I’ve been going to see healthcare professionals about my sexual health since 1985. I was sixteen, and my boyfriend and I were fucking one another’s brains out with predictable results. I’d a scorching UTI, and Planned Parenthood was most accommodating. Since then, I’ve been quite attentive of my sexual health. Regular pelvics, started up my breast exams promptly when I hit 40. PAP smears at least every year…more frequently when there were some ambiguous results back when I was in my early 20s.

I usually don’t sweat it when I go in for STD and STI test results. The notable exception being for the year or so after a guy violated my boundaries and committed an act of sexual assault by penetrating me without a condom. I was apprehensive then, and made sure to step up my game about being tested. I’d had the usual screening. They asked me about my drug and alcohol use, number of partners, safer sex practices…any symptoms I’d displayed…the works.

And I’d never received any troubling news. Not until December 23rd.

(more…)

The past month or so has been difficult in ways I’ve not seen before, and to a degree I’ve not previously experienced.

I’m used to doing my processing out loud, and it has helped me immensely. I thrive on tossing up my inner workings, letting them come to light, welcoming others to join the chorus of “Me, too!” and shine light into my dark corners, hoping that, by proxy, others feel less alone.

I’ve had some deep impact hits, life-altering shit that for which I do not yet have words, but weigh heavily on me. Part of what was so difficult is that my old coping mechanism (blackout alcoholism) no longer is viable, and my newer coping mechanism (sharing in the public forum) isn’t really viable in real-time, as is my wont.

I have had the challenge of now having to overcome my fear and having to reach out to my friends and say

 “I don’t know what to do. I’m hurting. I need help.”

And quietly, beautifully, I’ve received it. From people I know well, from people I’ve only recently had in my life, from friends of decades of acquaintance. From kinky folks, from family, from Family, from people who don’t even realize that they are helping me get through this, one day at a time. (more…)

From my latest column on SexIs Magazine:

My first dominant was really into a style of bondage commonly referred to as kinbaku, or shibari in the USA. It’s a lot of rope, usually jute or hemp, and sometimes it is used as a way to suspend folks off of the ground, in defiance of several laws. Most notably, gravity. I wasn’t having any of it. As a fat chick, I was not at all interested in looking like a tied roast about to braise in a 450 degree oven, ya feel me? 

But one of the things I love most about being submissive is that I’ve agreed to obey. So, I found myself trussed, twisted and tied, and somewhat taken-aback when I found myself slowing down, my senses heightened, my state of mind smoothed out, yet amped up, as the ropes went on me for the first time. My dominant wasn’t much of a talker while he was in the midst of administering rope bondage, but I soon realized that the very act of him laying yard after yard of earthy hemp rope across my skin was its own form of communication. The rope was an extension of his touch, and remained in place even after his hands had passed on to the next wrap, looping the next tie around this wrist and that ankle, over, under and around my breasts. Then I was in this kind of between place, adrift, yet alert; present in my body in a way I’d never been before, and yet somehow diffused throughout the network of rope. 

 

Read the whole juicy thing here!

The lovely and talented Shilo McCabe, ably assisted by the badass Airial Clark, accosted me violently in an alley in San Francisco this summer, threatened me with …um…knifes and…stuff…and insisted that I pose for Shilo’s Sex Positive Photo Project.

NOTE: Most of the previous sentence isn’t true.

What IS true is that I DID pose for the project, and that Shiloh and Airial are friggin’ amazing, and the whole kit-n-caboodle is coming out soon!

But here’s a teaser for ya. Dig my specialeffects, yo.

Click through for BOOBS, yo!

Stay Tuned for info on the rest of this awesome shoot & the interview stuff!

UPDATE!!

It is looking really good for my chances to go back to SF for the Bawdy Fifth Anniversary!

Which is AWESOME!

But I need your help! While I wish I could peel off the ducats and be a carefree jetsetter, I’m actually not all that financially fabulous! If you’d like to see me at Bawdy, or you’re just feeling flush and want to help a sister out, please skip on over to

Dixie De LaTour, is a brilliant impresario and brings an amazing line-up of talent to the stage month after month, and I would love to be able to be there for the big celebration!

Please pass on the link if you’re a Bawdy fan, or if you’ve never been and would like to make the big-ass FIFTH ANNIVERSARY your cherry-poppin’ party!

So vote here…!

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/G2GHJLL

Want a taste of the zestiness? Here’s my very first appearance at Bawdy, captured for all time!! Muahahaha (etc)

Photo courtesy of Lady Grinning Soul

Welcome to e[lust], the sex blog round-up- The best posts from the hottest and smartest sex bloggers all in one place! This edition highlights topics such as libido, fake orgasms, teenage lust, voyeurism, BDSM consent and so much more. Want to be included in e[lust] #33? Start with the rules, come back in February to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ The Top Three Posts ~

Assent Matters by SherynB – Find your emotional power to recognize and say “no” to what you don’t want BEFORE you get naked and tied up and give up your actual physical power to walk away to anybody.

Forever The Night – ‘Why the hell shouldn’t I listen? This is my home, my bedroom after all’. So I do listen and I do feel myself twitch at every minute sound on the other side of that fucking wall.

Hands. Fingers. Pleasure. – This was the first time a boy’s fingers had such unfettered access to my pussy. Prior gropings under and through clothes had never been like this.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

The Fake Orgasm: You think you know, but you have no idea – I am 34 and I have faked orgasms. There ya have it. But I have never and will never qualify doing so as “I did it for him”.

~ Featured Post (Picked by Lilly) ~

Sadie Says… Awake – In the haze of my missing libido I also lost myself. I began to wonder if I remembered who the hell I was?

Kink & Fetish

Who Are You to Change Us? (more…)

I think about tattoos for at least a year before getting them. I’ve wanted an affirmation of my identity as a slave for some time now. But its me, so I gotta be different. I’ve seen people with BDSM logos, with their Slave Registry numbers, with their owner’s name, with various Japanese and Chinese characters describing their submissive or slave status…and while I see the appeal…yeah. I gotta be me.

I considered my history of struggle with even using the term “slave” as a descendant of African slaves. My branding, which represents my initials flowing together,  is a personal acknowledgement to those who went before. While I can never ever know what they lived, I can carry with me a marker of my honoring the ancestors, bowing to the past.

I did some research, did some meditating, and decided that I would continue in that line and manifest my identity in a note to myself that I can see and carry.

(more…)

I was inspired to write a piece about coming out to my Mom about being kinky. I was inspired by a moment of very deep gratitude when i saw a friend talking about how unaccepting her Mother had been about her sexuality.

So fucking Uncool.

I’m doubly proud that, when I called Mom to ask if she minded me writing the piece, and on top of that if she was OK with my using a photo of the two if us together, she said she was happy to have both of those things happen.

Not bad for a nice Baptist church lady, eh?

From the column…

 

 I took a deep breath, asked her if she really wanted to know, since it had to do with my sexuality. She said yes, she did want to know. So I braced myself and told her I’d been in Washington DC to teach a class at Black Rose… a kink and BDSM convention. 

“BDSM?” 

“Bondage & Discipline, Dominance & Submission Sadism & Masochism. You know, the whips and chains people.” 

“Oh! Wow. And here I though you were a lesbian and were embarrassed to tell me.” 

I laughed silently. But I figured now wasn’t the time to lay on the outing myself as bisexual as well: if my high-school triad hadn’t given it away, she didn’t need this additional data point right then! 

She asked me some surprisingly challenging questions, and when she asked me how it was to give people spankings, I realized I had to come out to her again… as a submissive. 

“Now that is a surprise. I would have though you would be a dominatrix!” 

“Yeah, Ma, so does everyone else…” 

 

Read more…!

As you can see, Gray is usually far more genteel.

I’m deeply honored and pleased (and yeah, a little turned on) to re-post, with permission, a really remarkable essay on race play.

Shock #1, it isn’t by me.

Less shocking, it is about me, kinda.

Shockingest of all? It is an essay written from  the top’s experience in doing race play.  My friend Gray(dancer), who blogs here and podcasts here, was gracious enough to write about how the scenes we’ve done have been for him.

I am glad he chose to share this, as it is less typical to read about scenes from a top’s perspective, and I personally haven’t seen anyone else write on this particular role play from the “bad-guy” perspective.  Sidebar: I’ve pulled together a bunch of my previous writings / interviews / media on this topic to be found and updated as needed here: mollena.com/race-play

So bit props to Gray, and I’m off to…um…(re)read it in the privacy of under my blanket. With a vibrator.

Posted by Graydancer, December 30th, 2011

 

Yesterday Mollena got a tweet asking if anyone had written about race play from the white or oppressor’s side. She tagged me as being someone who ought to, so, for better or worse, here it is:

Hi. I’m the oppressor.

I don’t feel like the oppressor. Seems to me that I don’t make enough money to be the oppressor. But I have a melanin deficit in my skin, so when I play with Mollena, sometimes, I’m the oppressor.

Not all the time. It’s strangely, vitally important that you know that. There are times when I’m playing with Mollena that there’s nothing about race involved in the play. It’s about making her mouth open in that silent scream, feeling her body shake with an orgasm, watching her eyes roll back as she tries to keep her body from betraying her the way it does, over and over, to my particular methods of inflicting pain and pleasure.

See how easy it is to talk about that? That’s my kind of pleasure, and if it’s oppression, it’s the oppression I’m comfortable with. The fact that we have different shades of skin is purely incidental.

(more…)