Feeding the beast

Up until three years ago, all of my adult relationships had power-exchange as their defining characteristic. I have written much about my submissive nature, and that nature has not really changed, but I no longer feel the need for power-exchange in my relationships on more than a scene-by-scene basis. I am still somewhat surprised by this.

I do, however, have beasts that need to be fed. I have found, for example, that I cannot live without the ability to feed my masochism on a somewhat regular basis--which gets only slightly complicated by the fact that my husband is not a sadist. Thank goodness for non-monogamy.

For quite a long time, I have bought into the De Sade philosophy of "sex without pain is like food without taste." I am finding now, however, that sex without pain can be incredible, and erotic, satisfying, and hot, and in no way lacking. Still, I find that every once in awhile I just have to get out and feel pain--to be beaten, and tortured, and pushed, and made to orgasm from pure painful sensation.

I miss going deeply into my masochism. I always worry with this particular beast that I will bite off more than I can chew--the whole "be careful what you wish for" thing definitely applies--but I am eager to give myself over to it and just get the hell out of my own way and let it happen. When I do, it is awesome.

I like the head space I get into when I bottom to a hot sadist. I like the soreness the next day--the tenderness in the nipples, the pain in my wrists where they pulled against the restraints, even the stiffness in my neck and shoulders brought on by gripping and tensing as I process the sensations.

I don't need this every day, and, thanks to my lover, I now know that I do not need it to have an amazing sexual experience--but I do need it.

Flux

In the last few months, I have become increasingly aware of the people in my life who are busy discovering totally new aspects of their sexuality or indulging in areas that are either different from that they present to the kink world or different from the part of their personality that I know so well. Straight men exploring bisexuality, tops enjoying a good whipping, bottoms happily and confidently directing their slaves, women enjoying masculinity as they define it, and men enjoying their femininity in the same way.

Hooray!

I have been doing what-it-is-that-we-do for what seems like a very long time, and in that time I have had my perceptions and pre-conceived notions challenged a number of times. Each time I have been deeply grateful that it happened--because every time it opened up this life, my life, in so many ways.

The first time I realized how nuanced BDSM can be, I was tied to a double cross in a hotel somewhere near LaGuardia in the late 90s and there was a man across from me making a lot of noise as he enjoyed a good flogging. I tuned the guy out until my own scene was finished, then I looked up and made eye contact and was startled to discover it was a man whose dominance/sadism had me totally awestruck earlier in the evening. Mind-fricking-blown.

Since that eye-opening moment, I have been through a few of my own gender/orientation bending changes as I have gone from straight to bisexual to pansexual, from submissive to switch to bottom to fairly meh about the whole power-exchange thing, and from neutral to masculine to feminine to who gives a fuck?

So--a couple of decades from that first encounter--I enter into a relationship with a heterosexual, non-power-exchange man, we move in together, we decide to get married, we plan our lives together, and he becomes a man whose status on the kink spectrum is constantly in flux.

Again—hooray!

I want him to experience all that he wants to experience, even when what he wants scares me. I love the feel of his energy as it reacts to new stimuli and the ways in which his world becomes larger as he discovers long-hidden parts of his nature.

I want, no, I need to be the person who gives him the freedom to explore, who encourages him, who provides safety and a soft place to land when his new vulnerability leads to pain.

And I need exactly the same thing from him, and from every one of my partners.

I need the freedom to be constantly in flux.

On femininity and rebellion

I was painting my nails a sweet, delicate pink, one night and tweeting that I was going to pamper myself with a face mask and a bubble bath when someone made the comment that I could be so girly sometimes. The comment brought me up short because I realized that I had spent much of my life trying hard to not be perceived as “girly” and that this had obviously changed.

Now—I am quite aware of the fact that a man can enjoy the color pink, face masks, and bubble baths—this is not an exploration of gender preferences, but of the associations I made with femininity as a young girl and my reaction to those associations.

Disclaimer over.

The face mask and bubble bath part of this has no real meaning to me, but pink most definitely does. There was a time when I would have rather gone outside in a garbage bag than let someone see me wearing pink or, god forbid, anything with flowers, lace, or little sparklies.

Well, I stand by that last one to this day—I do not BeDazzle™.

I think that a large part of this was a reaction to my older sister. She was the girly-girl who was always in full make-up—oh-so pretty and ready to be seen. That, to me, and to the society around me, was femininity. I have never doubted my femaleness, but I did doubt my ability to fit into that mold of femininity—I was just bad at it. I knew from a very early age that I would not be pretty in the same way that she is pretty, so my response was to rebel against that and show that I didn’t care by being cool and edgy instead. In my experience, very few people, including myself, are as cool and edgy as they think they are, but I still tried and flirted with punk, and goth, and finally settled into a whole wardrobe of black, grey, and earth tones. A few colors made it in—a bit of blue, the occasional green, but no pink, never pink.

This didn’t begin to change until my late twenties— I blame it on BDSM.

Some people get involved with this lifestyle and dive headlong into black leather and latex, both of which I love—but I found that my inner submissive liked to be “feminine” in a way that I had never allowed before, and she really liked pink. Allowing her to indulge was a safe place for me to let that side of myself out without embarrassment. Slowly, as I became more comfortable with myself and the many, many aspects of my personality, it started to come out more—my own girly-girl went public. I am still pretty bad at the traditionally feminine ideal that I grew up with, but I also no longer feel as if a specific definition of femininity needs to be achieved.

Now I have no issue wearing pink--aside from the fact that it just really isn’t my color. Chances are you will never see me in some frilly little number that looks like it just came from a cotillion—I am still very choosy about my floral patterns, and lace only makes it to the dungeon where it is used to barely cover my sexy bra and panties—but at least now my fashion choices are based on taste, and style (and, apparently, general level of sluttiness) and not a need to rebel against some bullshit idea of what feminine looks like.

I want

I want pain, but more than that I want connection--I want to feel the person topping me, to know them, to desire them, and to know that they desire me.

I want energy. I want my partner to be interested in the journey--not just the particular scene, but the combination of scenes that build on each other and create a comfortable, electrically charged space.

I want to look in her eyes and see the excitement she feels about what she is going to do to me. I want to know what it means when she presses against me, and when she is silent, and when her breathing becomes ragged and her fingers dig into me.

I want him to understand what it means when he is hitting me and I reach for any part of his body to grip. I want him to ride the orgasm with me and share in the laughter that always follows. And I want him to know this will happen, and how to make it happen, and to revel in it.

I want experience, and shared history, and the freedom to dive into my masochism--to let go. 

Home

I have lived many places. I went to 17 different schools in 4 states (not including college), and as an adult have lived in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Arizona, Colorado, New Jersey, California and Germany--and, in a few months I will be moving back to AZ with Danny. Because of this, I have a somewhat complicated relationship with the notion of "Home" in that it has to be both fluid enough and solid enough to satisfy me.

I have found this with Danny.

The fluid part is fairly easy--it is satisfied by his openness to new places and new adventures (though he himself has never lived anywhere but where we are now). He understands that home is not a place, but a state of mind.

The solid part is somewhat trickier, but much more important.

I love having the freedom to explore, to enjoy multiple relationships, to go out into the world and take my chances academically, professionally, and emotionally--but this only really works if I have a soft place to land and a strong home-base. I am capable of creating this base myself, and have done so for most of my life (I am not really good at the whole relying on others thing), but having someone who is part of that base, who strengthens it, who encourages my exploration by letting me know that I have that safe, loving, supportive, empowering space to come home to is pretty amazing. So amazing that I am still getting used to it--and I am really just starting to understand that it is real. That this is home.

Looking back, moving forward

I know, I know--January 1 is just another day on the calendar, but I have always liked the idea of a new year and the possibilities it holds. I don't really do resolutions, I do goals--but before I can decide where I am going, I need to look back at where I have been.

So--2013-in chronological order (I think):

SF switched to a job which required no travel.

We went to Winter Wickedness.

We went to Arizona for the wedding of a dear friend whom I have crushed on for years.

My son got married.

We traveled to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon.

I got into grad school.

I had a month long art show.

SF and I reached a new level in our non-monogamous life.

We went to Bonnaroo.

I traveled to Seattle to spend time with G and his awesome wife.

I restarted this blog.

I got a grad assistantship (free grad school, hooray!).

We went to Kamp Kink.

I was chosen to be one of the emerging artists at the Tremont Arts & Culture festival.

Started a play/social relationship with a woman which has been lovely and has allowed SF to spread his kink wings a bit more.

Traveled to DC for another wedding (and a fabulous house kink party in VA).

Traveled to Hocking Hills for a few days of hiking and sitting by the fire.

Had a piece chosen for a two-month long art show in Columbus.

Received all As in my first semester as a grad student.

Decided to move to Arizona when I finish my degree in the fall (SF accepted a great job offer).

In the midst of all of this I hiked many Metroparks, saw several fabulous Shakespeare productions, read a few good books, went sailing, watched a lot of Doctor Who, experimented with quite a few recipes, spent time with friends, family, and chosen family, and started to learn how to play bridge.

So, not really a busy year :-)

My goals for 2014 are pretty simple. I want to finish grad school with a 4.0. I want to finish my thesis without injuring someone (it is probably a good thing that SF will be in Arizona for most of the process!). I want to sell our house. I want to hike Camelback Mountain. I want to get my art in a gallery in Phoenix.

And I want, really, really want, to build a community in AZ without losing touch with the amazing community we have here in Cleveland.

I'm back...

It has been a year since I posted on this blog, and in that year I have been through a ridiculous number of poly pitfalls and successes that I am finally ready to write about.

The focus of the year has been on single poly people falling in love. Sounds great, right? It is, it is amazingly awesome and wonderful, but there is so damn much that I didn't know and never counted on! In the next few months I will write about jealousy and compersion, about safe-sex and, more realistically, risk-aware sex, and about building a strong relationship when non-monogamy seems to be kicking your ass.

I hope it will be informative, and helpful--I know it will be for me, because I don't know yet what I will write, and I don't know to what emotional places it will take me. What I do know is that it has been too long since I took pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), and that Literary Wench has a lot to say!

Sigh

I run a discussion group which meets once a month to discuss ethical non-monogamy, and I have been thinking lately about what that actually means, and how hard it is to live up to sometimes. This was brought on by a temptation that I faced recently which would have been unethical in several different ways—none of which mattered in the moment. I would have gone ahead and fucked the person I wanted to fuck if we had been in any kind of position to make it happen, and in the weeks since this meeting I have had to fight every single day to keep myself from putting us in that position.

A large part of me can’t but feel hypocritical, but I keep trying to remind myself that I am human and more than capable of making mistakes.

I also have to keep reminding myself that no matter how much I want this person, and no matter how amazing the sex would be and feel, to be non-ethical would feel much worse.

But—if we find ourselves in that position again, I, well, I just don’t know.