The apple, which is, as we know, the Fruit Of Knowledge and Medical Intervention,  is a Pink Lady.

The brand is of my initials, MW, flowing together.

It was burned onto my skin over Folsom Street Fair weekend 6 years ago.

It was a way for me to take possession of myself, and to remember what choice means.

Remembering that it wasn’t all that long ago people were, perforce, branded as property gave a pretty profound twist to this newly hip fetish …and i wanted to take that back for myself

Happy Happy HNT!

I have been exchanging emails with a dominant I had approached with the intent of getting to know him a little better.

I got several brushbacks. He found me “intimidating” somehow…but never elaborated on what that meant.

He doesn’t play casually, because his play partners tend to “fall for him” so rather than risk that, he avoids playing up until mutual levels of interest are met.

Well, OK, whatever works, right?

Then I got the serious emotional bean ball: the suckerpunch of being told I’m  “not the type” he is usually attracted to…but my scintillating intellect intrigued him to the point where he considered the chance to get to know me a rare treat.  A singular indulgence for his own formidable intellect.

Thanks.

I want nothing more than to be your Scheherazade while you go off being ego-stroked by the hordes of swooning submissives who ARE your type, even if their conversation, realness, intelligence and demeanor are no match for mine.

Srsly?

You wanna admire my wit?

Read my fucking blogs.

You want repartee?

Subscribe to my goddamned  Twitter feed.

I need to be lusted after and ravished by a Man Who Wants Nothing More Than To Own Me.

Not a sparkly psychic bauble.

Not your mental whetstone.

My last long-term relationship was with a guy who would stop everything he was doing and fuck my brains out when he saw me naked. He thought my body was absolutely perfect. Oh and hey! He ADDITIONALLY admired my intelligence. Fancy that.

Too bad he was intimidated by my history as a kinkster. It took me 3 years to pass through that relationship.

But that is another story for another day.

I am pleased my turnaround time on weeding out mismatched partners is improving.

Exponentially.

SO, back to the current issue…

After many MANY conversational miscues and missteps that left me feeling a bit battered, I closed my last communication with this prospective date thusly:

I value myself FAR to highly to be shoe-horned among the swooning mass of women with whom you won’t play because they “fall for you.”

I have been around the dungeon enough times to know that someone who is still sleeping with an ex “because they are fluid bonded” is not someone who is fully emotionally and physically and spiritually available.

I am not at all interested in waiting and hoping for the day you have the gumption and /or desire to let go of your ex and move on.

I will not compete with other women for your time.

I am free, unencumbered, emotionally available and have the ovaries to live alone and walk alone until someone who wants me as I am, and who appreciates all that I am comes along.

I am certainly not going to cobble together a scant meal from the crumbs and leavings of someone else’s table.

That is what you are offering me right now.

I wish I felt as strong as those words sound…because right now I feel lonely.

But I don’t feel lonely enough to fucking queue up for a man-raffle.

This Friday night was very challenging for me, in that I was teaching a class on Race Play for the local Women’s BDSM organization, the Exiles. It is the class that makes me the most edgy, and not just for the obvious reasons. It is tough enough to present at ALL for kinksters. But I knew that there would be some people there for whom this was a very difficult topic. I also knew that I was a little anxious about doing a demo. It is a tough line to walk between doing something meaningful and doing something over the top.

Then as I was getting settled in, I learned that someone had written an e-mail message in protest of the class and sent it to the Women’s Building, a community center and the location of my class.

Re: RACE PLAY….THE FINAL FRONTIER   !!PROTEST!!!! THIS EVENT  it i

Posted by: “{REDACTED]”  EYE-JUDGE-EWE@someemailprovider.com 

How Can I help?   I am writing to this group to stop the promotion of tolerance to racism.

It is like stepping in hot water and becoming tolerant to it, we step into the pool of

acceptance of racism , we become it, remember the kensington experiment.

Where students pretended to be guards and actually became the characters they

played and killed their fellow students. This is so wrong, promote healthy race

relations, instead of tolerance and sexualizing it.

Be The Change!!!!

I am writing in regards to the ridiculous notion that acting out one’s fantasy

of racism in sex has any merit or positive outcomes. It is just wrong, to

immerse oneself in the area of sexualizing and allowing racist scenes for

the benefit of one’s sexual or psyche’s needs is proposterous. It is damaging the

years and LIVES given for ending racism. It is encouraging it to continue and grow.

Remember the Kensington experiment in which students portrayed guards and inmates and the

students actually assumed the character’s valance and

even killed their student counterparts in this powerful experiment.

It shows us that assuming a character or a behavior is very

powerful. that is has powerful consequences, and horrific outcomes.

I implore us to stop this group of people who promote racism and

violence towards women as a good thing, as a pretend, healing, normal

way of releasing one’s fears and hidden monsters. This actually

releases and normalizes the monsters into our daily thoughts. BE THE

CHANGE, do not feed the problem. If you feed your racist, violent

thoughts, they grow!!!!If you have the fears around your inner

racism, help someone of a different race and learn that there is no

difference that cannot be accepted through compassion.

Great.

I must say….if I have to be anywhere where there is a possible threat of Shit Going Down,  a gym full of righteous babes, furious femmes, bad-ass butches and Riot Grrls isn’t a bad locale from which to defend oneself.

The funny thing is, is she’d come to the class, she’d have heard me address all of those points. But that mattes little, because she wants to deny me the right to be a fucking freak.

But, I took many deep breaths, had a bottle of water, and plunged in.

Now, I gotta toot my horn here for a second, because I’m not good at it and need to practice

I am not great at taking credit where I’ve dona a good job. I am often pretty crap about even feeling good when other people tell me I’ve done well.

But it is quite rare to receive a standing ovation from a great many of the people in the room when you wrap up a class. It is also insanely crazy to have people who are my mentors in the Leather Community, women who have paved the road on which I now walk come up to me and say things that blow my mind. It was so fucking powerful I still don’t know how to talk about it.

I feel honored. I feel as though the difficulty I have had around issues of race and play, all the people who talked huge amounts of shit, all of the tears I shed feeling like yes, there must be something terribly wrong with me to have these desires….that all of that was completely worth it when person after person came up to me and thanked me and told me that they thought what I was doing was important, that they really heard and were pleased to listen…

I kinda kicked ass, y’all.

Shit! I mean, to have so many people give so much love what overwhelming.

I felt very honored, very special, very humbled, very proud.

To all of the women who were there: THANK YOU.  Thank you to my friends, co-workers, mentors, heroines, everyone. You are amazing amazing women.

After the class I spent almost another hour talking to people, coming down.

Then, as we were finally kicked out of the building around 11:00.

Of course, the class wasn’t entirely over, was it? In front of the venue, an odd moment of Zen.

A very very intoxicated person came up and clutched my arm. A transwoman of color, I wasn’t sure if she’d been in the class or not but almost immediately assumed NOT, as someone that massively fucked up would have stood out like a sore thumb.

She grabbed my arm

“Thank you…thank you token sister! Thank you token sister…Thank you token sister…Thank you token sister…Thank you token sister…”

She repeated for well over a minute. I trued to be compassionate, then gently asked her to move on.  She then asked for a burrito. I declined to provide her one.

She then turned to look at the group of women with whom I was talking.  “This is disgusting…you should be ashamed..this is a travesty…thank you token sister…” 

The tone was darker now and my addled swirling brain finally grokked that I was the token sister among white women on the street.

Which is kind of…something.

We wound up moving away down the street.

I was stunned.

I laughed in a sort of shell-shocked breathlessness.

“Who the fuck does this happen to??  Who the fuck else teaches a class about race play in BDSM then gets called out for tokenism by a trannny on the street?!?! Who else?!?!”

No one else I know.

And I know a lot of people.

And it was a fitting and perfect psychic seal on the arc of the evening.

In  the spirit of exploring what it is we feel is private,  I bring you this week’s HNT.

A truly personal portrait.

Happy Half  Nekkid Thursday!

No nostrils were harmed in the taking of this photograph.

Since I taught a class on Tact and Diplomacy and yadda yadda and talked about shit like “gracious communication” and using “I feel” and “I think” statements, I sure as hell better practice what I preach.

Or at least give it my best fucking shot.

I was proud that, despite the occasional disappointment, fleeting moment of excruciating discomfort, and shrieking cliffs of self-doubt, I did manage to get through a 3 day event without a total nervous breakdown.

Win!

LOTS of that was due to the kick ass Twitterfolk with whom I met up at the event. I’d met a few of them last month in NY, and hooked up with even more Tweeterz at Dark Odyssey. I can’t say enough abut the benefit of having online friends with whom you can meet-up at these events.

The smoothness of the weekend is also due to the stellar job of organizing executed by the Dark Odyssey team.

I have been to a few perv conventions. And for an event of this scope to have had no major issues, for the attitude to be smooth and relaxed, for there to be so many presenters and so many guests, and for the small fires that did come up to have been resolved with such grace is stunning.

To the faces of Dark Odyssey, Tristan, Colten, Karri and Greg, I say

Holy fucking shit y’all kicked ALL kinds of ass!!

And a thanks to the dozens of volunteers who gave of themselves and their time. You rocked the mike.

Both of my classes were, I felt, well-attended considering they weren’t showy technique shindigs.

The promotional mixer I hosted on Saturday night went well too, and for that I am grateful.

I was especially delighted to see a crowd that was far more diverse than most BDSM events I attend. At one point, while in a cluster of folks chatting I noted that we’d reached historically illegal levels of Negrosity…so I immediately busted out and played my RACE cards. I was sure to share them with all the People of Color present. They came in handy later as well, with a kinkster of Jewish extraction. So watch out, people! Fuck around and you might find that friendly neighborhood minority playing a RACE card on ya. BOOYACHAKA!

Traveling solo and being single, I had little thought that I might have the opportunity to play or participate in a scene over the weekend.

But I’m foolishly optimistic, and so I had some hope that I might happen upon just the right situation and wind up playing.

On the first night I did receive a solicitation…from a slightly tipsy submissive man.

Not quite my speed, but he was very nice and totally a hoot! I’ll even forgive him for expressing his “disappointment” about the fact I wasn’t a dominant.

I get that so often I can’t even bother to be unsettled by the potential / implied lack of respect for my me-ness in that kind of attitude.

And frankly, there is no way he could know that is a nagging sticking place of mine and that I will, now and again,  late at night squeeze my eyes shut real right and thump my heels together three times whispering “There’ s No Space Like Domme… There’ s No Space Like Domme…There’ s No Space Like Domme…” wondering if maybe, just maybe, if I wish hard enough…I’ll wake up in the morning with a thirst to have obedience poured across my lips like so much honeyed mead on the tongue of a Egyptian queen with a flinty gaze sparking from her kohl-rimmed smoky topaz-eyes… like so many rivulets of blood rushing over the burning feet of Kali as she devours her victims, willing or un…

But alas, I always seem to wake up and am, once again, a solo submissive, slaving away, schlepping kitteh poop, working all day to being home the Science Diet Senior to two four legged furry feline switches.

But Sunday morning…ah. Delight.

Please note: the time stamp is in PST and I was livin' in EST. No bloody fucking way was I up that fucking early on a Sunday. *pfft*

I was a little excited.

Long day and long story short, it was much later in the evening when, showered, stretched out, warmed up and ready to go I flitted downstairs to the main Dungeon space to track down and get busy with the play-partner with whom I was very excited to scene.

Alas, even from across the Dungeon I immediately sensed that tonight was not gonna be the night.

It wasn’t surprising that he was tired:  it had been a long day.  And of course I was am glad to have been asked, and there will, hopefully soon, be another opportunity for us to play in the future.

So “Mature Mollena” was smiling, being all calm and Zen, and understanding that hey, shit happens, and at least I had an afternoon of sweet anticipation. That is cool!

However “Inner Child  Mo” wasn’t at all serene and was jiving more like this now infamous chick…

I was bummed out.  Feeling disinclined to watch other people having the kind of fun I wanted to have, I was about to swiftly depart the Dungeon to hide in my room once more.

Just as I was grinding my teeth together in the middle of that external vs. internal split, I noted a gal who’d been in one of my classes standing several feet away, expectantly, but respectful of the several conversations in which I was engaged. I started chatting with her and wow was I glad I did.

It was stunning how, just as I was about to be a piteous poutygurl, I received the most precious gift of all: one person telling me that she was moved and changed by what I had to say in my class.

I had a catch in my throat because, I mean, holy shit. Seriously?

How beautiful that on the heels of nipping nipping nipping at at the blue-grey Eeyore-esque ass of self-pity was this bright-eyed lovely girl who shared with me the best feedback of all: I made a difference.

If I flew across the country for just that, Dayenu.

Day two of the Dark Odyssey event and frankly, it is pretty great.

My sleep patterns are crazy! My dreams are even crazier…last night involved a complicated play involving a friend of mine attempting to fuck me up the ass behind every door in the room of a 56 room Victorian mansion..yesh. It was, at the very least, a vivid fucking dream.

Lord.

There are fewer things more surreal than walking through a hotel ballroom and knowing a scant few days before, the inhabitants had no idea that, only days later, well over eight hundred kinksters, newbies to veterans, would come together to meet up, hook up, hang out, and in some cases….get hooked up and hung from their very skin…

My first class on “Diplomacy and Tact in D/S” was on the opening round of classes. I was nervous because it is the top of the event, most folks aren’t even here yet, I’m up against some pretty zesty competition…all this. Yet, hey, I had a wonderful group of people who came to listen and to share their own experiences.

It was fantastic.

Despite my intense fretting, I felt very good about the class.

I would like to personally thank all of the people who came to that first class, and who came up afterwards to express their enjoyment of it.

It is tough to put yourself out there again and again. To me, it feels like a tightrope walk with the stakes being an embarrassing splat and leaving people feeling as though the one thing I cannot give back to them, their time, wasn’t well spent.

I am feeling grateful that people take the time to not only come to listen to my ideas and also share their own experiences. And I am SUPREMELY grateful to the people who, after the class, came up to express their thanks and enjoyment…and those who, throughout the day, came up with a smile and shared that they enjoyed the class. Those moments are our compensation for our work.

And for that I am profoundy appreciative.

I did some networking with some folks I knew from Twitter, and I find it miraculous how the camaraderie of that fucking network has, universally, translated to my meeting wonderful people.

And then to see them play.

It is always thrilling to walk into a play party and watch the myriad ways people play, from brand newbies performing tentative spanks in a shadowy corner to a woman in an inverted 2-point suspension on a winch… blissed out…to the acrid nose-wrinkling stink of burned hair from fire play to the burst of raw energy as flesh-hooks pull a woman five feet from the floor…a Wendy without a Peter Pan, flying flying flying amidst a circle of smiling friends and admirers.

There is a wistful feeling in watching so much energy exchanged when you are solo…but it is still fascinating to be able to share the joy and pain and joyous pain of those fortunate enough be able to play in this dark fantasyland.

I’m a little lonely today.

Isn’t it odd how, even with so many smiling people around, loneliness can still creep in with prickly little claws that eke out glittering lachrymal tribute, when you least expect it…?

Now. Let’s see if I have the smile left in me to venture forth into the late night Dungeon…

I’m in on a bomb-ass collaboration with WritingHannah. She put together a bunch of YouTube, Blog and Twitter gals getting Medieval on “Love“.

Enjoy!! And please take a sec to click below to “Digg” it, kthxbai!

So....tired...

I’m in Washington DC again…this time I doubt I’ll see the First Couple dance.

I am sure the Obamas keep their kinky play in the bedroom.

I am presenting a couple of classes here at the Dark Odyssey event…which should be cool.

But today…today was long. Grueling. Challenging.

But right now I get to do one of my favourite things…run around nekkid in a hotel room.

Happy HNT!

I blog because I have a compulsion to talk. I talk because I have a lot going on inside and it helps me to have a steam valve that actually is beneficial.

I need to feel useful.
I need to feel connected.
I need information and I need feedback.

I feel it is a fair trade that I live my life in a very transparent way and, in exchange, can receive support in varied and surprising ways.

I use my blog in ALT.com and my blog on LiveJournal as ways to communicate things to various people in various ways.

As a totally out person involved in the BDSM community, I am well aware I am at risk from people who think my sex life is deviant, sick, disgusting, criminal.

I’ve had people within my “Chosen Family”, that being the Kink “Community,” publicly condemn me because of the way that I play.
And really? If a fucking PERVERT is telling you you are fucked up, you have a LOT OF WORK to do to keep your chin up.

I’ve managed.

But today I had another moment where I realize I am vulnerable.

I’m on my way to Dark Odyssey…a big convocation where hundreds of deviants are gonna get together and do fucked up shit for a few days.

I’ll be there to talk about my opinions on several flavors of crazy sexual play.

As it happens, I happened to reveal, on Twitter, something about my physical state. And someone took issue to that.

Now, I am responsible for my own reactions, and I know for a fact that erryTHANG ain’t for erryBODY, ya feel me?

But it is that same old thing. You never think that a fellow perv is gonna tell you that something you reveal is “too much information.”

I have no desire to be “too much.”

I have a desire to be open, to share, and I have a hunger for support and feedback.

It stings when people who oughta have a sense of your personae push back with “You have crossed a line.”

Because, well, fuck you.

If you want to look in my fucking head, you don’t get to censor what you see. You know you get an awful lot of info. Some of it will be awful.  I permit you in my thoughts, even when they are raw.

(As they are now.)

And you leave footprints and echoes while you are browsing around in my head and heart and guts.

And I accept that risk.
It is my (futile? Naive?) hope that you understand and remember there’s a chick on the other side of those words who actually feels and reacts to your offhand flippant comments.

SO, perverts…if you think something about me is “Too much” I hereby grant you permission to Never. Never Ever tell me, because it already stretches me to bursting being me.

I see you as part of my Tribe and I have no desire to have that compromised.  You can always distance yourself from me, quietly….as I do with people for whom I feel little affinity.

Non-kink identified people who don’t wanna see me bleed and cry and laugh and piss and moan and get my ass beaten and get fucked over and fall down complain about it and shout my joy form time to time..

…please…

Move on.

There is nothing to see here.