ocean and the rainforest is strong right now. I need it bad, and it will be good.

Friday, August 08, 2003


I want to learn how to fist. What’s up with that?

I want to learn how to be a fisting top. Fist boys’ beautiful butts. I’m a little surprised at this new development, but it feels good. The thought of topping has never thrilled me. I’ve tried it a few times, and although it’s an in the moment thing, I wasn’t comfortable with a longer scene. It wasn’t my place. I am definitely a play bottom when it comes to pain play.

But the thought of fisting excites me. I want to feel my hand inside, going deep, discovering a cavern and feel as if I could touch their heart. I want to reach dark places and access someone in a way requiring such trust. What an honor. The sensation of grasping their soul…for a short moment…and have it touch yours. I want to fist.

I’ve been fisted. And yeah, I loved it. It began with having my cunt fisted. I kept my butt off limits for quite a while and not from lack of desire. It was a way I could hold out on dyke tops at the time. They needed to prove themselves to me before I allowed them access to my ass.
It was mine and I didn’t give it freely. But I was a total slut with my cunt. It came to the point where all I had to do was slide down on this top’s hand. No effort.

And then she fisted my ass. The first time was after an intense…correction, during an intense pain scene. I remember I was laying on my stomach. The top applied loads of clothespins to my back, the back of my thighs and the backs of my calves. After a while, she would whack them with her cane. When she finally decided to remove the clothespins, I freaked. The pain was huge. I wished at that point they were strung together to create one large zipper. But being the sadist she is…it was one at a time. Very slowly.

At some point she had gloved and greased up. Continuing the removal of clothespins, she decided to distract me from the pain by working her arm up my ass. With each clothespin gone she entered my ass a little more. Surprised? You bet. And I loved it. I’m a pig, remember?

The second time, I ended up with one arm up my ass while the other up my cunt. All I needed was a cock in my mouth and I would have been perfectly full.

That was before I went into training. I’ve had my cunt fisted a few times since. Once as a demo bottom for a radio show. And a few more times as barter. Someone fell in love with one of my paintings. It was a painting of an arm, hand grabbing the bar of the cage, wrist cuffed and locked to the bar. They wanted the painting but couldn’t afford it. So, I set up a few sessions, and we traded. Skill for skill.

Oh yes, a few years back one of the boys fisted me. It was his first time. He was sure and nervous at the same time. It was quite sweet, and very hot.
He had large hands and it felt great.

I have small hands. I know it would be perfect for the virgin boy butt. There are boys who are curious, or desire to be fisted and yet may feel trepidation. I could help. Along with being a fisting bottom, I’ll be on my way of becoming a fisting top.

This last period of grief and sadness is like the rain from the other night. It cleared the air in some way and has allowed me to see things in a different light. That’s when I conceived the idea of the art studio/play space. And then a day later, my desire to learn to fist.

I miss it, miss it all. Play, fisting, piss, rope, chain, beatings…whips. But I know it’ll all come back with time. I’m no longer anxious about that. In the meanwhile, I’m growing in ways I couldn’t have imagined in the past.

Life is really strange. I jumped into s/m and for a few years accessed so many experiences so quickly. Then, I went into training, and the play slowed to a halt. But the internal play picked up speed. It gathered momentum on its own…and became the focus of my life. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. Trust me, I tried.

Even when I had opportunities, and felt the hunger, I didn’t always have the energy. Inner journeys are fucking exhausting. I know that all of life is about learning and growth. But I believe that there are extended periods in each of our lives where we immerse ourselves in some accelerated work. This has been my time. And trust me, I am so fuckin’ looking forward to the next stage that appears to be developing. Oh yes.

Thursday, August 07, 2003

These are thought blurts, because I can’t even create something cohesive out of this. Although the topic may appear to be a downer, this entry really isn’t. Honest.

Have you ever been sad? I’m not talking about depression. Although there may appear to be similarities, it’s a very different thing. Depression is gray.
Sadness. Sadness without hurt. Sadness without anger. Simple, clear, clean sadness.

The last few weeks I’ve discovered sadness. I believe it’s the first time in my life I’ve experienced spaces of complete sadness. Sadness that didn’t revolve around anything else but itself. Sadness without other stuff cluttering the emotion. There wasn’t anything attached to it. It wasn’t overwhelming every moment of every single day. It would ebb and flow. Always there, but in different degrees. And in the last few days it seems to have lifted.

I know depression. And I’ve been sad when it held hands with other emotions.
Even in these last few weeks, there were times of being sad intermingled with other things, be it emotions, specific circumstances etc. Yet in between those moments, there was this simple sadness as well. Just now, my attempt to think about it is strange. Although I felt sadness, my mind still cannot comprehend what the state of pure sadness is when it isn't attached to other emotions. It’s bizarre. The idea alone short circuits in my brain, and yet my insides can immediately recognize it.

Sadness is a color. It’s indigo. Deep, saturated indigo. A rich color. It cloaked me, at times heavy. I was in awe of this new, incredible experience. I feel honored and blessed to have been immersed in this.

Rereading this...I don't even know if it can make sense to another. Some things are difficult to explain. Experiences that touch me deeply become evasive when I attempt to pull it out of the substantial ethereal and place it into the just as substantial yet material form. That's how I know I'm not a writer. I don't have the words in my inventory. It's not the color and mark of oils. Although, I can't always translate into paint either. It will happen or it won't. Maybe it's back to breathing and being grateful for the moments where the magic happens, no matter the medium. And in that sense, my experience with pure sadness was one of enchantment.

Wednesday, August 06, 2003

Over the last month or so, in one of our local alternative papers, there's been a series of mean-spirited articles regarding the AIDS crisis. And yes folks, it is a crisis. I think I understand the reporter's message. But his tactics were definitely not graceful, and resulted in placing people and organizations on the defensive. That is not a productive way to get a message across. He was all about blame and shame. Talk about creating a more negative impact.

A few days ago, I saw this op ed piece by Harvey Fierstein in the NY Times. He gives the same message in a different fashion. It is enlightening and constructive. I believe the message is critical and so have copied the article here.


NYTimes, July 31, 2003

The Culture of Disease

There are too many positive gay role models. In fighting the AIDS crisis over the last 20 years, we have done everything possible to dispel the negative connotations that come with having H.I.V. After all, it's been our brothers and sisters, our boyfriends and girlfriends, and ourselves who have been discriminated against because of a virus.

So we produced advertising, created enlightenment programs, spent endless hours making certain that having AIDS or being H.I.V. positive was nothing to be ashamed of. We did a great job. Maybe too great a job. After all the effort exerted to convince the world that AIDS is not a gay disease, we now have a generation embracing AIDS as its gay birthright.

According to figures just released by the Centers for Disease Control, the number of new AIDS cases rose last year for the first time in a decade. Four Americans now become infected with the disease every hour. Many of our young men see infection as a right of passage, an inevitable coming of age. I hear of them seeking the disease as entree into the cool, queer inner circle that being negative denies them.

In our effort to remove the stigma of having AIDS, have we created a culture of disease? We all see the ads for H.I.V. drugs. They illustrate hot muscular men living life to the fullest thanks to modern science. Other ads show couples holding hands, sending the message that the road to true love and happiness is being H.I.V. positive.

Is that message: You're going to be O.K.? (Which is terrific.) Or is it: You want to be special? Get AIDS. H.I.V. equals popularity and acceptance. (Which would be tragic.)

My heart goes out to all who have the infection. But while I pledge my energies and resources to the fight for a cure, quality care and justice, I still think we need to examine what we're teaching our gay, lesbian, transgender, bisexual and straight youth. In my opinion, the messages the drug companies are spreading are lies. The truth is that AIDS is not fun. It's not sexy or manageable. AIDS is a debilitating, deforming, terminal and incurable disease. H.I.V. drugs can bring on heart, kidney and liver disease, as well as a host of daily discomforts.

Unlike the photos in the ads we see, most of my friends who are on drug cocktails are not having the time of their lives. They spend mornings in the bathroom throwing up or suffering from diarrhea. They spend afternoons at doctor's appointments, clinics and pharmacies. And they spend endless evenings planning their estates and trying to make ends meet because they are not well enough to support themselves and their new drug habit. And those are just the friends for whom the drugs work. For many women the cocktails are nothing but a drain on finance, internal organs and stamina.

Even if the drugs were as effective as advertised, should we be creating a community of drug dependency? We have done a terrific job removing the stigma of having AIDS. But in doing so we've failed to eliminate the disease. H.I.V. is an almost completely avoidable infection. You need to be compliant in some very specific behaviors to be at risk. In fact, if every person now infected vowed that the disease ended with him, we could wipe out the ballooning number of new infections.
Instead, we've sold our next generation into drug slavery and their destiny to medical researchers because we'd rather treat each other as sexual objects than as family. Thanks to the drug companies that have made billions of dollars off us, and to the medical community that has gained a captive audience to fill appointment books, and to AIDS charities that have become a career for many, we have created an industry of disease that would crumble if AIDS was cured in our community.

I am calling for us to take back our lives and culture and to stop spreading the virus. I am calling for us to resist the normalization of disease and once again embrace health. I'm calling for an end to the false advertising for drugs and for us to stop minimizing the infection with cute little names like "the gift" or "the bug." I want to see an ad campaign showing a sexy man saying: I don't have H.I.V. I don't want to waste my life and resources on drugs. I am taking charge of my body, my health and my destiny. I am a negative gay role model.

Harvey Fierstein, who won the 2003 Tony Award for his performance in "Hairspray," is a commentator on "In the Life," a television series.
“You can’t fit in when you stand out.” – from CAMP

Last night, the Bear, the boy and I went to see CAMP. Through work, I had received free passes for a private screening at the Egyptian. The theater was predominantly packed with what appeared to be high school performing arts students. Because of the nature of the film, it was perfect. The venue was filled with quirky, offbeat personalities. A young guy sitting next to me had brought his guitar.
And the film was all about, quoting this interview, "freaks and geeks of the theatrical persuasion."

It’s a film worth seeing. Vibrant.

Also, timely. It's a good reminder that being alien is a blessing as well. Each one of us are bestowed with a multitude of gifts in spite of what our lives feel like. I just needed to be reminded of mine.

While waiting for the movie to begin, the Bear, boy and I made tentative plans to go camping. I’ll know more definitively by Thursday, but it looks as if we are headed to the ocean, on the penisula, near the rainforest. Monday through Wednesday of next week. Yeah!!! We’ve asked another boy, Always Erect to come with us. He’s currently in San Francisco visiting friends, but we left a message on his cell phone. Always Erect is moving to New York State at the end of the month. If it works out, it would be great to spend 3 days with him before he leaves. I love that boy.

The 4 of us are avid West Wing watchers. We’d get together for dinner, wine, ice cream each Wednesday night the show would air. I'm going to miss AE. Although I don't get to spend as much time with him as I do with the others, the times we do spend are very comfortable, with some sexy moments thrown in. We were really getting to know each other this year. His move reminds me strongly of my move to Seattle 5 years ago. Wow...5 years ago this week. On the surface, his decision sounds crazy, but when we spoke about it, I could totally relate. He will have all my love with each mile that he journeys. Amazing man.

Tuesday, August 05, 2003

It is raining.'s actually raining!!!!!
This feels so good. All my windows are wide open. The air has that wonderfully damp, thick smell. And there's a slight cool breeze.

It's raining.

Monday, August 04, 2003

I love how ideas come about. Sometimes, we can be so stuck on something, and don’t see a way to change it. But by stepping back and really defining our needs, it opens up our minds to think of different solutions. It’s about being objective, when we step back, and allow the layers to fall away. What is the base need?
This isn’t always an overnight process. Honestly, for me, it never is. Sometimes it’s weeks, months or even years. As antsy as I may get, I’m aware that it’s the time, and the experiences within that time, that help with this creative process.

A while back I wrote out my dream of a home, a space. It was the first time I actually created the text for what had been in my heart. There is something powerful about seeing your dreams on paper, physical or virtual.

The last few weeks has seen the idea of my space churning in the back of my head. Creating the community I desire involves space. My space. I’ve made connections here and there…all over the country. But my next step was to obtain a place. Claim my physical space.

I know I am currently not in the position to own a home. Yet, I knew there had to be another way. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. I live in a 2 b/r apartment. I’ve always chosen that size because the second b/r becomes my studio. But apartment living is not conducive to the types of gatherings I desire.

A few days ago it hit me. The first step to finally having my own place. If I let go of my 2 b/r, I could afford a very small efficiency, for living space, and then a workspace in an old industrial building which would be for painting and play. It will take a little work to find this. I have a limited budget. But I see this as possible and very reasonable. Many work places are much cheaper when they don’t allow live ins. Live in artist space is incredibly priced. But I could do this, and get away with half the rent of live in artist space.

The thought of my art and play space being combined is so perfect. They work hand in hand. And, industrial space is so sexy for me. I love rust and steel and pipes and gears and machines. I love old warehouses. What a better way to keep me hard and juicy then to surround myself in this.

Friday, August 01, 2003

A coworker and I ran out to Lake Washington at lunchtime to check out the Blue Angels. We sat on the dock and watched for about 20 minutes. They are a total contradiction for me. I worry about the eagles and wildlife in the area. I hate the amount of dollars spent on this. It's not conservation friendly. And yet, it's so fuckin' sexy. Yesterday, while I was walking to a meeting, they buzzed us. They were so low I felt I could touch them. Immediate hard on.

Later in the afternoon another coworker received a package from Zingermans. Part of her goodie box included a large bar of amazing dark bittersweet chocolate...for me! My favorite. And their macaroons are pissah!

I'm picking up a friend in an hour for a walk by the Sound. Then dinner...and a therapy appointment.

Although it's a difficult day...I'm grabbing the good stuff as it's happening. And yes, I am remembering to breathe.
I've been fairly down. If I'm not very wordy for the next few days...that's why.