Shades of Gray (Asexuality): or, Intimacy à la Carte

Back when I first started poly, there were so many rules. These rules were meant to keep me and the primary relationship safe. Because that was the most important thing. And these rules made sense. Sex was reserved for only inside my triad. I could date and play with other people, and making out was okay, but there was no touching in the standard “bathing suit areas”. This was fine with me, most of the time, because I couldn’t fathom having sex with anyone outside my triad. I loved to make out (still do….kissing and touch are two of my favoritest things ever) but most of the time, I had no real sexual drive outside my triad. Most of the time.

So there was this one time when I was dating someone, and this person and I were sitting in my car. They started stroking my palm and talking to me in a very seductive voice. The stroking, the voice…ASMR kicked in and all of a sudden I told them we had to stop. Because I realized I was actually aroused and might’ve had an orgasm…from having my fucking palm stroked. We stopped. No orgasms were had, no bathing suit areas were touched.

There were other times, with people I was dating, very few and far between, that I wanted more than making out. Mostly, I wanted kink. To scene, to play, to be beaten and touched, to flog, be tied up. I didn’t have many options back then and I was also terrified of pick up play. I felt like an incoherent idiot in a foreign country trying to speak the language. Which was weird as hell, since in my triad we were kinky as fuck, and tried new things. However, we were more “into the kink scene” but not really “in” the kink scene. My partners didn’t like playing in public. And there weren’t many people that I both wanted to play with and of whom they approved.

When we got divorced, I began to slowly explore. I did things with people as I wanted, stopped things when I wanted to (or, the people I was with wanted to), and it was fucking terrifying. Because I realized I didn’t always know what I wanted without that screen of what I was told (and agreed to) that I could do. It was all stuff I had to figure out.

It seemed, though, that one common thread was that the rest of the world liked sex a whole helluva lot more than I did. It’s not that I disliked it. Nowhere near. I can be a whore and a half with the right person/people in the right circumstances. But the latter was rare-ish and the former was damn near non-existent. Somewhere along the lines, I found the term demisexual and it was like a light bulb in my whole body.

Yes! I need to have feelings and trust built up with someone before I could feel sexually attracted to them! After all, that’s the way it had happened before. That made sense. I couldn’t even conceive of a one night stand or sleeping with a friend just…cause. This label helped me understand things a little better.

Until I looked more into demisexuality and it’s umbrella label, gray asexuality. An even brighter light went off in me and I felt that even though this term meant more ambiguity than being demi, it fit. I’d begun saying that I didn’t have a primary sex drive, I have a primary kink drive, but this left some room that I felt necessary for a growing curiosity inside. Sex outside of a Relationship. I just still wasn’t sure how to…do that. All I knew was that I wanted to open myself up to it a little, so I did. And then things started happening (in no particular order)…

  • I had this metamour. And they were awesome and open and we had…a few hours together. Making out and some sex. I made them come. After, I didn’t really want to come. I just wanted sensation on my back. So they did that to me for so long. It felt soooooo fucking good.
  • Another time, I had been flirting with a friend sometimes after events. Even though my spouse told me to “go for it”, I didn’t really know how nor did I didn’t think anything would come of it. Until this one time, at a party, a kiss happened. Another time, some making out happened. Another time, we negotiated to play a few times. We agreed that all that was cool, but neither of us were interested in being more than friends.
  • I met someone who woke up parts of me that I didn’t fully know until years later. Taught me more about honest communication and who saw me for me in a way not many had ever done. Along with my best friend, they taught me that holding hands doesn’t have to be for Relationships. Helped me learn how to lean into difficult conversations. They’re incredibly important to me, even though I don’t see or talk to them very often.
  • Met another person who, within fifteen minutes of meeting me, asked if I was submissive. This was a night out with some friends, so it wasn’t like we were at a kink event. They’re someone I consider a comet who comes through my life about once a year and each time, I learn new things about myself. They challenge me. I barely knew anything about this person but found myself sexually attracted to them. We had a brief spanking scene once. Some fairly intense conversations and interactions.

These were all interactions that had some measure of what I would’ve categorized as sexual attraction when I was younger. And sexual attraction, to me, meant I couldn’t do anything with them unless we were in a Relationship. Problem was…these are all people I don’t want to be in a Relationship with. A relationship, sure. I already have relationships with all of them. Varying degrees of friendship

Then there was play…it took me a similarly long time to realize that I could casually play. It was a little easier for me, though. After trying to figure out what I was looking for in play and then starting to talk about it, I wound up connecting with other people who were interested in the same things. I drummed up the courage to ask some people I had kink crushes on to play. Some said yes, some said no. Some I’ve been able to play with and some I haven’t yet. Hopefully at a future event. And I’ve reached out to friends, as well. That’s been a big revelation, that I can play with friends.

  • My best friend and I started playing a few years back. Rose flogging, sadistic massage, impact play, things like that. We negotiate things and have had some great scenes and experiences. There will likely be more in the future and I’m glad for that.
  • A dear friend I’ve known for nearly two decades and I started playing. Some wax, a fantastic, cathartic scene in the fall of last year. Rose floggings. They’ve introduced me to another person dear to them and there’s been some fucking epic co-topping.
  • I’ve started messaging someone else I’ve known for years about playing. It all started from a ultra light flirty joke during a convo and something in me went, “huh…I wonder if there’s anything behind that or if it was just a passing flirt that happens.” Turns out, there was kinda sorta almost something to it and we started talking about possibilities. Things seem to be lining up and maybe hopefully one day, we’ll get to do a Thing or two.
  • Then there’s the pegacorn of the list: someone who’s become a very good friend, who inspires me, who’s great to talk to about so many things, AND with whom I like kinking with, can do energy play with, and one of two people in the world I currently am sexually attracted to.

It was usually a struggle to overcome the fear and panic, but once I did, it started getting a little easier. And I found I was suddenly playing with a few pretty awesome people. (“Suddenly”…after years of evolution). Without having to date them or be in a Relationship with them. This was a revelation. But it was nothing compared to the discovery over the past two-ish years that I could also have other forms of intimate times, like making out and sex and sensual times that also aren’t within a Relationship.

It’s taken nearly two decades, but I finally am able to extract sex and play both from Relationships and truly embrace the possibility of seeing them as a long list of types of intimacy that I can want, ask for, and experience à la carte.

The strangest thing of all, though, is that up until the last three years or so, I didn’t really know how to do intimacy à la carte…hell, I didn’t even really know it could be a thing. And now, it seems like it’s all that I’m interested in. Like, I seriously do not wanna date anymore. I’ve been re-evaluating my capital-R Relationships. And I’m noticing I have waaaaay less interest in traditional Relationship structures, even beyond dismantling hierarchy, and a fuckton more in exploring more with relationship anarchy and building whatever connections feels right for me and whomever I’m building with.

I’m still getting used to this new understanding of myself as a gray ace. Sometimes, it gets weird. People I’ve known for years started shying away from sex and sexuality as topics of conversation because they didn’t want me to be squicked. While I definitely appreciate the consideration, I always wind up feeling like…have you MET me?! I didn’t change who I am; all I did was find better words to describe it, but those words don’t negate the fact that I adore talking about sex, sexuality, kink, and so many thing associated with them. I just don’t have sex or feel sexual attraction as often as most people I know. It’s no better or worse; it’s just different.

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AFOG (Another Fucking Opportunity for Growth): Various Types of Breakups and Valid Reasons/Feelings

There’s rarely a Poly.Land post that doesn’t resonate with me, at least on some level. Sometimes I want to be Page Turner in another life. But Tuesday’s post about What People Get Wrong When They Talk About Partner Selection hit me directly in the feels.

Maybe it’s because I just went through a breakup. Like two days ago. Maybe it’s that the concept of “this just isn’t working for me” is one I’ve struggled with for the nearly two decades I’ve been polyamorous as a valid breakup reason, both for Relationships-with-a-capital-R and also their lowercase counterparts. Maybe it’s because “this doesn’t work for me” or “I’m not comfortable with this” has, quite literally, cost me relationships and jobs.

As I mentioned in my comment on that aforementioned post (the one that was originally posted to Fetlife and cross-posted to the link above), I agreed with Page in that about cultural scripts oversimplify breakups. Further, I said:

And also, they don’t encourage breaking up in amicable ways. There has to be a bad person, or a bad enough situation. “This just isn’t working for me anymore” isn’t considered valid, generally. We’re taught that you should fight for relationships, stay in them and work it out, especially in monogamous ones, especially when you’re on the relationship escalator. I’ve been unlearning a lot of that over the last few years. Kimchi Cuddles has helped a bunch. Tikva Wolf, the artist, has had some amazing strips about how sometimes relationships can last 5 minutes and be life changing. That instead of forever being a goal, shifting to “for as long as it’s good and healthy for all involved”.

This isn’t something I grew up learning. You were supposed to persevere. Fight for love. Tolerate abusive family members because they’re family. Stay on the relationship escalator until you get to the top (white picket fence with 2.5 children, a minivan, a McMansion you can’t afford…y’know…”happy”). Discovering polyamory revolutionized most of that for me, but there are still some holdovers and lacking skill sets.

For instance, I have no real breakup skills. Completely missed putting points into that skill set. Dumped a shit-ton into “giving to the point of exhaustion and complete depletion”. Burned a bunch on “I’m gonna ignore all the warning signs that I should get out”. And don’t let’s forget the buckets of points that went into empathy and “feeling all the damn things all the damn time”. I’ve stayed in relationships waaaaaaayyyy after it’s clearlys not working (at least for me), and usually to the point where it seems to not be working for anyone involved. And yet, sometimes, I/we’ve stayed longer. Since I think in song lyrics a lot of the time, “Louder Than Words” from the musical tick….Tick….BOOM! springs to mind:

Why do we stay with lovers
Who we know, down deep
Just aren’t right?
Why would we rather
Put ourselves through hell
Than sleep alone at night?

Seriously, why? One reason is the cultural scripts Page talked about. Another could be that it simply sucks to lose someone you love, even if it isn’t working. I mean, I could feel the breakup I just went through coming from a mile away (hell, if we’re honest, about two hundred miles away, but who’s counting, right?), and yet it didn’t stop my heart from breaking, me from crying, nor me from reaching for a a glass (or, um, a bottle) of St. Germain to dull the edges a little that first night. It didn’t help that work was a complete shitshow that day, as well, and the breakup happened at work. Cause that added a swell level of suck to the day.

But for some reason, beyond how much it sucks to lose someone, we’re still not supposed to leave unless there’s a “good enough Reason-with-a-capital-R”. And it has to pass muster for those around you. “It wasn’t working” is too vague for people. Not valid enough.

Related side story: a few years ago, a family member died. This person was a pedophile. Another family member called me and demanded to know when I would be there to help start making arrangements with them. That day, I decided not to go. (I was also slated to be flying out in a day or so to another family member’s wedding.) And it wasn’t that I chose one family member over another. It was that I could not make myself celebrate the life of a person who was going to be heralded as a hero. This person tore my family apart. Hurt people I love very dearly. Made me feel uncomfortable on multiple occasions but we weren’t supposed to talk about that. This situation/person was one of the biggest secrets in my family for years. Keeping up appearances was more important than actually dealing with shit.

So I took a deep breath and told my family member that I wouldn’t be coming for the funeral. They asked why. I said I didn’t feel comfortable with it. Their response?

“That’s not a real reason. I want a grown up, real reason.”

I had nothing left after that. At the time, I didn’t know how else to say it and was gutted; how I felt simply didn’t matter. So I kept repeating myself, and they did, too. We wound up in a stupid, crazy loop along the lines of Einstein’s definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. My reason was simply not valid. My discomfort was not valid. At the very least, it was not allowed to trump their pain in their time of need.

I was effectively disowned at that point. That person said they never wanted to speak to me again and two and a half years later, still have not (save for a bizarre FB photo that came at about 1am right after I had just finished a semi-interrogation scene at a kink convention. But that’s a story for another time).

My mind made an easy, awful conclusion: they chose the memory of a pedophile over a relationship with me, someone alive and hurting, as well. I felt disposable. Passed over for a pedophile. I didn’t matter. It threw me back to my childhood when there were many other instances where it didn’t matter how I felt:

  • when I was thrown into cars with drunk people driving to “get them home safely”
  • being taken down to bars and businesses at 2am to try and convince a family member to come home
  • getting phone calls from family members who said they wanted to see me and couldn’t explain why they weren’t able to nor why they suddenly disappeared
  • people I cared about ghosting me without any phone calls or reasons

When the adults were talking, whatever they said went. Even when it’s wrong. Even when it hurts. Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. It’s not that big a deal. Stop being so dramatic.

I feel a great kinship with Amanda Fucking Palmer’s songs, but this one from “Ampersand” is ingrained in my heart:

I have wasted years of my life
Agonizing about the fires
It started when I thought that to be strong you must be flame retardant
And now to dress the wounds calls into question
How authentic they are
There is always someone criticizing me
“She just likes playing hospital”

It’s no wonder I have a hard time simply saying, “no, actually. This isn’t working for me. This needs to end now.” Hell, I even have a difficult time saying, “this is fucked up. I won’t/can’t do this anymore.”

And the hardest yet: “I deserve to be treated better than this.”

It took me way too long to leave one job where I was saying to myself on almost a daily basis “this is all so fucked up and broken. I’m not able to change/fix/improve anything anymore. I need to stop. This isn’t working for me.” Similarly, the relationship/aforementioned breakup seemed to not be working for either of us for a while, but it took a bit to actually call it. (Fittingly, just about a week after I started writing a song entitled “Call It.”)

This sucks. I want to learn more about how to level up my breakup skills. That sounds terrible, but in reality, I think it’s a great skill to have. If anyone’s got any suggestions, please feel free to drop them in the comments.

I like what Kimchi Cuddles has said about it, and this strip has helped my mentality about letting R/relationships progress or transition as they need to:

KimchiCuddles-672

I will say that I’m grateful that when my now former partner said they didn’t have many spoons for Relationships that require attention right now because of stuff in their own life, I didn’t just say “DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME. I DON’T NEED ANY ATTENTION. THAT’LL KEEP US TOGETHER, RIGHT? BECAUSE STAYING TOGETHER IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING, RIGHT?!?”

No. I honored what they were saying and agreed that transitioning to friends was for the best for me, too. Because I do need some attention. And me saying I didn’t just to hang onto the Relationship wasn’t going to help either of us. I’ve had enough bitterness in my life to last for eons, so I ain’t got the time nor energy for holding tight to things that aren’t working anymore. I have needs.

One of them is a higher level of attention than I was getting. Another is to figure out my damn life. Still others include healing from leaving an incredibly stressful and toxic job, re-evaluating the last twenty years of my life, figuring out how to make amends, and getting my health in order. I had already decided at the end of January that I was going through a personal evolution and as such, ain’t got time to be dating.

Also, I also have barely any energy left to sustain fairly decent romantic relationships. The past year drained and damaged me more than I realized. I’m still assessing it all and trying to figure out how to heal. Only thing I know right now is that I need to focus on creativity, my health, blood and chosen family, mourning/grief, and moving on. It’s actually part of my treatment plan in therapy now to evaluate current Relationships-with-a-capital-R and ending the ones that are no longer working for me. AND for the foreseeable future not seeking out new Relationships to fill the void that will leave. To instead focus on creativity and cultivating a strong support network of relationships. Because how I feel and what I need is fucking valid and it’s about time I believed that as much as I believe that what other people feel/need is valid.

So, here’s to Another Fucking Opportunity for Growth.

Pack your bags; we’re going on a journey of sensual/sexual evolution!

In the beginner, I was a LESBIAN. I knew in my early teens but it took me a few more years to say anything to anyone. When I came out to my mom around 17 or so, her back-handed supportive response was “let me know when you figure out you’re bi.” Which pissed me off to nearly no end (I’m mostly over it. Mostly.) when somewhere along the way, right around the time I met my now ex-husband, I realized bisexual fit better. Grrrrrrrr.

From there, in my twenties, it got more complicated as I came to understand that gender wasn’t a binary, and even further, that I was attracted to people and their gender didn’t have much to do with it. I pushed my own gender exploration aside due to shame and fear, focusing instead on my poly, kink, and sexual evolution. Pansexual mostly fit for that, though I was never too comfortable with the “sexual” part. Then, in my mid/late thirties, I learned about demisexuality and the asexual spectrum. As I learned about that, the umbrella of gray asexuality was the closest I’ve come to a term that fit me. So I’ve settled on queer, gray ace. Because it’s fluid and not a fixed point. And “gray ace” is easier than than trying to explain a sexuality contains all this:

  • I have no interest in sex unless there’s some form of D/s, power exchange, energy exchange, or kink involved. It can be light power dynamics, it can be emotional sadism or masochism, it can be full on CNC (my fav), it can be tantra or some other type of energetic exchange, but there has to be some form of connection involved that isn’t just physical. Vanilla sex has absolutely no appeal to me.
  • Sex, in general, is not necessary nor is it preferred most of the time for me in kink. I do get turned on sometimes via kink, but most times, I don’t. It’s also highly specific to the activity and the partner(s). It’s been over 10 years since a rose flogging, in an of itself, has resulted in anything sexual for me or happening with the person I’m doing it on at the time.
  • Which leads to sensual kink. For me, kink is generally sensual as all hell. But it doesn’t usually “turn me on”.
  • It’s taken a longass time to discover that I can (and really like to) make out and do pick up play outside of a Relationship, but beyond making out, most times, I’m not interested in sexual things happening.
  • When I say “sexual things” I mean anything that directly stimulate the genitals or results in an orgasm. Vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, manual sex, sex with toys. All sex, to me. I know a few people who don’t think anything beyond PIV or PIA is sex, but that’s not the way I roll.
  • It’s also taken me a similarly longass time to begin to accept that I can actually have casual sex with people I’m not in a Relationship with. When I was identifying as a demisexual, I thought it was impossible. I now know it’s not just possible, it’s happened and I liked it. It’s not been frequent, by any stretch, but it has happened. It just depends on the situation, the person, the interests, the connection, the circumstances, and how we feel about it.), However, I need to have at least a basis of friendship.
  • Still don’t think I can do a one night stand with someone I don’t know. However, for the times I’ve been able to have sex when not in a Relationship, there has been some element of D/s or energy or power exchange involved, even just a little. Or it eventually went there. I once was in a situation where there was some energy stuff happening and making out with someone who is very big on active and ongoing consent/check-ins (and knows how to make them really sexy, too, which is skillz I wholeheartedly aspire to, let me tell ya) and at one check-in, I said that I was feeling all “yes”…but then it felt immediately not fully true. It wasn’t that I wasn’t feeling “yes”…I was (so. much. yes.)….so I explained that I also felt very much “I want to say ‘no’….to mean ‘yes'”. Which was more complicated and not something we had talked about, so we didn’t go there that time. We may or may not ever go there, and that’s okay. But I feel that CNC feeling a lot. 97% of my fantasies revolve around some form of CNC and/or cuckqueanery.
  • I just almost never feel like I solely want to fuck…or have sex and orgasm with another person as a…goal. I most often crave cuddling, making out, sensual touching, power and energy exchange, pain, exploring bodies and having mine explored…like, seriously, the inside of the elbows and hollow of the back and the inner thigh and the ankle….they’re so under-explored. I like touching, licking, nibbling, biting, caressing. There’s just so much to explore and I sometimes find myself getting lost or sad when I’ve gotten comfortable making out and it turns into NEW GOAL IS SEX. ORGASM.
  • For me, sex isn’t it’s own…impetus. Or goal, really. I do not have a primary sex drive.  I barely have a secondary sex drive. I totally have a primary kink drive. I almost never have any interest in coming unless someone wants me to. That being said, I very much like being of sexual service to people I connect to in that way.
  • I need filthy, dirty, vicious words whispered threateningly in my ear, a hand on my throat, teeth on my earlobe, tongue flickering inside my wrist…I need there to be pauses, silence, someone just out of sight, not knowing what they’re doing, a blindfold so I can’t see, force, direction. Please, make me serve you…it can be done with a calm directive or a brutal order; I don’t care. What do YOU want to take, goddamnit? Tell me. Claim it.

Sorry, where was I? My brain went a for a little gutter field trip, there…

Anyway, some of the most memorable times for me in regards to actual sexual arousal are things like having my palm stroked in such a way that I almost came…and had to stop because it was against my set of rules at the time. Seriously. Just MY PALM being stroked. Or finally being able to relax into myself and have an orgasm after struggling for so long to come…by being told it wasn’t for me. It was for the person I was with a the time. Or “preparing” a partner (fluffer, aisle one) to fuck another partner and being denied sex myself. Or a hug that morphed into a hand on my throat which led to me against a wall in a very intense kiss. Or a really long breath play scene that could’ve, to the untrained or unkinky eye, been call oral sex but technically had very little to do with sex, didn’t result in an orgasm for either of us, and had everything to do with power. Power claimed and taken, power surrendered willingly.

This ongoing evolution has been confusing as hell for me sometimes. The good thing is I finally feel like I’m finally wholly comfortable with the labels I’ve chosen without them feeling restrictive. They can help explain things and I have room to interpret, move fluidly go with how I feel in each interaction. I can articulate what I do and don’t want to people. Friends who might be play partners, friends who are already play partners, new people I meet who might be friends and/or play partners. Any of the above who might be a mentor.

Case in point: one of my partners asked me why I wasn’t pursuing someone I had recently met. The case was made that this person was my type, interested in similar things, and, as far as what little my partner knew about them, available. Problem was, I had no interest. I got no kinky vibe, no power exchange vibe, didn’t think they were poly. Turns out, after a general convo about online dating, I was right.

I’ve also come to realize that I don’t really have much interest in dating, so I literally just disabled my OKC account today. I’m not looking for any new poly partners, as I try to navigate life and a lot of changes and more to come. The only new things I’m open to right now are friends, mentors, and play partners, so I updated my Fet profile, too. I’ve been able to tell people that I’m a gray ace. It’s been scary, because I’m afraid they’ll walk, but if they do, I have to remember that it’s not a condemnation of me; it’s that our needs/desires don’t match up. And that’s just life.

So this is where I’m at in January of 2018…continually seeking, evolving, learning, and growing. Thank you for reading and any comments or questions you have. It’s likely that if you’re reading this, you’ve had some part in helping me figure this out, be it posts you’ve shared, convos or experiences we’ve had together, being supportive of me, or just by being part of a community that welcomes this type of growth and sharing. I’m grateful for that.

[New Year, New You] Week 1 – Making Way

So a dear friend of mine, who is an author, crafter, and all around glamourous Amazon (or Glamazon, as RuPaul calls them), started a series of 23 writing prompts called New Year, New You designed to fix your situation. And she decided to start this a few years back, before the turn of the new year because why wait. Fix that shit now. 

The first prompt starts here, and it is all about making way for the change you are about to start working towards. She breaks it down into three bite-sized sections for week one:

Let’s start with the easy part.  Time to clean your house.

“Let’s start with the easy part.” Bitch, you almost made me laugh. I love her dearly, but FUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK.

*whining*

I don’t wanna clean. I wanna keep living in the stacks of clothes and costumes and unpacked bags from this past year. This keeps all that shit in nice tidy piles where I don’t have to deal with it. Because I don’t wanna deal with the job that I left that I loved parts of but couldn’t stay at. Or the costumes pieces full of promise of burlesque routines and exercise I can’t seem to find time to put together or do. And pfffffttttt, what’s the use of putting away laundry? If it’s not put away, it’s much more handy. I mean, seriously…it’s much closer on the floor or piled on a chair than in the closet all the way over there. (for the record, my closet is about 10 feet from my bed. The chair is about 8 feet. I mean, c’mon. That’s TWO WHOLE FEET MORE.

What?

It’s just…I’ve been having such a mental block this past year, not wanting to deal with anything. Getting from day to day took most of my spoons, and now I have a new job to learn, and that new job takes more (but different) spoons than the last.

Urgh.

But she’s right. She’s fucking right. I can’t expect to move forward with a clear head and create good magical mojo when the space around me, that I live in, is chaotic.

Is your time being well spent?

Sometimes.

Next.

Just because someone hands you a big rock doesn’t mean you have to carry it.

Naaaaahhhhhhhh. I’m not carrying any big rocks. No secrets here. No heartbreak. No difficult decisions. No taking on another person’s shit as my own. No endlessly throwing energy into a void. No toxicity. No negativity. No seemingly endless confidences, only some of which I agreed to up front, that are weighing me down. No anger or disappointment or disillusionment or confusion or desperation or depression here. No health issues. No fear. None whatsoever.

*headdesk*

Alrrightee. Now that we know the mega shitstorm of situation fixing I need to do, the next part of her post was taking stock of what she’s done.

So.

Things I’ve done so far:

  1. Started tackling the piles. Eliminated a big one on the chair. Enlisted nesting partner’s help to put their laundry away while I packed away my summer clothes and then put most of my laundry away. Last week, I organized and condensed the pile of costumes and leftover event bags from this year. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.
  2. Been thinking a lot about how I spend my time lately. Things that are important to me. This boils down to music, writing, spirituality, authentic connections, emotional support, constructive selfishness (a phrase I learned from my therapist today and holy fuck, is it a great concept. Like self care, but…bigger.), kink, creativity, becoming healthier. I spent Christmas Eve with a fantastic friend establishing the first annual Queermas Eve full of playing music (and then taking a deep breath and posting the cover on my FB. I’m contemplating creating a YouTube channel to start putting up my uke sessions in the new year, as a way to continue to push myself to play more and grow), really vulnerable talking & sharing, a Wawa adventure, and some cuddling with a side of kink. It was pretty fucking great. I felt seen, heard, supported and supportive, in turn. I felt an energetic connection, joy, excitement, peaceful. Again, pretty fucking great. And a great reminder of what I’m looking for. What’s important to me. I did a fairly in depth full moon ritual that I felt proud of. Have been practicing uke more. And clearly have picked up writing again. And reading. I didn’t accomplish the quarter Cannonball Run I signed up for for 2017, but I’ve forgiven myself. I’m just glad I started reading again this year at all. In previous years, I’ve read 52 books, or 26 books. Last year, it was something like…five? Which blows. Currently, though, I’m in the middle of a few books. The best is Brene Brown’s “Rising Strong”. So topical in my life right now. I’m going to a play party this weekend and have one topping scene set up and have reached out to a few people to see if I can get some a bottoming scene in before the new year. And I’m trying to own up to my mistakes, take responsibility for my fuck ups, and also seek out authentic connections and emotional support. Hafta cultivate that constructive selfishness. Also have to work towards scheduling time for things instead of flying by the seat of my pants on a regular basis in an attempt to Do Everything (and usually falling way the fuck short on that.)
  3. There are too many rocks. Just in case your sarcasm detector is broke, all you have to do is take everything I said above under the rock section and remove all the “no’s”. Then you’ll have all the rocks that have created an avalanche on top of me and might begin to understand why I feel like I have almost nothing left to give anyone anymore. I’m beyond tapped out. The immolation period of a phoenix fucking SUCKS.

So, there you have it. There’s a lot of situation to fix, but I’ve begun to Make Way.

Just start.

My best friend sent this to me today after I sent him an email jam-packed with pain that I’ve been having a hard time articulating.

Start now.
Start where you are.
Start with fear.
Start with pain.
Start with doubt.
Start with hands shaking.
Start with voice trembling but start.
Start and don’t stop.
Start where you are, with what you have.
Just . . . start.

-Ijeoma Umebinyuo

When I first read it, paralysis side-swiped me. But I’ve surrendered to it, and marinated in it, and as I was cruising a website, I remembered something about someone I recently met. That they’re a photographer. And the description of how they shoot and how they regard their models was enough to make me at least reach out and inquire about what it would take to do a shoot. Because I made a promise to myself earlier this year to work for: 

Radical personal body acceptance including:

  • more photo shoots
  • more acceptance of the three parts of my body I have the most trouble loving
  • actively hone body self confidence and increase time spent with people who bolster that in me and themselves and others

Also, it made me look up Ijeoma Umebinyuo and holy fuck, she amazing and now I need to read her book.

And even though I updated the list that promise was part of in March, to include a resurgence of interest I had then in sex, that part didn’t change.

I realized, I’m also starting in other ways, recently, too. I’m pursuing some play opportunities with old and new friends, writing ISOs for events again, and I made arrangements to go a new(ish) kink event with a friend next weekend.

It might be time for a 3/4 year check in post for that bucket list, now that I think about it, because I’ve also discovered two things that weren’t on my radar when this year began that I now want to try. Also, I’m behind in reading and want to kick my own ass into gear for that.

Now I just also have to figure out how to take better care of my body. Been trying to take better care of my mind. Got a therapist, who’s awesome. Started writing more, including writing about my pronouns and struggle with gender. I want to write more even more frequently, and I’m trying to write more songs. Went to a song writers meet up a few months ago. Have to go back soon. Also sang in public on the boardwalk. Want to do that again soon. Have been trying to find different ways to communicate with people to get needs met. Trying to make my life better. It just hurts a lot and is really difficult right now. But.

I’m starting.

I am not a means to an end.

I am NOT a means to an end.

Brain: But…

No, brain. I am not a means to an end.

Heart: Are you sure…

Hey…heart. I am not a means to an end.

Body: Really…?

Really, body. Fuckin’ listen up: I am not a means to an end.

The phrase “you are not a means to an end” came up in therapy recently and I can’t get it out of my head. When my therapist first said it, the room felt very still and I had to remind myself to breathe as the tears formed. Suddenly, I felt the need to both protect myself and be vulnerable.

It keeps popping up at inconvenient times, and suddenly I’m crying on a bench next to a stranger while waiting for my car to be done getting an oil change.

Why is this so hard to believe?

When did I stop thinking I was worthy of attention and affection just…for myself? When did that become so hard to accept, yet something that I crave to the point of near desperation lately?

I know I’m primarily a submissive, but I also know enough, learned enough, was trained well enough to know that submissive does not equal doormat, in the paraphrased words of my best friend. That yes, I love to serve. And while I’m also a switch, my core is pure submissive. However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have needs and desires.

A partner once wrote to me that “as much as it is your responsibility to serve me, it is my responsibility to make you feel loved and make sure you have what you need and sometimes what you want.”

When I first read it, I also cried.

There’s been a lot of crying lately.

There’s also this comic by the wonderful Sarah Andersen, making the rounds.

But this one really hit me as I stumbled across it on a friend’s FB feed. Caring for the animal within. 

And I have no problem telling other people, especially submissives, that they have to put their own oxygen mask on first.

As it came up in therapy, though, I’m so used to giving. Making sure the people I care about have what they want and need beyond my own natural warning signs of “Empty! Need refuel!” as a method of survival that it’s just…what I do. And there’s also the times when, I’ve tried repeatedly to communicate what I want and need to various partners and the many times it’s been misunderstood, delayed forever, or just completely ignored. Sometimes, I’ve stopped asking. I’m not proud of that. Sometimes, I keep trying and once finally asked a question that wound up setting off a domino effect of that particular relationship ending.

Earlier this year, I had some wonderful experiences with someone who wanted to…do things for/to me because they wanted to. And because I asked or made it clear that I wanted certain things. It was…difficult to relax into. My brain went into hyperdrive anxiety, wondering if I looked okay/attractive, if I smelled okay, if the noises I was making were okay, getting frustrated with myself for not coming “quick enough”, and I tried to keep all this under control and not go into a full on anxiety attack for experiences that were supposed to be, and largely were, good. Some times, I even succeeded. It was the closest I’ve come lately to enjoying the moment and savoring the hell out of those experiences, but I still…struggled.

To be very clear, these were all my own hang ups. None of it came from the other person. In fact, they were amazing beyond amazing with telling me that all the things were fine, good, appealing, and showing me that they actively wanted to be where they were and doing what they were doing. Which included waking up parts of me I didn’t even think were responsive (or, wait….how the hell did you do that?! That part of me never reacts like that!), introducing me to dropping into sub space briefly with someone who was not a Dominant or Master/Mistress to me (well, that was a cool brief dip into subspace with no melancholy for wishing things could be different with you or anyone else; how the fuck did that happen?), and showing me by example the joy of relishing the moment for what it is.

This wasn’t fueled by NRE, that I know of. We’d kind of ridden a lot of that out by starting to build a friendship. It wasn’t driven by a desire to get me back after a breakup. Nor was it done, to the best of my knowledge and belief about this person, as a means to an end. I wasn’t a means to an end. It was shared experiences. And I don’t think I realized until recently just how fucking hard it was for me.

I hate that.

I hate that it was so hard for me to follow good feelings, hard to be treated like I was desirable, hard to admit that I desired things, and accept those things once talked about and freely given. Sex in general can be difficult for me. I have strong cuckquean and con non-con fetishes that are actually fetishes…like I need to think about one of those two things to get off 95% of the time, both when I masturbate or when I’m with other people. Both of those are built around denial of my own needs and desires and other people using me, taking what they want. For the very (very) few people that I feel comfortable being sexual with, that’s where my mind goes. When I don’t have an established D/s connection with that person, or that person isn’t into either of those things…my brain apparently gets a little messed up. It doesn’t know how to process…”do this because it feels good. You said you wanted it, and this person wants to give it to you, and that’s okay.”

I don’t know if it’s tied to my difficulty practicing self care or if it’s something different, but it feels right now like it’s tied together somehow. Like maybe I eroticized difficult things that’ve happened in my life so that I could reclaim them. But if so, the pendulum has swung so wildly in the other direction and I’ve forgotten how to relax into feeling good.

There are, apparently, a lot of things I’ve forgotten or fallen out of practice with. Like practicing. Magic and music. Like writing. Like intense, regular exercise. Like eating well and drinking water.

Once upon a time, I didn’t drink enough water at an event I was working. I wound up having an episode and being taken to see the EMTs. They ordered me to rest and hydrate. At the end of the weekend, someone else ordered me to my knees, handed me a glass of water, and told me to stay that way for 10 minutes and that maybe that would help me remember the importance of staying hydrated.

For the next few months, I was the best hydrated I’d ever been in my life.

Last month, there was an event that I had to work and I knew it was going to be difficult for many reasons. So I set myself into self-care overdrive mode. I knew that I wouldn’t have my best friend & PA there to help make sure I ate and drank, so I arranged with a few different people to help me with that and made sure to get some fairly healthy snacks to also help. I reached out to my magic-minded friends (and the internets) to relearn how to set up a portable altar, because it’d been years since I’d done that. I made lists, brought extra things to nest my hotel room with, and as soon as I got there, set about putting it all into effect.

I set up a portable altar, nested beyond any nesting I’d ever done before for an event, and also since I knew the person who had once made me kneel with the water would be beyond hella busy, I took it upon myself to kneel every day holding a glass of water for five minutes, setting my intentions for the day, reminding myself that I was worthy of my own service.

No one told me to. That was really fucking difficult to do, but I did it. And I stayed hydrated. I also ate three meals a day during the event. Which never happens. I’m exceptionally lucky if I get two, and that’s with having a PA whose main purpose is to make sure I’m okay at events. So for this one event, I was able to throw much of my energy into self care enough to get through the event and serve the community. But afterward? It’s been really challenging to keep up that self care. To keep believing that I deserve my own service, to put on my own oxygen mask, to ask for the help I need, and the interactions I want. I’ve been building a lot of walls. It’s just…there’s been so much pain. So much confusion. So much fear and difficulty. So much longing.

My body meters are at an all time low in regards to D/s, touch, sex, romance, sensation, making out, dancing, creativity, exercising, and snuggling/cuddling. I’m having problems with my teeth, my stomach, my uterus. My sleep patterns, which are normally already fucked because of childhood issues, have been beyond borked. Life is changing and I just keep thinking, “how do I change with it?” How do I move through all the transitions I feel coming?

I don’t know how to fight for myself and claim my own power let alone move into the next phase of my life. I barely know how to not treat myself as a means to an end of just getting through each day, so how do I even begin to stand up for myself and tell others that I am not a means to an end, if I don’t believe it myself?

The best starting place, I guess, is to keep reminding myself.

No, really, self.

I AM NOT A MEANS TO AN END.

One of these days, I’ll hopefully even believe it.

For Valentine’s Day, I’mma love myself.

Recently, I’ve been terrified I was failing everything in life. I’ve felt behind, buried beneath, and bassackwards.

Turns out, I have been failing spectacularly.

I’ve been failing myself.

I have been my own worst enemy, afraid of my body. I had a resurgence of sexiness last year, but it dwindled by the end of the year and vanished completely in the last two months or so. I’ve become afraid it would drive those I love away, as it felt like it had in the past. It doesn’t help that two partners in my life have told me that they were no longer sexually attracted to my body because of it’s size. The first time it happened was devastating. The combination of derision in that partners’ eyes, along with the words that shot from their mouth was something I’ve spent years battling. The second time it happened made my heart sink but I also was able to hold my head up and have a discussion about it. There were tears. A lot of tears. I went for a drive. Had a conversation with a dear friend who reminded me to love myself, first and foremost.

Then I also remembered a scene recently where I was petrified to take off my clothing. I was not ordered to. In fact, Sir told me to get down to the lowest form of undress that I felt comfortable with. But with another wonderful person’s help, I got to the point where I thought, “was I really going to protect myself by keeping my pants and bra on? And if my body was going to drive him away, wouldn’t I want to know that now? And why would I want to be with someone like that anyway?” Something stronger than my fear told me I could trust the situation, Sir, and the scene.

So, I stripped to my panties and got to my knees where I belonged.

The scene was amazing and brought me places I haven’t been in years. During aftercare, though, my brain kicked in again and I got scared. Sir made me talk through the shit my brain was telling me and the conversation we had went something like this:

Me: I’m not good enough.
Sir: Wrong.
Me: I’m not pretty enough.
Sir: Wrong.
Me: I’m not submissive enough.
Sir: Very wrong.
Me: I’m too fucked up for you.
Sir: *laughter* Nope.
Me: I’m too old.
Sir: Nope.

By the end of that conversation, I felt more centered and safe again. Later, though, it kept banging around in my head. Apparently, it didn’t fully resonate until I was able to internalize and believe the answers myself. It’s a daily fight to believe it. But I’m prepared to fight. I posted a pic about three weeks ago from a scene back in November at GKE: Classic. It’s taken me over two months to post it because of body image issues.

Also, I started writing this post three weeks ago when I posted that pic and it’s taken three revisions to finally not be afraid posting it.

For some reason, it’s easy for me to see that my friends and partners and metamours are gorgeous and glorious, regardless (or maybe because) of their color, size, gender presentation, hairness, religion or lack thereof, mental health issues, neural diversity, etc. I think variety is good, healthy, necessary. One of my favorite quotes is still from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves:

“Allah loves wondrous variety.”

If this is the case, why is it so fucking hard to apply this to myself? Especially since I’m poly and have multiple partners? One would think that that would be enough to correct my brain, like, “hey, you’ve got multiple partners of different types. Why you no think you pretty?”

Because it goes beyond beauty. Because it’s also sexiness. And sex. I mean, society in general still has a fucking hard time being okay with the fact that not just young, thin, straight, white cis people fuck. Old people do. Fat people do. People of all ethnicities and genders and all kinds of people do (except some ace spectrum people…I see you, too…technically am still one of you to a certain extent.).

And I’ve had a really, really hard time admitting that/when I want attention. That elusive feeling of being desired. When it starts coming up, I hide. Retreat. Say I don’t need anything. The few times makeout sessions happened recently in the last few months have been stupid fucking difficult for me because I don’t think that the other person really wanted it to happen, even with what seemed like enthusiastic consent. It kind of impedes things, especially that being desired thing, if I don’t believe or trust that the person on the other end actually desires me when they are actively showing me that they do.

See, as a submissive, I’ve always loved to please those I care for, both in nonsexual and sexual service (for those with whom I have that type of relationship). It means I tend to initiate things in established relationships. Or used to. And back when I identified as a lesbian a million years ago, I thought I was a stone butch. I’m currently pansexual, and realizing that it wasn’t so much that I solely preferred to please my partner and not have it reciprocated so much as, at some point, I got scared to accept attention, especially in the sexual sphere. I have a hard time believing and trusting anyone could be attracted to me. I tend to need to be hit with a clue by four before I’ll even consider that someone could be sexually interested in me.

That one partners’ eyes come back to me and I’m thrown back, suddenly thinking, feeling this new person is going to wind up looking at me the same way, if they weren’t already. That my body is too big, my breasts are too weirdly small, and my double chin was eventually, if not right now, going to make them sneer at me. And even when I get past all this self-berating talk and difficulty from the past, I may or may not spend awhile asking if it’s real. And even then I may or may not spend a little longer thinking, “sure, okay. You like me now. But when is the other shoe gonna drop? When is the love in your eyes going to turn to disgust?” Might as well beat them to the punch, right? Tear myself down before anyone else can?

What? That’s served me ever so well.

*sigh*

Yeah, I don’t believe me either.

What I’m realizing is that I’ve spent so much time drawing my sense of value, worth, and sexiness based on what other people thought of me. In the relationship with the partner who chose an incredibly hurtful way to tell me they weren’t attracted to me anymore and why, sex had been falling off gradually and I felt like I had to beg (not in the good way) for any attention or interaction. That takes a toll. I think I kind of gave up. Decided I wasn’t worth it.

It took reading a post on Fet to make me understand how desperately I’d wanted someone(s) to be demonstratively, publicly proud of me so I could use it to try to constantly fight the feeling that anyone with me must be secretly ashamed of me and eventually going to leave me for someone younger and thinner and better.  That I’ve craved public displays of affection and dominance because my own self esteem says if it’s not happening, they don’t want it to happen because there’s something wrong with me. That I have a hard time talking about sex because I’m certain if it’s not happening or hasn’t happened in a long time, my body must be what’s wrong. And if it hasn’t happened yet, it’s clearly because they don’t want me. Not any number of other reasons, including, as I’ve recently been hit over the head with, hey…other people have fears and insecurities, too, and they may not want to push me or be sure that I’m attracted to them. These are not easy things to admit. But it’s not fair to try to use someone else to be a buffer or balm to things I have to deal with in myself.

So! I’ve recently tossed all those negative fucks out the window. I’mma love myself first.  I’m not going to draw my self worth from what someone else thinks of me. Or, I’m gonna endeavor not to. It is still a journey. My plan is to seek out people who want to explore and have fun with me and we’ll figure out what that means and what we do as we go along by talking directly to each other. It’ll be different with each person because we’re all unique people. I’m going to stop being my own worst goddamned enemy and running scared before I even get close to someone so they can’t hurt me first. I will hold my head up and rediscover my own fucking fuckableness.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all. No matter who you’re with or not with or what kind of relationship style you’re in, may you find a center of love in yourself for yourself. As for me, life is kind enough to line up with these epiphanies I’ve been having and I’m spending Valentine’s Day night having dinner with a dear friend and picking up a vanity she’s giving me. If that’s not a message, I don’t know what is.