Sometimes, The Lord has to Kick Ass.

Sometimes it is very easy for me to share my story. I run to the keyboard and pour out an idea that has sprung to mind, or eagerly type out the results of some brainhamster action. And other times, I agonize over every word, humming “Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood…” tersely under my breath over and over, hoping that I will hit it just right, and that people reading will grok my ideas, not tear me apart, have mercy on my soul, and see themselves in my story.

Other times, I am compelled to NOT share, because of internal ethical considerations or external influences.

And other times I desperately want to share and…can’t. A combination of things. Timing, uncertainty, confusion, anger, sadness, disappointment, fear…and in those times, I just have to wait.

I hate waiting. But I have learned a great deal about patience in the past decade or so. And even more in the past year or so.

So let me rewind a little.

The holidays were tough. I wrote about some of that. In addition to finding out I carry HSV I and HSV II, I lost my hard drive and my trusty laptop deceased, taking a whole lotta awesome with it. I took a few serious financial blows. Which sucks when you’re looking at the end of unemployment insurance coverage. But I’ve been worse off, and I have a wonderful place to live, with wonderful people. And I’ll get by.

As its been, I’ve struggled with some deeply personal issues over the past couple of months. At the root? A growing sense of disquiet around my submission, a disconnect from my progress in slavery, and frustration due to the stresses of trying to do all of this shit long-distance.

One of the mainstays of my slavery is “The Prime Directive” and by that mandate, it is my responsibility to maintain the integrity of this slave’s emotional health. And mine was failing. I had to look at the aspects of my relationship with The Dominant Guy that were under my control. And the aspects that were underhis control. And see what I could do to ensure that I was complying with The Prime Directive, ensure I was behaving in a way that was honorable, obedient, supported by transparency and trust. All that good shit.

And then, when I still felt that disconnect, the emptiness, when the pain outweighs the joy, I have to ask myself the hard questions.

• Are my needs being met?
• Is this feeding my soul?
• Am I living in joy?
• Is this submission elevating and liberating my heart?

And once I’ve answered those questions, and others, and seen that my heart is even heavier because I cannot answer in the affirmative, the next part of my job is to determine what it would take to bring these back to a “Yes.” I need to be able to say to him “I am having difficulty, I need your help. And here, I can offer you my thoughts on what we can do: you on your end, me on mine, and both of us, working in concert, to staunch the emotional bleed-out. Does this make sense? Are you willing?”

And then I have to work up the guts to actually say this shit. The actual act of saying it is its own obstacle. Then there’s the fear of outcome. “Yes, OK, I’m willing. Lets do this work.” is, of course, what I wanna hear. But what if I didn’t ? Am I willing to upset the slow erosion for the abrupt loss and plunge into the unknown? And once I’ve put it out there, ain’t no stoppin’ us now, baby. I’d have to DEAL with the consequences.

It took weeks for me to get to the point where I’d coalesced into a coherency about my slow-creeping sadness around our relationship. Distance is one thing. Being involved with a poly person when you’re monogamous is another. But funnily enough, the poly thing was less grim than I’d thought. I found myself NOT experiencing violent paroxysms of jealousy. And moving back east meant I was a cheap bus ride away from him. So that would help, right? But all of those things aside, time was the finite commodity, the fulcrum, over which I did not have control.

Having to practice what I preach is difficult. Having to go to the person who inspires in me heretofore unknown depths of submission and obedience and saying “This isn’t enough. I need more, I need your help. I need you to see me, to prioritize me. I need your focus. And I need your time.” was profoundly daunting. I thought it and re-thought it. I re-arranged my priorities. I tried to match @TheDominantGuy’s pace, since that’s what slaves do. Follow, and obey. But I only found myself feeling more detached and frustrated. I struggled to find words, to know what I needed, and to certain I had coherent thoughts about what it would take to have these needs met.

And then the time issue became even more difficult. It’s tough to find time in a busy life to have dense talks. And this became another obstacle. Time has to be carefully allocated and managed in any relationship. This is eversomuchmore critical in a long-distance relationship, and when there are multiple people involved in the aforementioned relationship dynamic, time can become more precious than ever.

No matter how much I agonized over it, eventually it came down to my having to bring up the obvious fact: things were unravelling. No matter how differently I’d wished this might be going, no matter how much I adjusted my expectations and pared down my needs, I had to face the fact I couldn’t hold on and feel we were in a healthy relationship unless things changed. And changed in very specific ways.

And I did. Bit the bullet, steeled my nerves, hoped for the best…and had to wait just a bit longer. Priorities…priorities are a bitch. But eventually time was made and we were able to communicate.

Hard talks are hard, and they suck. And the only way they suck less is when, as an outcome, things are better off. And in this case, I really really needed to hear a “Yes.” Yes, that it would all be OK. Yes that time would be made for us to do the work that would solidify our growth. Yes, that this would be a priority…

There’s a particular coping mechanism I have when things suddenly fall from beneath me. I become eerily calm. Reasoned. I listen carefully, record every word, track my emotions with a detached sense that permits me to remain in control. And as I realized that the outcome I desired…that he said he desired too, was not going to be reached, I felt my heart shrink.

No, there would not be room and time to create the environment that we agreed was necessary for our M/S to flourish. Yes, it was important that everyone’s needs be met. And the current situation was not OK. No, it wasn’t gonna open up and shift anytime soon.

And there it was.

If your needs are not being met, and you know what it takes to do so, and you put it out there, you have to be prepared to hear no.

This wasn’t an apocalyptic breakdown. There was no bad guy. It just wasn’t working.

There were plans for us to spend some time together, and I’d hoped we would be able to re-connect, see what the next steps would be, since neither of us were of a mind to sever all ties and just walk away entirely. However that was a bit complicated…he had a big event for which he was preparing, and diverting focus from that to do this processing wasn’t his priority.

So things were put on hold.

I’m not gonna go deeply into the details of how emotionally awful that became. That first conversation in which I maintained my calm control was, apparently, a brief respite. The next few days found my mental state deteriorating. I felt disconnected. Couldn’t think. became violently physically ill several times, even, as a result of this emotional process.

I need to thank my friends and roomies, Laura & Karen, for being truly amazing. I need to thank all of my Family, bio, kink, Leather & Chosen, for supporting me. I need to thank everyone who called, texted, e-mailed, reached out. I need to thank the people who took care of me. The people who held me when I broke down and cried, the people who responded to my various pleas and freakouts.

And then the oddness started. As it happened, because my time with TDG was cancelled, and because I wound up being able to attend Creating Change, a convention where Vi Johnson was being given an award. And because I was able to represent the International Ms Leather organization, I was invited to take part in the color guard. And so, in spite of feeling torn up, I pulled myself together, and stood with 50+ Leatherfok to honor Vi in a packed ballroom. I was invited by Vi to sith with her and her family at their table. And when it came time for me to leave, I knelt next to her chair, to thank her for the honor of being able to be present.

“I wasn’t supposed to even be here…” I started

“NO.” she looked at me sternly, but lovingly. “You are. You are exactly. Exactly where you are supposed to be.”

I broke down again.

A day later, I confirmed that I was going to go to Yale and perform as part of their “Sex Week.” A gig I’d previously had to turn down because of my commitment to be in service to TDG because he wanted me present for his event.

My head was swimming even as my heart was heavy. How could I celebrate these things that, on the surface, seemed so cool when I was still breaking down crying several times a day?

Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming
What do we do? We swim, swim…

I was on the bus on the way back from Maryland when I realized several things. I realized that it WAS possible to feel great pain and yet survive. I realized that, as much as I was mourning the shift in my relationship with TDG, I was mourning the idea of an M/S relationship, something I’d wanted for so long, and that has its own life and breath.

And I realized that not all things that are obstacles are fearsome, horrid monsters. Sometimes they are the very things we fight for. Fight and bleed and suffer and struggle. And even as we are holding on, God / The Universe / Fate / Good Sense / The Flying Spaghetti Monster is pulling it away because this thing, this goal, this situation? Is NOT for keeping.

Just because things are meant to be, doesn’t mean they are meant to be forever.

And the story isn’t over. Sometime, sometime soon I hope, I will be able to sit with @TheDominantGuy and see what’s what. I don’t know how that’ll go. And yet, I’ve managed to let go of the expectations.

Because, frankly? I don’t know what the fuck to expect anymore.

I DO know this.

Being transparent is hard. Opening up to possibilities that feel dangerous is hard. Spending almost a year and a half stretching, bending and pruning myself into new and amazing shapes is hard. Putting myself out there, trusting…

But all of that paled in comparison to having to take care of myself when all I wanted…all I thought I wanted…was slipping away.

Sometimes it takes a rather violent blow upside my head to help the lesson permeate.

I’m still working on this one. But I can say I’ve learned many lessons. I have remembered where my core is. Again. I have seen the difference between compromise and capitulation. Again. and I have realized that no amount of desire and intention can substitute for real work done in real time.

Ever.

Some obstacles are so, so beautiful. And I am grateful for them. And oh it aches as they are removed. But I have to trust. Again. That this pain, this darkness, will give way to new and even more amazing adventures. And growth. and love.

Yale Sex week!

RISK!

Along with Dixie De La Tour the Bawdy Storytelling Crew, I’ll be on the amazing Podcast RISK!! Check us out on next week’s episode. Should be pretty Damn Cool.

Kevin Alison’s work is awesome, and the show will, no doubt, ROCK the mic.

New England Fetish Flea!

February 10th ~ 12th I’m at the New England Fetish Flea
In addition to doing classes, I’m performing in some sort of kinky version of “Who’s Line is it Anyway,” I’ll let you in on an open secret: I fucking hate improv so this is gonna fucking suck.

CineKink!

Thursday, February 9th, Anthology Film Archives
32 Second Avenue (@ 2nd Street)
Cinekink is screening “Sisterhood of the Sash”
This is the debut of the documentary on International Ms Leather on the 25th year of the contest.

IvyQ!

On Friday, February 17th, I’ll be speakin’ at Brown University as part of IvyQ, a queer student & allies event sponsored and hosted by the 8 Ivy League schools.

Bawdy Storytelling Fifth Anniversary!

On Saturday, February 18th, I’ll rejoin the Bawdy Storytelling Crew for the 5th Anniversary Gala in beautiful San Francisco. If you’re local to SF, please come out! And if you’d like to chip into the fund to help me get the hell out to SF without having to resort to a life of crime, click here! Wanna know why its so awesome? See me and some of the epic Bawdiers strut our stuff here!

Harvard Sex Week!

March 25th ~ 28th I’ll be up at Harvard for
Harvard Sex week bringing kink & Leather to the Ivies once again.

IMsL 2012!

Then it is back to SF for International Ms Leather 2012 and I WILL be getting judgmental up in that shit, yo.

“Good Goods”

I’m-a be running around NY and then setting in for a bit of a stretch in San Francisco, as I’ll be rehearsing and performing in Crowded Fire Theater’s production of “Good Goods” a play where I get to play an actual human. Not a god. Not a demigod, not a creature or a concept. Just a person.

And then…well, I think that’s enough for now.

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.

I was just back in town, fresh off of a 9.5 hour long-haul bus trip. I hit NYC, took an INSANE and illegal cab ride all over lower Manhattan, Williamsburg and Harlem, dropped off my things at the home of the friends for whom I would be pet-sitting through Christmas, and ran back downtown to the Callen-Lorde Clinic. I met with the Doctor, who had the results of a whole lot of blood-work up on the screen.

Cholesterol…a little high. More oatmeal, less [INSERT EVERY FOOD THAT MAKES LIFE WORTH LIVING HERE]. The line was displaying in red. Funny how red instantly lets you know some shit is going down. I couldn’t read much from my angle, but I was skipping ahead to see of anything else was red. The first page was all in the black…all clear. He clicked to the next page…another red line. This one was something about crystals in the urine…did I drink enough water? My kidneys could use some help, otherwise I might be at risk for kidney stones. Not the kind of pain I dig. I nodded. OK more oatmeal, more water.

Next Page. A bunch of letters abbreviating a lot of scary stuff. HEP A, HEP B, HEP C, HIV…

And somewhere down the page, a line in red. And another.

My vision blurred.

“Your tests came in positive for exposure to Herpes.” the doctor said, like he said it all the time. Which he probably does. I blinked.

“But I haven’t ever had an outbreak” I said, my voice shockingly level and calm to my ears, which were ringing.” “I mean, I’ve never even had a cold sore. Ever. Nothing.”

He explained that some people are asymptomatic, basically immune to the effects of the HSV I and HSVII viruses, but they can still carry them.

I keep breathing. Strangely enough, the world didn’t end at that precise moment. I felt numb. I stared at those two red lines on the monitor.

“So what do those numbers mean? Like, do I have a LOT of Herpes? Or is this just a little Herpes? Because I’d like to know how awesome my immune system is. Am I immune despite a whole lot of herpes trying to kick my ass? Or is it just a few herpes?”

So, sue me, I’m an overachiever. If my immune system is managing the Mongol Horde of Herpes, I wanna know about it. Bragging rights and all.

“Those numbers don’t really matter once they’re above a 0.9, honestly.”

Yeah, I’d heard statistics about how common herpes is. And I know it isn’t a death sentence. And among people who have herpes? I’m relatively lucky. No sores, no outbreaks, minimal likelihood of sharing the fun with a partner who might not be symptom-resistant, like I am.

But still.

Fuck.

I left the clinic and wandered around for a while, lost in a fog. I realized, ironically, there was an upside to not having had sexual intercourse at all since April 2010, and having had intimate sexual contact with exactly two people since then. This meant only two people qualified to be on the “Need To Know” list.

I called up the first of the two people with whom I’d had sexual contact in the past 2 years. Explained that, though I was asymptomatic, I had just learned I was a carrier for Herpes. They didn’t freak out or yell at me. In fact, they thanked me for letting them know so quickly. I was relieved to learn that they’d been tested prior and subsequent to our encounter, tested negative, and had no status change.

The other person…well. As the perp of a sexual assault, and as someone who severed contact with me when I confronted him about his behaviours? I’m not sure how to handle that. I do know of one of his partners, and I wonder if the ethical thing to do might be to advise them…but I just don’t know. It seems weird to not tell them anything, and it seems problematic to contact this guy’s other partners out of the blue and possibly, needlessly, worry them. I may have been positive decades before I met him. I may have picked up the virus from him,and there is no way I’ll ever know.

I called a few more friends, some of whom are health-care professionals or educators about sexual health. No one furthered my desire to freak out. Several of them shared that they also had Herpes. I even called my Mom, who said she was glad I was taking care of myself, and said she would pray for my continued health, and that she was glad I was otherwise OK. Several of my friends who are positive for herpes advised me that being asymptomatic is its own blessing: having it and not being plagued with outbreaks means you have one less thing to worry about, and your body isn’t likely to drag out monsters from the basal ganglia to set your nether regions ablaze.

Later in the day I spoke to TheDominantGuy. I told him about my diagnoses. We had never had any intimate sexual contact during the course of our relationship. So he wasn’t at risk of my having transmitted herpes to him. That’s why he wasn’t on my “OMFG Notify Immediately!!” list. But I figured I would let him know anyway, mostly because I was irrationally afraid that being diagnosed with a STD would put a damper on that ever happening in the future. Much to the disappointment of my inner drama queen, he didn’t reject me on the spot as damaged goods.

He asked which type it was for which I’d tested positive.

“All of them.”

“All?”

“Yes. All your herpes are belong to us.”

I crack myself up….who cracks old internet meme jokes while doling out bad news? Clearly that’d be me.

“ All, both, whatever. I’m fully herped.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Yep, that’s what the doctor said, too. But hell, I’m an overachiever.”

Merry Christmas, right?

The holidays continued rough for a few reasons. Not gonna get into that now, but eventually, I realized I wasn’t obsessing about having all them Herpes viruses. I also eventually managed to stop referring to myself as a “Plague Dog.”and only occasionally made grim “Typhoid Mary” jokes.

To say I am fortunate, to say it could be worse, is little comfort, really. Logical reasoning doesn’t get me past the rage of having a virus in my body that has the potential…however scant…to hurt someone else.

It is already so difficult for me to achieve sexual intimacy, it doesn’t come easily to me. This just felt like another barricade on an already impassible road and now I was sure it was gonna be WAY less travelled.

And then it gets crazier.

I thought I knew enough to keep myself safe. Clearly I did not. So in order to try to get a handle on this, I started doing research.

I discovered that MANY people who have Herpes are asymptomatic: i.e. they never have outbreaks. I also learned that between 65 ~ 80% of adults are seropositive for HSV1, the virus that causes oral herpes. (cold sores)

I learned that the statistics as they apply to HSV2, the strain that usually causes genital Herpes, are a bit more troubling.

The CDC Says

The latest HSV-2 data – announced at CDC’s National STD Conference in Atlanta on March 9, 2010, and published today in CDC’s Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report (MMWR) – indicates that overall national HSV-2 prevalence remains high (16.2%) and that the disease continues to disproportionately burden African-Americans (39.2% prevalence), particularly black women (48.0% prevalence), who face a number of factors putting them at greater risk, including higher community prevalence and biological factors that put women of all races at greater risk for HSV-2 than men.

Did you catch that?

FORTY PERCENT of black people in the USA have the HSV-2 virus.

And ALMOST HALF of black women in the USA have been infected with HSV-2.

When I found this stat, I thought “This can’t be right and if it is, why isn’t there way the fuck more education about this?! Why don’t clinics routinely test for this when we come in? Why are we so disproportionately represented? How many women give birth and transmit the virus unknowingly to their babies?”

I have more questions than answers. I’m still learning about this grim statistical data. And I have but one voice and one blog. But I know that people need to know about this. And people need to stop being so fucking afraid to talk about their health, and their sexual health because something is terribly, terribly wrong when statistics like this aren’t widely known, and sexual education is something people fight AGAINST.

And you know the awful thing? Part of me feels ashamed, diseased, like damaged goods…shit, the language we use around this isn’t even all right.

People talk about having STD and STI test results come back negative and refer to themselves as being “Clean.”

SO, am I now “Dirty?”

That’s just not OK.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t OK for me to feel that way. It is not right that I should be able to have compassion for other folks who are positive for all manner of STDs and STIs, and yet sit awake at odd hours, and have terrible dreams of trying to escape my body.

I DO want to say: please get tested. MOST CLINICS AND DOCTORS WILL NOT AUTOMATICALLY PERFORM HSV TESTS. Keep in mind, because I never had a cold sore or any lesions or outbreaks? I was never tested. You have to ask, you have to INSIST and you have to be firm in your resolve to get this test, even if you are asymptomatic.

Know your status.

And if you are positive, and can share your story? Talk about it. It makes a difference. Stigma is eroded with numbers.

Thank you for reading.

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.

Shit, let me keep it real. One breath at a time some days.

Some kinds of pain hit you hard and fade quickly…like a hit from a cattle prod. Some pain hits you and seems to fade only to freakishly worsen, and then mark, and then leave deep bruises as time passes, like a cane strike. And other wounds are dormant, there and unknown, until abruptly brought to the surface to terrify with their manifestation. And I’m working my way through all of that shit.

And believe me, the internal menagerie is a hot mess right now. I got brainhamsters running themselves to death. Some of’em, abruptly unemployed, have taken to running in frantic circles only to be eaten by Bubbles, my personal demon, who is in her element in the current emotional climate.

I am compelled, and I choose, to leave a lot unsaid for now. That in and of itself is a learning experience, as it isn’t my way. But I’ve been learning so much about doing things differently in the past 4+ years, why stop now?

I have to give my heartfelt thanks to the people who have felt me out, given me encouragement, taken care of me, from long distances and right here at home. I’m not so much with my usual grandiloquence right now, but you seeing me and loving me in spite of my…well, maybe because I finally trust people enough to let them love me, regardless…ah fuck it. I don’t know what else to say right now.

Thank you, friends. I’ll be back. For all my woo-peeps? Healing energy and all of that shit is actually welcome.

Atheists? Y’all fuckers ain’t off the hook. Send me some fucking cupcakes.

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!

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)

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?
Connection, Intimacy & Trust
DQ Earns a Pass from Chasity
Five Little Words
Naked and kinky in a busy sex shop
Sharp Tongues and Good Pain
Sexual violence
The Duke Story
‘Twas the Night Before Kinky
The Pink Elephant
Who I Am
Waking You

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Busy Writing
Help! My Vibrator Won’t Work
Men and Visual Stimulation
Slippery and sticky and covered in lube
The Safe Zone – Giving Yourself Permission To Screw Up in Non-Monogamy
Until Death Do Us Part

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Interview With Senior Sexuality Advocate Joan Price

Erotic Writing

21
A Read to Remember
Aurelia (A Dirty Kind Of Grace part 1)
A Fistful
banana bread
Christmas Day
Last night in Cap D’Adge
Later On In The Evening
Meat Hooks & Butcher’s Twine
Reside
Sugarbutch Star: blckndblue, The Pink Dress
she and he and me…
Surprise Orgasm
wind

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.

Ẹrú is the word for slave in Yoruba.

See, it is sometimes difficult for me to accept things. Took me a few years to accept being kinky, a few more to accept being a slave, and even more pain and time to embrace the fact that my kink also encompasses my racial background. I though to myself, well, the answer is obvious then. Remind yourself of who you are now by remembering where you came from.

Identifying as a slave isn’t something that came easy. Lots of people want you to only ID as such if you are actively owned. Took me years…no shit…to realize that I am who I am regardless. That is My belief. Color is an illusion of light, yes, scientifically. But i don’t stop being black when the lights go out.

I will carry this as a nod to those who did not have the freedom of choice that I enjoy.  I will carry this to remind myself that being  a slave, and finding fulfilment in that identity is not dependent on anyone else. It is who I am, it is a source of my vulnerability, and a source of my power.

Ẹrú, in my heart and spirit and blood. And I am proud.

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…” 

 

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