Happy Autumn!

I miss New England the most in the fall. It's scenes such as this or better yet, on the coast, like this. Late afternoon autumn light slices through the sky, especially near the water and sand. There's a specific smell in the air that I can't even compare to anything else. I can taste the color of everything. And there is so much color!

Newcastle is this very little town near Portsmouth. A friend's dad lived in Newcastle. She and I would grab the pea boat from her father's place and row out to their sailboat. We'd climb aboard, rape and pillage the liquor cabinet, make drinks, and bring them back to the little boat, where we'd spend an afternoon rowing around the harbor. Lazy, delightful days.
The last time she and I did that was 5 years ago. It was my last summer there, before moving to Seattle.

Autumn reminds me of my old home. It's the one time of year I tend to get homesick.

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About a month ago I heard a song while driving home. This song, or actually one particular verse has followed me, every day since. Fuckin' intense.

"Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain"

Yeah....Dave Matthews. The song is "Gravedigger" and it's on Dave Matthews' new solo cd, "Some Devil". Today, I heard a few more cuts off the cd. I'll be picking it up this week.

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I'm in a mood today. A coworker is leaving...moving to another town. He and I are a team, and although I'm totally thrilled for him, I also feel as if I'm going through an amputation. I've known about this for quite a while, but he made it official by telling the rest of the staff yesterday. We connected from the very first and I've never before worked so well with someone. We've worked on developing a new system together. From what we've heard, in most non-profits, finance and development don't always play well together. When this guy was first hired, I began going to him, asking loads of questions about what would happen with the gift and pledge information that I would key into the database. How would he use that info and translate it in his accounting system?

I discovered his needs and created a system where the donor database would speak with his accounting program. Since then, over 2 years ago, each step of the way, I've consulted with him and customized accordingly.
Due to this effort, our last annual audit has shown that we've balanced to the penny...(which surprised our auditors!).

90 percent of this is because he and I have a great working chemistry. We can communicate and listen to each other.
The others in the office are all extroverts. They can schmooze. They are quite comfortable attending meetings and functions. They can do the cocktail party chitchat. It's their job and they do it well. This guy and I are the opposite of that. We'd prefer to spend our time at our desks working. We both enjoy people, but our conversations need to be more substantial. Board/staff retreats are very painful for us. So, we'd support each other at these events.

So yeah, I'm bummed. He has an amazing heart, and one of the hottest butts I've ever seen. :-) It will be interesting to see who replaces him. And I do plan on remaining open to whoever gets hired.

I just had what I call a "duh" moment. These are the times when I should have known the answer, but was too immersed in the trees to see the forest.
This is regarding yesterday's post about buddhism and sex. Stuff like this keeps us on our toes and reminds us that we are critical thinkers. We aren't meant to take everything lock, stock and barrel. That's deadly. It's about always questioning, sifting and then keeping what you personally consider the wheat.

That's why I'm not into religion. It seems to me (and I can be wrong) that religion asks us to dive in, total faith, and buy into their dogmas and doctrines. Now a philosophy is friendlier, giving permission to question and think, as the individuals we are.

One of the books I'm currently reading is "Gender Outlaw" by Kate Bornstein. I tend to have 4 or 5 books going at the same time. I've a book near the bed, another in the bathroom, one in my bag, one in my car and another on the kitchen table. It's another part of my ADD way of being in the world. By the way, I don't consider ADD as a disability or something that needs to be made right. Another example of how detrimental limiting ourselves to the mainstream is. Check out the articles in the link.

Anyway, I'm enjoying the book because she asks questions. Loads of questions. Some she answers and others she doesn't. It's an extremely intelligent, insightful read. Enough to cause discomfort at times. And personally, I feel that discomfort is where growth comes in, therefore good for us. An apple a day. The link I provided is to an interview with her. Also a good read.

I wonder if you think I hop around alot...flighty...regarding interests and thoughts. I do and I don't. I tend to mentally work on a whole bunch at the same time. You taste a small sampling of this in my blog. What you need to remember is, simply because I've not mentioned something I've detailed in the past doesn't mean that it no longer holds interest for me. It's tucked in the further recesses, still there and being worked on, but at a slower pace.

Yes, I'm still acutely aware of the insights from therapy the other night. I still think about potential fisting opportunities. I still am internally working on my ideas regarding Master/slave relationships and how I fit that schema. I'm pretty positive now that I'm not psychotic or going crazy. Just have stuff to work on. As my therapist said, I've been hit with many severe dings at the same time. Work is still a blessing and a curse.
I still think of getting beat, or singletailed. If I close my eyes I can hear the whip thru the air a split second before it strikes my skin.

I remember one specific singletail scene...with Sir, a few years back. He would step to the sink and wet the cracker inbetween strokes. I found out afterwards He did that to have a greater ability to slice into my back. Which is exactly what happened. Blood spurted. It spotted His shirt. Fucking hot. My whole back was ripped up. Just thinking about it now reminds me how much I miss that. 3 days after the scene I needed to ask Him to oil my back, because of the scabbing that was still taking place. It was healing wonderfully, but stretching my skin and therefore felt really dry and itchy.

Another time, about 3 hours before hopping a plane to the east coast (in the days we only needed to be at the airport a 1/2 before our flights), I was again treated to Sir's singletail. He wanted me to feel His whip on the plane ride back home. He was successful. I squirmed on the long coast to coast plane ride.

Sometimes I do tire myself out from everything whirling around inside. Many times I've desired to cut off my head, to stop the mental manufacturing. That's part of the appeal of being caged. It shuts down the thoughts for a bit. And other times, I'm invigorated by working on so many things at once.

Geek slut is one of the blogs I regularly read. Intelligent and lusty. Yesterday's entry was especially hot.

"According to Buddhist Tradition": Gays, Lesbians and the Definition of Sexual Misconduct by Steve Peskind

This article was brought to my attention a few days ago. It speaks of Buddhism and sex. Upon the first few readings, I was disheartened. If one needed to have a religion, I felt that Buddhism was the way to go. So how could this religion I respected be closeminded when speaking of sex? I then saw the op ed piece by Patrick French in Friday's NYTimes which pretty much speaks of the same.
I heard the shattering of a pedestal.

Anyway, after thinking about this for a couple days, I've come to some resolution. I believe that we desire to have our religious leaders (especially those responsible for the origins of said religion) be infallible. I mean...we are talking about God and stuff, right? We want to believe in Santa and the knight in shining armor. We want there to be a one, true infallible deity who poured his/her wisdom and truth into a mortal who then carried that into the world. Life would be so much simpler that way, wouldn't it? One law. Black and white. Right or wrong. Heaven and hell.
But we are human and therefore fallible. And life is all about gray areas.

No one's perfect. And there is no one perfect belief system. Each religion will have it's skeletons. Those skeletons will be different for each who looks at or immerses themselves. It's about taking what feels good inside, and being aware that it's not a blanket belief.

I know someone who is a zen buddhist priest, as well as being queer, and I sure as hell am going to pick his brain when I see him in a couple weeks. I wonder how he balances both in his life.

Have you ever known of people that you just knew….just knew that there was something between both of you? I don’t mean like “in love” or those type of relationships, but I’m talking about something more like a friendship.

There are a few people in my life I have that feeling about. I barely know them. Distance prevents the connections from being established. Physical and/or situational distance.

Yet, I think about them, and part of me longs for them. In some ways there’s a recognition inside of something familiar. There are a couple folks at this time that I have that pull for. I don’t get it. For all I know we’ll never hook up. Yet, this week, they’ve been on my mind…intensely. It's as if something inside is calling.

Sir called this morning, while I was blogging. We chatted for a while. He knew I had been flirting with a cold and so requested I come by and pick up some soup He had made. He worries about all of us. Monday I'll go over for service. It's time to mow the lawn. Now that Seattle's skies have finally opened up, the grass is growing again.

After stopping by Sir's for soup, I rented some movies. Spending the rest of the day in bed, I alternated between movie watching and sleeping. I didn't wake until after 7:30 this evening, and am sure I'll be up for a while. But, I haven't much in the way of plans tomorrow. Tentatively, wonderboy and I are getting together for a bit. I've been keeping it light this weekend, trying to get as much rest as I can.

Between being physically down and the emotional stuff, my hunger for play has quieted. Although I had a couple moments last week. They were spontaneous and hot. One was while sitting in Tattoed Bear's chair. The other while walking on Capitol Hill with one of the boys. I turned to him, pulled him toward me and we kissed and groped. I felt this rush of sexual energy that I hadn't felt in a long time. It was a desire for regular sex, not play. I was surprised and delighted. And, it lasted all of 10 minutes.

S/M is a luxury. It's for the well. It's for when we have time and energy to focus on it. Although, I have to say it's always a tad unsettling when other things shove their way to the forefront. The feeling of not being hungry is the same as missing a lover. Hunger is my friend. Hunger is attached to passion. I know it's not gone. I can feel it, but it's semi-hidden in a cave, waiting for the time to rush out again. I can see the candlelight flickering against the side of hunger's face. It's sitting there, crouched in a corner...waiting. Waiting for me.

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It’s after 11 am and although I’ve been up since 7ish I am still foggy and sleepy. What better thing to do than attempt to write and treat you all to my groggy mind. “Oh joy”, you say. Yeah…yeah.

I’ve been doing blog-lite the last few days because I’ve been feeling gross inside. And needing to tuck that to the side for a while, out came the links.

I’m ornery. Cranky, and yet not. Had a therapy appointment last night and it pissed me off. Of course, that must be good because some buttons are getting pushed.
It did get intense last night. Here comes the deep. Quite provocative.

Yanno…sometimes wounds don’t come from the obvious such as physical or sexual abuse. What happens when the hurt began at conception? I’ve vaguely had this idea. But it’s hitting stronger now. And it’s one thing to know it intellectually and quite another to begin to feel it with your hurt kid heart. Or in my case…hurt baby heart. Mom didn’t want me. It’s not specifically me. But she apparently didn’t want a family. So it’s not a personal thing although it becomes very personal. She’s a painter. She came from a family of artists. She was the only girl with two brothers. For that time period, she did marry late, at 26. I wasn’t born until she was 28. And then it was kid after kid after kid.

In some cases, such as this, it is my baggage. There is no need to throw this back on mom. So I’m learning how to be with this hurt, and live with it. Being aware, and recognizing it, and then allowing it to be a part of me, instead of keeping it at a distance. That’s my goal. Little by little all will fall into place. Although, as I keep teasing my therapist, I have time limits. You see, the money I’m spending on him is supposed to go for my brand new 15” Apple powerbook. So in 4 months, I’ll be through the worse, and then can cut my appointments, and spend that money on what’s important, dumping Microsoft and moving to Apple.

I remember coming home from school at 5 and 6 years old. We’d find mom painting in her studio. She’d make herself stop and then tend to the 4 of us. (My littlest brother wasn’t born yet). About 7 years ago she told me that I had the opportunity to live the life she couldn’t. Many years before that she mentioned that when we came along, she really struggled between being wife and mother, or being a painter. She attempted to do both and couldn’t. She spoke of being so ripped in half by the two things she loved, her family and her art. By the time I was about 10, mom put down her paintbrushes, and hasn’t picked them up since, except for a couple times, specifically to make Christmas gifts. There needed to be a purpose for others in her act of creation. She’s now 74. Mom’s had arthritis in her hands for about 15 years. Some days it’s so painful she can’t use her hands. Other days, it’s much better. I deeply feel, in my gut, that her arthritis is the result of not allowing herself expression in the manner closest to her soul.

She did find ways to allow her brilliance and creativeness come through to prevent art constipation. Major house redecorations. New carpeting and paper or paint. Purchasing or moving furniture. Somehow she always knew the future trends in color 3 or 4 years before they’d even appear in New York. One of her gifts. Another was her cooking. She’d sew clothes. At times even design and make the patterns. In the 70’s she would create very large banners for her church, to hang on the sides of the alter…from the ceiling. She would create a logo or card for someone that needed it. She whip off little poems for a family occasion. She’d sit down with us and we’d make all our toys. Blocks, musical instruments. Homemade playdough. We’d then sculpt together.

She’d take me to the library each week so I could load up with books. And at night, when we were little, we’d all curl up on her bed and she’d tell us stories. Stories of when she was little and her escapades with ice skating. She wanted to be a figure skater. Then stories of her massive stage fright and how she chose to combat that by forcing herself to sing on stage. Mom had a beautiful voice. We’d sing lots and lots. She told us of the times in her early twenties when she was working in garages, doing the hand lettering on commercial trucks. She spoke of being the only woman in this male enviroment. This was back in the 50’s. Pretty much unheard of. She spoke of her brothers and their art. She gave us stories of her dad and his hopping from job to job. He even did a short stint as Bobo the clown.

Mom is beautiful. And she’s filled with love for others. But, in some ways that love is tainted because she wasn’t true to herself. She didn’t have the opportunity or the know how. She came from a very sheltered life. There was one role for a woman. Her heart was trapped. Being the person she is, she was somehow able to work through that and create a loving enviroment for all and herself. Yet…there’s a stiffness at times, regarding passion and emotions. I think she’s afraid of herself. She fears the passion that is so deep. I wonder if it’s still there or if it’s burnt itself out from not being stoked.

So I left my therapist last night with some new awareness and major churnings going on inside. My face was wet with tears. I know I’ll need to sit with stuff. Getting in my car I turn on the radio. It’s a station that plays alternative folk type music. No hard rock and rarely classic rock. But this is the first thing I heard when the radio came on:

"Hush now baby, baby, dont you cry.
Mother's gonna make all your nightmares come true.
Mother's gonna put all her fears into you.
Mother's gonna keep you right here under her wing.
She wont let you fly, but she might let you sing.

Mama will keep baby cozy and warm.
Ooooh baby ooooh baby oooooh baby,
Of course mama'll help to build the wall."

from "Mother" - Pink Floyd, The Wall.

"Nope," as I wrote my therapist, "not a coincidence."

I think I need new dishware.
Phallic Plate

Today is Talk Like A Pirate Day. The history cracks me up. It's a fun little site.

And it's another distraction. I need light and silly and so here it is. This beats spending two hours swearing at my database. Try running an extremely simple query with no defined fields and minimal criteria and it continually glitches out with different error messages each time. So I decided it was time for a break.

How about some more? In addition to Sargeant, Alberto Giacometti is another god I kneel before. His drawings are line work. It's a continual searching for form and substance. The outward manifests itself due to exploration of what's inside. Here is Studio and a quote about Giacometti by Jean Paul Sartre.

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It's been a very long day and I'm not feeling profound. But I still want to share with you. One thing I'll do to relax is look at art. Charcoal drawings center me. They speak to me in a way that's very different than paintings or sculpture. There's a raw unfinished quality in charcoal sketches that is complete in and of itself. No polish. Charcoal is home in a way that paint won't be although it's a painterly drawing medium. Here's a whole bunch of John Singer Sargeant drawings I was just looking at. Click on each title to enlarge the image.

Bon appetit.

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This week's Freewill Astrology

Today's a tough day. Sir had a boy visiting and today I took him back to the airport. Afterwards, I was overwhelmed with such...I don't know. I couldn't make it into work. I called in and told them I was taking a vacation day. I needed a distraction and called wonderboy. We headed out to eat, walk around Belltown and take in a movie. The new Johnny Depp and Antonio Banderos movie. It's not a good movie, but a distraction and therefore served its purpose.

Monday was rough and yet ended up being a good day, with the shave and stuff. When I saw my therapist this week I asked him if I was manic, or bipolar or downright psychotic or crazy. He said no, stating if I were, I'd see the rest of the world as crazy. I reminded him that I do. But he smiled and said that was different.

I then told him that I'd love to be totally drugged, locked in a straightjacket and thrown in an institution for a month. Mind you, I'm not talking about play, but a serious renewal of sorts. I just wanted to go away for a bit and stop feeling, maybe allowing my spirit to heal. He reminded me that it wouldn't be wise to do that in this country. I may never get out. He's so damned practical at times.

The feeling of enjoying life with one part of me while simultaneously hurting is getting to me. It's tiring me out something fierce. Sometimes, the pain is so intense. It's an interesting hurt. At times, I know it's coming from my stuff, my grief. In other instances, it literally feels as if I'm hurting for someone else, a specific person. I will be acutely aware of the identity of the person. Sound crazy? At times, it does to me. It's an empathy of sorts. When it's for the other, I literally feel as if I'm sharing in their pain. I know there's nothing I can do for them, but carry it with them even though they may not be aware of it. And I keep loving them.

I picked up another book today. By the way, the bookstore sold out of "PoMoSexuals. They'll have it in a few weeks. Today's book is "An Unquiet Mind". The link provided goes to an excerpt I just now discovered. I think I'm asking for trouble by reading this book. You know the med students who think they have each disease they study? Or maybe it'll knock some sense into me and I'll see myself not as nuts but as someone who is only dealing with wounds that need healing. The author writes about their struggle with mania. While reading parts in the bookstore, I saw myself...up to a point. Nowhere near to the extent of her depression, but there were similarities.
Intensity is me. My highs will be high and lows are deep as well. My mood swings are wicked. But through it all, I feel. I FEEL.

On clear days I can see forever. (Yes, Barbara Streisand is now singing in my ear). It seems as if my eyes and my spirit can cut through the bullshit that we tromp through day after day. It's an amazing feeling. Other days, I still see that, but instead of feeling encouraged, I'm so discouraged. The feeling of isolation is immense. This frightens me.

Right now, I know I need to trust my therapist with this. I'm blessed with someone who not only studies the mind but the spirit. It's a holistic view and therefore I feel best suited for the likes of me.

One gift I've noticed, arising from this turmoil, is the skill I am gaining in saying "I need you." To be able to call someone when I'm in tears and ask for a hug, or if I can hang out with them for a while. To say to someone "I don't want to be alone right now." To ask for help.

See? Blessings all over, in spite of the heaviness of the air or the drenching rains and winds that chill us to the bone.

I did it.
After thinking about it for a few years I finally did it.

I hadn't told anyone about my curiousity and desire...no one except Sir, and hamster boy. Yesterday Sir, hamster boy, geek boy and I were walking around Capitol Hill. We popped into the Tattoed Bear's hair shop to say hi to folks and surprisingly, he was in. Normally he doesn't work on Mondays.

So...Sir pushed me into the TBear's chair and said "shave her". I was excited and a tad leery (which is the one thing that's stopped me all this time).
Sir looked at me and asked "do you trust me?".
"Sir, yes Sir."

I'm femme looking. My hair is incredibly thick. Most of the time it's down to the middle of my back. I don't keep it long for looks, but because I don't have to fuss with it. I would throw it in a scrunchy and there it would stay for a few days..until I washed it. I wouldn't even comb it between washings, unless I'm doing something special.

Then I periodically tire of hair all over the floor and so will cut it to about my shoulders, as I did in June. But, it's work...and I tired again of tending to it.

TBear pulled out his clippers and my hair fell to the floor. While shaving me, we talked about his latest fucking escapades and we talked about fisting. I mentioned how much easier getting pissed on would be without longer hair. Although the thought of really long hair, tangled and drenched in piss also makes me hard. As we talked, TBear would grab my head, and hook his finger in my ear...hanging on. Fuckin' erotic. At one point during the shave he reached down and we kissed, hot and heavy. Feeling the clippers was amazing also. Sexy. I think we were freakin' out a few others in the shop.

I've always wondered if I could pull off the shaved head look. Wondered what the shape of my skull was. Wondered which length is actually less maintenance. Wondered if I had the gutts to do it. I'm not a trendy dresser. Never have been. Classic...that's me. Button-flys, t-shirts. Clogs. Big button down shirts. Sneakers. Long black plain cashmere coats back east in the winters. When I would dress up, it's simple and elegant. No flash. My hair, clothes and shoes have never been radical. I've never been into fashion fads. Made it awkward as a teenager, trust me. And it's especially annoying when I walk down the street with someone, and we look into a store window and they say..."but you'd look so good in that. I want to see you in...". Ugh. My response has become "I want to see you in that as well." I try to smile and say nothing. But sometimes it gets wearisome.

But here I stand. Feeling naked. And it is wonderful. The awkwardness I do feel comes from knowing it's a radical look. At the same time, I love it. I have big deep brown eyes, high cheek bones and full lips. The lack of hair brings out these features even more. Especially my eyes. One of my coworkers didn't recognize me this morning at the adoption hearing. The past executive director of our organization responded to that with "I knew it was her...it's her eyes."

TBear mentioned that it will be interesting to see how new folks approach and react to me. Hamster boy said the same thing. They both mentioned differences...and I'm curious as to how that evolves.
Yesterday, walking out of TBear's shop, I was aghast and agog. I felt the wind on my scalp for the first time.

Sir, thank You Sir for giving me the push I needed.

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I have some interesting news...but can't share it right now. I'm at work and am headed to the King County Courthouse. The staff was invited to an adoption hearing and then we are celebrating by doing breakfast together.

I'll write more this afternoon...when I return! See ya.

Sometimes I wonder how open to be in this blog. Originally, my decision for going public was to share my voice, prove my existence. To be heard and claim our space is a basic human need. I wonder if that’s why most if not all begin blogs.

But, as I learn more about myself, I saw this space as a way to chronicle my journey. I hoped to maybe touch others who are like-spirited. My intent is never to turn this place into a poor me space. I try to keep my private self pitying whining for my personal written journal.
My attempt is to be quite mindful of the balance between relaying my journey without immersing all of you in my pain. Yet, I want to share the humanity of my life.

Periodically, I do web searches for others like me. And I’ve yet to find anything…almost. I speak of people who know that gender and sexual orientation aren’t necessarily linked. It’s the queer folks who do not fit in the constructs dictated by society. The gay women who are attracted to gay men, and the gay men who are attracted to gay women. I think of the women who transitioned…because they needed to be men. That felt right for their bodies. Yet their sexual orientation is still dyke. They knew they were male. Transitioning didn’t change their orientation. Their community is lesbian, but because they now carry ‘male’ on their id are no longer allowed at dyke events. I think of one gay man I know who is so into butch dykes. He has found his family, but it’s been a 10 year painful journey.

I’m not saying any of this as a whine. It’s simply an ‘is’, an observation. I know that everyone needs to find their own space. I also know that for some, it is a little more difficult. I also wholeheartedly believe that where there’s one, there’s two. Where there’s two, there’s four. And where there’s four, there’s more. It seems though, that we are dealing with an invisible culture.

Sometimes it feels as if this is one of the dirty little secrets of the gay community. The mad uncle who is kept in the attic for fear of embarrassing the family. We are queer, and yet find our attractions in queer folks of the opposite sex. That doesn’t make us heterosexual but folks are afraid it does.

Searching the web for chats, discussions lists and sites have come up fairly empty. Some amazing people directed me to lists which I have joined. But they don’t go far enough. They are still quite entrenched in sexist roles and ideas that have come from the dominant heterosexist culture. Think about it. Our labels, even as gay folks, were born of this majority. We are still shackled.

My search has resulted in a book which I intend on purchasing. “PoMoSexuals”
I’m intrigued. I wonder if it will confirm my theories I’ve sat with for many years.
And in the meantime, you’ll get me. Hopefully I can continue to communicate how I see the world. Its goods and its bad. Art, my S/M, movies, reactions to the world….people and nature. Hopefully I can continue to share my passion, and share it in a more effective and open manner than I have been.

Call me stubborn.

A couple Sundays ago I wasn’t feeling well. Actually, I woke up quite sick, but sucked it in to do a huge catering job that afternoon. My adrenaline got me through it. Since then, I’ve been wickedly exhausted…using all my strength to not fall asleep at my desk in the afternoons. And, I’ve been plagued with severe headaches that wake me in the middle of the night. I’ll have to get up, take something, go back to sleep only to wake again 4 hours later with more pain. So I complain a little to my family yet keep on truckin’.

This weekend is the first weekend since June where I intentionally did not make plans. None except for another catering job yesterday. This morning, again the headaches. They lasted all day and intensified to the point of causing nausea. Ugh.

At that point I said to myself…”you are sick. Give in to it.” Grabbing some energy from who knows where, I ran to the store for chicken soup. I had barely eaten in the last two days…and had nothing simple to fix. Most everything didn’t sound good, except soup. I rented a couple cheesy videos and returned home, curled up in bed and spent the afternoon. You have to understand that even when I admit I’m sick, I won’t lay in bed. I tend to crash on the couch instead. But today…it needed to be my bed. I have an appointment at 8 am tomorrow morning (which I really can’t cancel). And then I plan on once again taking it easy.

Sometimes I really do need to be hit over the head with a two by four.

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Such a bargain! And now, the Kalakala is headed for San Francisco.

Wanna buy a boat?

Today, the Kalakala is up for grabs to the highest bidder. It's an old ferry, built in the 1930's with an absolutely fascinating history. An international sensation, turned into a fish processing plant in Alaska and then refloated and returned to Seattle. Good story. See for yourself. Check out the timeline under the history link.

I would drive past this vessel and dream. Imagine a floating dungeon. Vacation getaways with fun accomodations, great food and innovative places to beat, tie up, or piss on. Imagine a row of slings, set up in the open air, fisting with the motion of the waves. Or...on a more personal note, could you imagine living in such an enviroment? Your home. Yeah, a little much...but why not?

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Last Sunday, while serving at brunch, I was hit with this huge feeling of being such a freak. So much so that right then and there, I immediately fantasized about disappearing from this world. The thought of no longer existing felt so good.
The kicker is, while feeling this, I was looking at the people gathered. There were other ‘others’, folks who live in the grey. Yet...I felt so friggin' bizarre....like a sideshow. There was this momentary full feeling of isolation. Writing about it now brings tears to my eyes and a pain in my chest. Total freak. That's me.

It seems like I’ve been in a holding pattern for a while. It hasn’t been a huge amount of time, but feels like forever. I think there’s something in the air.

Life has felt…routine, and almost boring. I've been very busy, but...still. I enjoy the times that each day brings. So why do I feel like I’m seeking something? There's a part of me immersed in each individual moment. And then I see myself watching myself interact in the day. The watching part of myself is waiting...and looking. It’s definitely unsettling and not the most comfortable place to be. Guess all I can do is ride this out…like anything else.

This just in from eMac Daily (Apple daily news headlines):

"The Beatles' Apple Corps. record label has sued Steve Jobs and Apple Computer over the creation of the iPod and iTunes."

Try this link for the full story.
Hopefully it works. If it doesn't, please drop me a line at: autre@graffiti.net and I'll see what else I can do.

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While in bed last night, I was thinking about what I wrote yesterday. I'd like to make a few clarifications. First, I do not believe that the men's community as a whole is an open orgy of sexual freedom. That depends on the individuals. Some are very much into playing only with their partners. And that is cool. I was speaking of my community, the one I am expanding.

Another thing is my tone. Sometimes I feel so strongly about a subject and know I need to temper my emotions when communicating my opinions. Unless of course I'm speaking with family or my therapist. They get to hear the full brunt of my ideas. But, if I came across as...too much...I apologize. That wasn't my intent.
And then on the other hand sometimes I do manage to keep down emotions in public and yet because it's boiling inside, I think I haven't. Does that make sense?
So...take it for what you will.

I am quite angry about most of what I see going on in this world. In general, I do feel lots of disdain toward our society. At times, I wouldn't be surprised if I end up as an expatriot later in life...living elsewhere. Sir used to tell me that if I wasn't angry I wasn't paying attention. But I believe there's being angry, and then there's being angry. Some is quite healthy and the rest, debillitating. In addition, it hurts to see how we are as a collective group of humans.

Why is it that we are surprised when we encounter kindness from strangers? Why isn't it the other way around?

I hope that one day I have the opportunity to travel and intermingle with other cultures. I'd really like to see how they live...their beliefs...their basic life ideas.

I was speaking with someone from Amsterdam recently. In his opinion, Americans are primitive in our ideas and treatment of others. That doesn't surprise me. The U.S. is still a brand new country, considering the rest of the world. Sometimes I view our country as an ornery teenager, developmentally. Or...maybe younger. Are Americans going through the terrible two's?

I don't know. What a somber piece this morning.

9-11 yesterday. I knew it and internally acknowledged it, yet couldn't speak about it. I do believe it's affected all of us so deeply, on so many levels.
Is it my imagination or has individual pain and tragedy intensified in the last two years? Has the thick grey smoke, dust and ash that blanketed the city covered our spirits?

One of my rants that has been banging in my head for a while, needing out.

I don't understand the poly idea. When I was first turned onto this lifestyle, I attempted to do "poly". Failing miserably, I vowed never again. I was feeling guilty, jealous, and hated juggling 4 people at the same time. Switching gears from one relationship to another was exhausting. It didn't work for me.

What I've since discovered is that life became much easier once I threw the word away. I have the impression that when people speak of poly relationships it appears to be based on monogamy...monogamy multiplied. And with that comes the fear that the extra relationships will turn into the primary or have the same expectations that the primary relationships have.

I believe that if you have a primary partner or significant other, and by the way I hate those terms. I detest the primary, secondary, etc way of categorizing people. And as for significant other, then it follows that all others you play with are insignificant. Ugh.
But what to call them? I don't know. For ease of this discussion, I'll just call them partner. Anyway, I think there's a special kind of love, a unique love you may have with a partner (if you choose that route). You do the daily stuff with this person. There's an intimacy that is exclusive to this relationship. You'll have your special secrets and rituals.

Yet, I really have no idea how one person can meet all your needs emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, sexually. I understand that some people appear to have a handle on that. More power to them. But my head just can't comprehend it. So that's where friends and strangers come in. It's okay to have friends to go to the movies with, and dinner with. Your partner may not enjoy the opera and therefore you have an opera buddy. They may detest lectures on scientific studies and so you find someone else to enjoy this with. Or, you simply call a friend to go window shopping with.

I don't understand why people make such a big deal when sex is the activity involved. This society has attached so much weight to sex and I feel it's caused more harm than good. We've thrown sex on this massive pedestal made of gold and judge all by this very thing.
The air is thick with whispers: She has too much sex, therefore she's a slut. Too much sex, can't be around children. He fools around, he's a player. Can't be trusted. He'll cheat on you. Thinks about sex all the time, must be a bad person. Can't commit. Will leave you.

You know the drill.

Afraid of intimacy. The kicker is...someone may enjoy playing and fucking with many, and therefore they are seen as being afraid of intimacy and commitment. Why don't we look at this another way...shall we?
Yes, some may be afraid to be intimate and therefore use sex to keep up walls. I've seen that. Folks can use anything to not reveal their heart.

But what if someone who enjoys sex and playing is actually ultimately becoming intimate with themselves, and therefore can create intimacy with others? It can be a full commitment to self.
Only when we are committed to our own selves can we then show ourselves to the rest of the world...and share in delights together.

One huge thing I cherish from the community I am immersing myself in, the gay men's community, is the sexual freedom. The opportunity to go to a party and fuck with one, such another's dick and then get beat by a third without anyone batting an eye...is heaven. Even if there are couples there who are committed to each other it's still no big deal. Words like poly aren't thrown around. To be able to walk into the Eagle, catch someone's eye and be on your knees with his pole in your mouth is...well, yeah...yum!

I do know that in some instances, the couples may have private negotiated limits. So, being responsible adults, they each know and deal with that accordingly. It's not a long drawn out affair. No drama. There's a fluidity that is as natural as breathing.

No process, no committees, and no bylaws on how it should or should not be done. It's living an open life, and not placing expectations and attachments on natural human desires and activities.
What screws us each and every time is our attachment to an idea or a method. I believe attachment creates an expectation which then creates disappointment. Attachment becomes a mental rulebook. Tragedy strikes when something falls away from the engraved golden page.

One of Sir's mantras to me over the last almost 4 years has been and still is, "Life is simple. Don't make it so complex."

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My thoughts on inflexibility were sparked by a friend. I've watched this guy for a while. Periodically we'd get together and talk. Increasingly, I'm more and more uncomfortable around him. His view of life has become more rigid and therefore anything that doesn't fit within a 2 inch radius is considered hellish and just plain wrong. As his ideas of how to live shrink, his hatred increases tenfold. With this, his health is declining as well.

Last week, I spent some time with him and became incredibly concerned. Venom spewed from his lips. I've never before been in the presence of such black bitterness.
It's quite sad because we are all complex. I've seen his vulnerability and his kindness. I've seen his heart. Yet in the last few months it appears that anger is consuming the light in him. Sigh. I'm afraid this will kill him and hurt others around him.

Are you familiar with Rob Brezsny's horoscopes? His work isn't the traditional, standard astrology stuff. They are published each week in The Stranger and Village Voice. I'm sure it's published in other places as well. They also appear in my box every Wednesday. I personally find them to be a treat, and so do my coworkers (now that I've hooked them onto it) I forward them the email each Wednesday, even if I'm on vacation. And, if I forget...they make sure to let me know!

Here it is for all of you! Freewill Astrology

--------------------------

I'm not going to be very eloquent this morning. As the season is changing, so are my sleeping habits. It's darker later in the morning, and my body is taking advantage of this. Waking is becoming more difficult. I'm groggier and would rather stay in bed. Seems like my body is catching up for the lack of summer sleep caused by the long days of sunlight. Therefore, my thoughts aren't as clear in the a.m.

Wanna know what I've been thinkin' about? More accurately, one of the things that has been working my head.

Yesterday I came to a realization. Inflexibility is death.

It's not hatred, fear, anger, jealousy, pain, fill in the blank, that causes death, it's inflexibility. The others are all emotions and sensations. They don't have that kind of power. But, how we deal with that stuff can create death, a stuck place. I'm talking about the greater sense of death, not only physical but spiritually as well.

I've been trying to think about examples towards others and towards ourselves.
For an extreme example....think of the KKK. Their intense hatred of what they consider "other" may appear to cause death. But being stuck in that feeling is what causes it. We are all free to believe what we'd like. The difference is allowing others to live their lives and have their beliefs. It's remaining open enough and move thru your own stuff to see other options and push past your self created box.

I then thought of the pain that leads to suicide. That too is a stuck place - to hurt so bad that you feel the only way out is death. It is an inflexibility.

Now you may say, "wait a moment." "What about the pain from an illness or accident...a physical pain?" In that case, although our bodies may be evolving into something else...depending how we deal with the pain can cause a death of spirit.

I'm still thinking through all this, but these are my first more hopefully coherent thoughts regarding inflexibility.

Whoa. Just had another thought. It's a vicious circle. Hatred, bitterness etc. can lead to inflexibility which leads to heightening that particular emotion. Hamster wheel.

Fight Club is THE hottest, sexual movie I've seen thus far. I first experienced this lusty delight last year. Sir popped it in the dvd and...man oh man....I was hard throughout the whole, damned thing. I just found out the author released a new book. This sounds as dark and twisted as Fight Club. Check out this CNN article about the author, Chuck Palahniuk, and his new book "Diary".

Here's a quote from the above linked article. "So much of fiction is only concerned with the cognitive 'thoughts' of a character or the emotional 'feelings,' " the author says. "I want my books to involve the reader on a physical level as well. In some of my books, it's through the symptoms of illness. Medical stuff. In some books, it's through the pain of violence or surgery or self-mutilation.
One cliché states: 'If you don't know what to write next, describe the inside of the character's mouth,' " he adds. "I'm never too far from a physical sense in my plot, a smell or a pain or an orgasm."

For me, intense uncomfortable situations make for the best porn. That's why Fight Club did it for me. It was that combined with the rawness and the full physicality. I'm not a violent person. I won't kill a bee, yet will capture it and let it free at an open window. But...those scenes were hot, hot, hot. That kind of play turns me on. And, it's even better when I'm the one getting punched and beat by some big guy.

There's nothing sexier than stepping into dark places. Last week, I read a short story by Fledermaus, "Dance Master", found in the anthology "Tough Guys". Looking at the dance master's sadism, and then viewing an earlier part of his life, where he was a tortured sex slave tweaked me. I relished the incredible discomfort brought about by linking abuse and sexual pleasure. Give me a fantasy situation where my ethics and morals are challenged. Turn me on by fucking with my head and spirit. Reveal to me the violent animal that I inherently am, that we all are.

------------------------------

I'm running out to meet wonderboy but I didn't want to ignore you. It was an intensely busy weekend, with a few more unexpected activities thrown in. Good and frenzied. In the midst of all this I was emotionally hit. That's where I'm at now. I called my therapist this morning to vent and make an appointment for later this week.
I know it's all part of my individual healing. Therefore the crash is ultimately good. But it doesn't make it any easier to go thru. And I am not going to vent about it here. It's too personal.

All of this weekend's service went well. Spent some really nice time with Sir, family and friends. And I want to leave you with something. Here's an article that landed in my inbox this morning. I enjoyed reading it, although I do disagree with a small point or two. More on bootblacking.

I miss writing lengthier entries. There's so much to write about. Now, all I need is time and energy. I do believe it'll come about soon. But beware! When it happens, I fear it may be a mishmash of thoughts, a large string of unconnected ideas and opinions. Enjoy your day!

Whoa...it's Friday already!
The week has flown, and I'm still buzzing. I leave the house about 6 am each morning and haven't been getting home until about 9 pm. It should slow down by next Monday. And I really hope to have time to write between now and then.
I miss you. I haven't meant to be negligent. That's life sometimes.

I'm leaving work early and taking some vacation time again, to help Sir at the house. Then it's bed shopping with a friend. Tomorrow, more service for Sir, and I'm catering tomorrow night. Sunday morning, I'm assisting Sir with a brunch He is holding, to introduce friends to a boy who is currently visiting Sir.

And now, I need to dash out the door and on to the next thing!
Talk with you later!

I've been so incredibly busy and today is no exception. I'm at work for 3 hours and then need to take vacation time and head out to Sir's to assist with work in His dungeon. It will be slowing down to a manageable pace tomorrow, and I plan on having a more substantial entry at that time. Thursday night I have tickets to a private early screening of "The Fighting Temptations." Haven't a clue if the movie will be good or not, but no matter. It'll be fun to check it out. I'm taking beautiful boy and sweet boy with me.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with some food for thought. I've been thinking a lot in the last week about being radical, sometimes so radical, that we become invisible. For example, when I was a dyke, I could walk down the street with my dyke friends or a girlfriend, and everyone would know we were dykes. Now, as a female gay guy, walking down the street with a gay man leads others to assume I'm straight. I'm more marginalized than before, and yet appear to fit in more cleanly now. I remember going to a leather event with Sir. Leather mind you, not vanilla. And someone came up to me and asked if Sir and I were married. Shit. I wasn't amused. I understand why it happens, but it saddens me. I'd love to see the world be such where all sorts of diverse lifestyles were accepted and therefore it would be more difficult for people to assume one type.

Yesterday morning, my coworkers and I were talking about gay marriage. Two of them so far have gone up to Vancouver BC to marry their longtime partners. I've been quite conflicted about gay marriage for the reason that it seems to me that gays want to take on straight roles. Yet on the other hand, I wholeheartedly believe that we all should be able to access any type of lifestyle we want. And, we should all be entitled to the same legal rights. So, I strongly support gay marriage for that reason. It's a powerful political act.

The world is not meant to be beige. It's all about loads of color and hues, and each being able to claim the life that fits them.

I'm going to stop here, because I have lots more to say and no time to say it. But, last night, in the Village Voice I saw this excellent article regarding gay marriage. It speaks about the very concerns I had. The article is long, but very much worth the read. Check it out. The Radical Case for Gay Marriage

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.

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.

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.

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 profs...at 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.

------------------------------
Chuckling.

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.

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

THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
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."

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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.)

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.

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.

Fascinating.
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."

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.

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?

Speechless....kinda.

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 eyes....you'd see the whole story.

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. (autre@graffiti.net)

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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!!!

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.

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.