Oh, so the worst thing you will read all day.

Posted today on Shakesville was this, which is a link to an article about a "controversial" new book that postulates that feminism has ruined male-female relations and that women need to stop "acting like men" at home and give up on this whole "equal" thing because "men don't fall in love with equals."

If you've got enough sanity points, it's worth reading the article, if only because I cannot make this shit up, y'all.

Feminism does in fact tell women that we do not have to act demure, "sexually available", "complimentary", etc. and so on. 

But feminism does not tell us that we MUST not act that way.  The beauty of feminism is that we have the ability to be individual people, and decide what femininity means to us on our own terms - so far as any of us can have our own terms, growing up and living in the miasma of patriarchy.

Likewise, feminism does not proscribe narrow roles for men and say all men like THIS and think THIS and do THIS and are capable of THIS.  Which is what the authors are saying.  And yet, feminists are man-haters?

Additionally, you know, I am all for clear communication in relationships.  Part of that is because I try to do it myself and I really like the results, part of it is because I think communicating respectfully with people is just part of being a decent person and I have this thing about not being an asshole.  And it chaps my ass that these authors can advocate a healthy relationship skill like communication in the same mothafuckin BREATH as they advocate that women should tone their personalities and accomplishments down so they don't hurt the menz' precious fee-fees.

And while we're at it, could this book get any more hetero-normative?  The entire QUILTBAG community, where are they in all this?  Oh right, patriarchy tells us that only straight relationships matter.  And only those where the woman is properly "sexually available" and "complimentary" (no, the misspelling is not mine).

Oh also, what about relationships that aren't dyads?  Wait wait wait, those don't exist either; sorry my silly ladybrane forgot.

This is the same old WHAT ABOUT THE MENZ LADIES YOU BETTER STAY DEMURE ON THE GROUND WITH THAT BOOT ON YOUR NECK OR ELSE bullshit.  And it is absolutely galling that they mixed in a little bit of actual relationship advice to, what, make it more palatable?  Make it more mainstream?  I don't even know.

Is it possible someone will read this and chime to the "communication" part and it'll change their lives for the better?  Sure.  But why should they have to swallow all of that other shit to get there?

Psychosomatic

Most of the time I'm fascinated by the interplay of physical and mental states.

Lately, I'm just annoyed.

Yes, I know body, I'm aware that mentally, I'm checked out, and don't want to be at my job right now. I assure you, the nausea and malaise are totally unnecessary. They are not helping the situation.

It is amazing, however, how quickly it can change. Like, within five minutes of leaving today, I will start feeling better. And I feel fine on the weekends.

I just feel like crap during the week.

Vacations, etc.

So what have I done in the past two months?  Gone on vacation, and gone on another vacation, and booked plane tickets for yet another, and in between worked a lot.

I did go to the public kinky event I was freaking out about, and it was actually okay.

And then I worked some more.

I am still working with Hal, I am still talking with Joseph, and Jay and I finally finished the space we were working on converting in to a play room.  I even bought a bench to put in there, now I just have to figure out where to put the hooks on it so that someone can be restrained on it easily.

And then I worked.

And now I do actually have to get my ass to work, but I did want to post on here - no I am not disappearing for good, I was just super-busy.

Reasons why I can't believe anyone in their right mind considers me an adult

• 8 am meeting?  Let's stay up until 3:30 reading trashy romance novels?
• Oreos?  Why, those sound like a fine breakfast!
• Lunch?  Wait, I'm supposed to eat again?  Ugh.  I'm hungry,  yeah, but there's no fooooood right here.
• OH GOD I AM SO HUNGRY AND THEREFORE ANGRY RAAARRRRGHGHG SMASH
• heheheheheheh accidental dong heheheheheheh
• Wait, you mean I'm supposed to listen to the voice mail, and then call people back?
• "Clean all the things? :(" (FYI, I laugh EVERY TIME I READ THIS)
• Fuck, I should really bring a lunch with me to work.  How about let's go to bed instead of packing one.
• DAMMIT IT'S 3 PM AND I'M AT WORK AND THERE'S NO FOOD AND I AM HUNGRY GODDAMN YOU ALL
• Spending six hours reading sex blogs, rather than do anything like, oh, laundry, cook, dishes, etc.?  Hell yeah.
• Nachos?  Totally an awesome dinner.

Number 7 - Your ex-

Frenzy -

I admit to having some mixed feelings about you.  I admit to indulging in some serious schadenfreude when I found out that you were married and miserable.  I admit that every once in a while, I miss you.

You were the first one to teach me that yes, people found me attractive.  That in and of itself makes our probably-doomed-from-the-start relationship worth it.  You liked me.  You wanted to kiss me.  And no one had ever been in my life like that before.

I didn't quite know what to do with that at the time.

Looking back, I can see the seeds of the person I am today in the person I was then, and know, with no sadness, that we wouldn't have been happy together for any significant length of time.  Our paths are for different destinations, even though we were beside each other for a while.  And having realized that, I can't be mad at you for not being able to give me what I needed.  It's not who you are, and there isn't anything wrong with that.

So, my memories of you are largely fond, and I can only hope you think of me the same way.
And wherever your path leads you, may the walk be good.

~s.

Well fuck me.

I've discovered that there is certain music that I really, really shouldn't listen to at work.

Backing up a moment.  As a coping skill, I frequently have my iPod going at work, with my headphones on.  It provides a layer of isolation from the environment that I really, desperately need right now.  I am so not capable of dealing with hearing people's conversations and being aware of when people are walking past and etc. and so on.  So it helps keep my stress level down, as well as helps me concentrate on work.

Problem is, there are certain songs that really, really get me thinking about things I probably shouldn't at work.  See, I'm a dancer, and dancing?  Dancing is just socially acceptable public foreplay.  Really good dancing is dirty.  And I can do hell of dirty dancing.

So, there's a lot of music I have specifically because it's very danceable, and lately, when I hear certain of the songs, good goddamn, my brain is treating me to all sorts of very, very dirty dancing scenarios, usually either with Hal or Jay.  And it frequently evolves from dancing - again, see also foreplay - to very explicitly sexual situations.

Apparently my brain thinks I need to make use of a very specific chair in my house.  For sexual purposes.

And apparently my brain thinks that I'm not having enough sex (actually, I agree with it on that).

You know, which is all well and good, except for the whole part where one, I don't have an office with a door, and two, I'm supposed to be, you know, working.  One of these days I'm going to have the wrong look on my face when the wrong fucking person walks by and that is just going to be a bad scene, y'all.

Well then!

I had my first experience with a Hitachi last night.  We'd actually bought it about, oh, a month ago, and Jay's been using it, but I have so far resisted.  I was... intimidated?  Concerned?  Hmm.  Well, not totally on board with having a Hitachi applied to me.

I mean, that sucker is fucking loud.

I was apparently in somewhat more experimental mental space last night - or at least willing to be talked in to things - because when Jay said "Oooh, let's try out the Hitachi" in the midst of our excited erotic fumblings, I said "Okay?"  Maybe it was just that I didn't feel like saying "no" yet again.

Yes, there was a question mark on that.

And... you know, it's different.  Not bad, definitely very intense.  But different.  It's definitely thrum-my, which I've heard.  And I found that for me, unlike most vibrators, it needs to not be applied directly to my clit.  Press it in to my pubic bone, above or below the clit?  Oh now that is delightful.  I highly enjoy the fact that everything vibrates.

Is it a game-changer?  Nah.  Did it totally rock my world and/or tilt it off its axis?  Nope.  Will I use it again?  Meh, probably.  I just can't see myself reaching for it repeatedly and often.  Of course, I don't reach for vibrators that often anyway, so that's really not super-surprising.

What is interesting is that the twiddly bits were not nearly as sensitive after orgasm as they usually are.  How much of that is the Hitachi and how much of that is just where I am on the sexuality swing (see also:  the other night, I masturbated to orgasm, and immediately wanted to go again), who knows.

So one Hitachi-assisted orgasm and one penis-assisted orgasm later, at 10 at night, I passed the hell out.  And woke up at 6 the next morning with my necklace still on.  Classy.

Obviously I needed that.

Oh god I hope not

So since it's my blog, I figure I can ask some really stupid questions here, right?

Long story short, next month Jay and I will be attending a public fetish-y event.  The reservation form for the event asks for scene names.

Neither of us fucking has a scene name.

Are scene names required?  Having never been to this kind of event before, I seriously have NO FUCKING IDEA.

Help?

Number 1 - Your best friend

SN-

I need to get drunk with you right fucking now because there are so fucking many stupid asshats in this world I can't even.

-SN2

Woo equality!

So in case you haven't heard, Proposition 8 in California was overturned today and ruled to be unconstitutional.

Which is fucking awesome.

The ruling itself is a thing of beauty - and of course I'm biased; I have this pesky belief that gender, sex, and sexual orientation shouldn't be reasons to discriminate against anyone - and names opposition to same-sex marriage for what it is:  an emotional or religious belief that same-sex couples are inferior to "opposite-sex" couples.

Now granted, I'm privileged.  I'm a white straight cis-woman; the only ways I could get more privileged would be to be a cis-man and skinny.  So yes, I'm doing a happy dance about this.  This means a lot of my friends who couldn't get married before can.  This means that they get something I do, that I get to share, that the eyes of the law can't look on them differently than they do me in one very significant and visible way.

Does this mean that everyone's equal?  Nope.  Does it mean that gay and lesbian people are equal to everyone else?  Nope.  It doesn't even remotely touch on anything else in "LGBTQQI" besides the "L" and the "G", and even then, only on one specific issue, the recognition of marriage.

There is still so, so much to do.  I am not in any way denying that.  I'd love to see transpeople included in ENDA.  I'd love to see DOMA and DADT repealed.  I'd love to see marriage redefined and poly relationships recognized.  I'd love to see actual equality, for fucking everyone.  This ruling, this ruling about one specific thing, is not even enshrined in law yet and could very well be overturned.

And maybe because I am so privileged, it's easier for me, even with all of that, to do a happy dance about this.  Maybe it's easier for me to be overjoyed that a symbol - a symbol - is step-by-step becoming more accessible for everyone, should they choose it. 

But you know what?  Fuck it.  This is another course of bricks in the big ol' house called Equality, and fuck it, I'm celebrating.

Thirty letters

I've seen this meme on a few other blogs, but originally on Britni's.  The idea is that over the course of thirty days, you write thirty letters, each to someone different.  The list is as follows:

Day 1 — Your Best Friend
Day 2 — Your Crush/ Boyfriend
Day 3 — Your parents
Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)
Day 5 — Your dreams
Day 6 — A stranger
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush
Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend
Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet
Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to
Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to
Day 12 — The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain
Day 13 — Someone you wish could forgive you
Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from
Day 15 — The person you miss the most
Day 16 — Someone that’s not in your state/country
Day 17 — Someone from your childhood
Day 18 — The person that you wish you could be
Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad
Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest
Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression
Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to
Day 23 — The last person you kissed
Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory
Day 25 — The person you know that is going through the worst of times
Day 26 — The last person you made a pinky promise to
Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day
Day 28 — Someone that changed your life
Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to
Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror

I hated writing assignments in school, and I don't do deadlines or dailies very well, but I like the concept.  When I have ideas for what at least half of these would look like, after just looking at the list, clearly I need to participate.  There's a lot to work with here, and I think "interesting" would be just the tip of the iceberg.

Still, I'm not going to do one every day, nor am I going to do them in order, I think.  I might not even do all of them.  But, there are some I definitely want to write.

Maybe even send.

So over the next while, you'll see some of these popping up on the blog.  They won't be "Day such-and-such", they'll be "Number such-and-such", and they'll be tagged.  Let's see how far the rabbit hole goes, hmmm?

See also: On the Notion of Consent and Personal Responsibility

If you haven't already heard about this story, you're lucky.

Basically, a woman sued Girls Gone Wild for taping her without her consent when she was in a bar a number of years ago.  A jury ruled that since she was in the bar, she consented to being filmed.

It gets worse.  One, she only found out that she was in the film after an acquaintance told her, a number of years after the fact.  Two, what was filmed was her being sexually assaulted.  In the video, another woman pulls down her shirt while she can clearly be heard to be saying "no no no".

How fucked up is our culture when not even NO means no?

Never mind the fact that I have issues with the entire "no means no" structure of consent anyway.  As you've noticed in previous entries - and probably by my blogroll - I'm a fan of the enthusiastic consent structure.  Unless there's a clear "yes", there is no consent.  But I recognize that for many people, the only education they receive on matters of consent is in fact "no means no", and so I'm willing to at least work with that.  It is, after all, better than nothing.

But in this case, there was not only a lack of enthusiastic, clear consent - the GGW company did not produce a written consent, nor could they produce verbal consent captured on video - but there was a definite presence of the revoking of consent.  She was asked to flash the camera.  She said no.  Someone else assaulted her - and make no mistake, that was assault - and pulled down her shirt, exposing her breasts.  There was no consent, and this should have never been put in to the video.

Moreover, I'd say that the camera person has a responsibility to say "HEY THAT ISN'T COOL" and stop the tapes from rolling.  Never mind everyone else the bar having a responsibility to say the same thing, at a bare fucking minimum.

The message that this verdict sends is just a reaffirmation of the one rape culture gives us every day.  That women are public property.  That if we aren't good little girls we deserve whatever happens to us.  That going out and having a good time means that anything and everything is on the table.

And that is just fucking bullshit.

No fucking thank you

So, I don't actually like receiving oral.

Giving?  Oh, I adore giving.  I fantasize about cocks in my mouth on a regular basis.

Receiving?  Not so much.

For the most part I try to be, mmm, nonchalant about it.  "It's nice", I say, "but that's about all it is".  Or, "I can take it or leave it".

That is more where I want to be, where I strive to be, than where I really am.

Where I actually am is Saturday morning, Jay and I had woken up, and I was feeling decidedly frisky.  We started making out, he put his hand on my throat, starting using the paddle on my tits (which have I mentioned?  I love), started using it on my cunt.  I was sprawled on the bed, legs open, really starting to get in to things and thinking to myself "oh god please fuck me" when he bends over me, puts his face between my legs, and ever-so-gently starts licking my clit.

"It's okay, I'm cool" I practically chanted to myself and laid absolutely still.  Yeah, it was cool for about 90 seconds, tops, when it was definitely OHMYGODNOTCOOL and I pretty much freaked.

A couple of things:

1. The better I'm doing on a given day with respect to my body image, the easier it is for me to chill out and not freak out when Jay starts eating me out.  If I'm already anxious in some way about my body, it's far easier for me to be extremely anxious about the state of my vadge.  On Saturday, I was already low-level freaking about the fact that we were due to be going to the beach with friends, and I would be wearing a swimsuit, and my legs were kind of hairy, and none of these friends had ever seen me in a swimsuit before.  Yes, intellectually, who the fuck cares?  It's my body, my body is wonderful, if they have a problem with it it's their problem not mine blah blah blah etc. and so on.  And most of the time, I can maintain that.  But unlearning the self-loathing for my body that I've been marinating in for nearly 30 years is a long, arduous process, and clearly is not done yet.  It was definitely an "EW NO GROSS" moment.  I'm not proud of it, but there it is.
2. At the best of times, oral sex performed on me is pleasant and nothing more.  It does not come close to getting me off, and doesn't do anything to increase the pleasure I'm feeling.  If anything, it decreases it, as it's kind of ho-hum.  As you can imagine, this doesn't provide any incentive to get over myself in this area.
3. I'm really sick of hearing from various sources, such as magazines and the like, that oral is the end-all-be-all of getting off and that women all looooove oral.  Fuck you.  By stating that women are a monolith you do a disservice to women fucking everywhere.  We all get off in different ways and like different things and that's okay.
4. Joseph and I, in our myriad discussions, have discussed oral.  Upon finding out that I actually don't like receiving, his reply was "When we get together, I WILL go down on you, and you WILL like it."  My immediate reaction was "Fuck you, no I won't".  I don't respond well to orders.  SHOCKING, I know.  But that conversation popped in to my head Saturday morning.  It added to the fucked-up-ness, which I didn't appreciate.
5. I also hear about all these women who just wish their guys would go down on them, and I wish mine wouldn't.  How is it that a woman who despises oral keeps attracting guys who love giving it?  What the fuck?
6. Jay's and my relationship is such that should he choose to dominate this hang-up out of me, he probably could.  In other words, he could order me to like it, proceed to do it to me on a regular basis, and basically train my reaction out of me.  He hasn't, and I'm not sure I want him to.
7. My sense of smell has been cranked to 11 lately, so I am hyper-sensitive to odors, and have a hard time remembering this under pressure.

So I got triggered in a bad, ugly way, and proceeded to cry in the shower, and then be unspeakably tetchy and angry the entire rest of the day. We also did not go to the beach, for mostly related reasons.

We eventually processed it all out (at 3 in the morning, when we both went to bed, wheee!), whereupon I cried again.  Jay had gotten blindsided when I freaked in the morning, because one, he had no way of knowing what kind of headspace I was already in, and 2, when we had last discussed this topic and I had said "it's not unpleasant?" I had not made clear that that was more in the way of being a goal than my default state of being.

Having processed and reconnected, we were both feeling better, whereupon he proceeded to apply the new clips I bought at Ikea to my nipples, which, I have to share, was DIVINE.  Which will teach him to doubt my purchases!  And lo, it was good.

Still do not have any desire to be eaten out, ever though, thanks.  Just... no.

*rolleyes*

Joseph and I frequently entertain ourselves during our respective work days by having salacious and flirtatious conversations.  Nearly as often, we're discussing politics or philosophy or something else, but the conversations do regularly turn sexual.  Sometimes it's describing what we'd like to to do to each other should we ever find ourselves in the same city.  Sometimes it's more prosaic - asking and answering questions about what the other likes, limits, etc.

While we were planning Tuesday's escapades, he made a passing remark that I might find it easier to write erotica after I'd "cum a bit".

Never mind the writing, there is no "bit" in cumming for me, and I promptly let him know.  We moved on in the conversation but I got the impression that he really didn't understand what I was saying.

Later that night, he did actually get to see me in the throes of orgasm.  Now, let me explain.  For me, orgasm is often explosive.  I've been told by Jay that it looks like I'm having a seizure, for starters.  My entire body spasms, and if I'm capable of any vocalization at all, it's merely guttural shrieks and or moans.  (Actually, I tend to lose verbal faculties fairly early on in arousal, which drives Joseph up a wall sometimes.  Seeing as how we largely communicate through text and phone calls.)  After orgasm, my brain more or less shuts down and I spend that time in a daze.  This daze can last anywhere from one minute to half an hour, depending on the severity of the orgasm.  I myself find it pretty fucking awesome; orgasm is the only thing I've found that can reliably halt my otherwise-constant brain activity.  It's a nice break, and would be even if I didn't find orgasm itself intensely pleasurable.

Anyway.  After I came to and was capable of moving again, I returned to the conversation.

"Holy fuck.  I did not think you were serious.  No wonder you fall asleep after; you look like you just got punched in the fucking skull."

Mmmmmmm.

"That or you're channeling a cat in a sunbeam.  God damn, woman."

Mmmmmhmmm.

Like seriously, you didn't believe me?  I'm pretty sure I'm the resident expert on my orgasm, thanks.

Although it was nice to find that I am occasionally able to read people through just text, and not just in person.  No, he did not really understand what I was saying.  *sigh*

Defintitely maybe.

Well, at least Disqus installed properly, and is working right out of the box.  Unlike IntenseDebate.

*sigh*

We'll see if the comment import works.

EDIT:  Hooooly fuck, it looks like it worked.  Color me shocked.

Also, goddammit, comments are still broken.  I love how my options are "use Blogger's shitty internal comments" or "break your shit".

Explanations

I probably shouldn't be surprised that I've been having the dreams I've been having lately.  First, everyone seems to be having vivid dreams lately, especially last weekend and in to this week.  Secondly, it's been a hell of a week.  I'm stressed, but almost touching on euphoric, really.

Monday I worked with Hal again.  I like to think our relationship is maturing, seeing as how we are now capable of getting things done while laughing and falling all over ourselves.  It's kind of nice, actually.

What was not nice - and I don't mean that negatively, just that "nice" isn't the word at all - was that on Monday, we wound up not talking.  Probably because we were busy gazing in to each others' eyes.  Like, seriously gazing.  There are a number of reasons that Hal is off-limits right now, but oh good lord, that boy is dangerous.

Tuesday, I was in a training session at work that was largely not applicable to me.  Being an immature sort, I was chatting away on my BlackBerry.  Joseph and I had quite the conversation.  Said conversation led to our indulging in a bit of simultaneous naked camera time, which we haven't done in god knows how long.

I always seem to feel particularly vulnerable after engaging sexually with Joseph.  Intellectually, I know that he's attracted.  He's told me as such - and shown me.  I apparently need more aftercare than he's capable of providing from where he is, and I'm not sure if I mean that physically or emotionally.  Probably a bit of both, now that I think about it.  He's very much a "sensory" type - that is, his focus is on his senses.  His writing is full of those sorts of details - how things smell, taste, look, sound.  Me?  Not so much.  And I definitely am feeling vulnerable, four days later!

Basically, I need some reassurance.  Have I explicitly mentioned this?  Of course not.

But anyway, with the intensity of what's been going on this week, it's probably no wonder that both Hal and Joseph have been making regular appearances in my dreams.  I could live without waking up feeling like I'm in a bed surrounded by people.

Of course, I think I could happily live if that happened in reality on a regular basis, so maybe I shouldn't complain too much.

But when your first thought of the day is "jesus god have mercy" or a related variant, it's a little trying, I have to admit.

Um.

So I opened my mouth again, and Jay and I drove down to the Flea yesterday.

OH GOD IT'S PEOPLE AND OUT IN PUBLIC AND BALAHAHAHAHAHAH

Ahem.

We wandered a round for a while, just getting the lay of the land and adjusting to being in a kinky public space.  We don't do that very often.  But once we were feeling a bit more comfortable, we bought a few things.

The first thing we bought was a paddle.  Nothing large, just a small hairbrush-type.  It's small, and rather pretty.

And it stings like fucking hell.

Jay, naturally, is enamoured of it.  "Ooh!" says he.  "I can smack you a lot and my hand doesn't hurt!  And your ass turns red so much faster!"

Oh why thank you darling, that's lovely OW OW OW OW OW.

He also tried it out my my breasts.  It was still an OW for me, but a very different kind of ow, which Jay picked up on rather quickly.  Activities commonly referred to as "breast torture":  I LIKES THEM.

Regardless, I have the feeling that this, our very first paddle (how the hell were we kinky for ten years, and including so many spankings, and didn't have a paddle?  I don't know.) is going to be making a LOT of appearances.

Being a feminist kinkster

A thought occurred to me the other day:

But if it's my sexual agency, my power - isn't it mine to give away if I want?

If, as per feminism, I am an agent of my own free will, if I own my own agency, if I have the power to make choices for myself, why can't I sometimes choose - CHOOSE - to give that power away to someone else?


As has probably now been made quite clear, I identify as a feminist.  I firmly believe that I am the equal of anyone on the planet - not the same, but equal - that I am fully capable of making my own choices, that no one has the right to take those choices away from me.  I believe that I am a person, too - and that we are all people, even the ones I don't like.


What's probably painfully obvious is that I also identify as kinky.  And while as a switch, there are definitely times when I want to be giving out the beatings, more often than not I want to be on the receiving end.  (And sometimes, I just want to go to sleep oh god just let me sleep.)  (Who am I kidding, most times I want to sleep.  Mmm, sleep.)

And I've spent a lot of time, well, anguishing over these two parts of my identity and trying to bring them in to alignment with the whole of me.  It's not an easy fit for me.  Being less than anyone doesn't go down easy.  This entry is the result of a lot of reading, and a fair number of years of thinking distilled.

I see no signs of being finished with the whole "cohesive identity" thing yet; I fully expect that to take a lifetime.  And there's a lot to unpack, I think, with kink and the intersection with the culture I live in.  (Note to self:  write about kink intersectionality at some point.)

But, my will, my power, my agency, belong to me - inasmuch as they can belong to anyone raised in the miasma of the patriarchy.  I may not own every aspect of it, and I may not understand owning it completely.  I may not even fully know how far that agency goes. After all, I was raised under the memo that I don't own that, that I am subject to someone else's will.  But even if that ownership is a work in progress, I am choosing - there's that word again - to act as if it isn't.  To own, in totality, what I have, and to act as if I do completely own my own agency.

So therefore, if the choices are mine, why can't I give them away?

But, and this is a big but, the important part is that I am in fact choosing.  It is, incontrovertably, my choice to give away my agency, or part of it, to Jay.  Sometimes.  Under certain circumstances.  Where I am completely involved and invested in negotiating what those circumstances are, and just what choices I'm giving up.

There's a huge, vast difference for me in choosing to give away  my choices, my power, and having them taken away from me.  Having my choices taken away from me, my freedom as a person taken away, happens every day, in big ways and small - from court rulings and laws enacted that take away from my bodily autonomy and limit my access to reproductive healthcare, to the person on the street who says "Oh honey you really shouldn't wear that".  It's a kind of theft; it's a violation.

But it's a different feeling and experience than voluntarily giving up a choice, or a group of choices, or a fair number of choices.  It's different when it's a conscious choice.  Regardless of what informs or motivates that choice.

So.  If it's mine - and I have to function as and believe that it is - why can't I give it away?

On the notion of consent and personal responsibility

Okay, this has come up a lot lately, all over the internets, and I've been leaving a lot of comments about it, so clearly it's time to write an entry about it.

DEAR INTERNETS:

First, go read this entry, so that you have the basic vocabulary you'll need to understand this post.  It's okay, I'll wait.  (For extra credit, read everything on this page.)

Done?  Good.

So let me break this down for you all.  The person at fault in a sexual assault, regardless of what that sexual assault is, is the person doing the assaulting.

Additionally:  If you do not have clear, explicit, enthusiastic consent from a person you're interacting with, you're assaulting them.

(Cue trolls regarding my tone, also cue trolls regarding taking personal responsibility.)

Here's the thing about taking personal responsibility.  Regardless of what personal responsibility I do or do not undertake, I am still not responsible for other people's actions.  If you want to do something to or with me, I should be consenting to that.  If I'm not, you're assaulting me and need to fuck off and leave me alone.

That goes regardless of what clothing I wear - since clothing can't give consent on my behalf for anything.  That goes regardless of what bars, clubs, restaurants, venues, or streets I visit - since the only consent I have clearly given is to be in that place.  That goes regardless of what activities I undertake - since the only consent I have clearly given is to be doing said activity and nothing else.

For example!  If I am riding the subway, here is the list of things I have explicitly consented to:

1. Riding the subway.

Here is the list of things I have not explicitly consented to:

1. Conversation.  With anyone.
2. Being groped or otherwise sexually assaulted, including being flashed.
3. Being punched or otherwise hit.
4. Being hit on (see also:  conversation).
5. Being stared at as if I were an object specifically put there for your amusement, entertainment, etc.
6. Anything else that is not riding the subway.

See how that works?  Here, I'll do another one for you.  I'm a dancer.  I dance ballroom, I dance in clubs, I dance socially.  When I am out dancing, here is the list of things that I have consented to when I have walked in the door to the venue:

1. Being at the venue.
2. Probably being asked to dance.

Note how being at the venue does not mean I have consented to dance with you specifically.

If you do ask me to dance, and I accept, thereby giving my consent, here is what I have consented to:

1. Dancing with you at this point in time.

See that?  Okay, now here is the list of things I have not consented to by being at the venue and consenting to dance with you:

1. Talking while dancing.
2. Being groped.
3. Being humped.
4. Going home with you.
5. Having a drink with you.
6. Being surrounded by your friends.
7. Dancing with you the rest of the night.
8. Having sex with you.
9. Taking you home.
10. Having sex with you on the dance floor.
11. Being touched by you in any way that is not prescribed by the dance (in ballroom, you have to touch in certain places/ways)
12. Anything else that is not dancing with you at this specific point in time.

Have I made myself clear?

Unfortunately, we live in a culture that gives us lessons like "if a girl's wearing a short skirt, she's a slut", and "sluts all want it, no matter what they say".  Please be assured, these lessons are wrong, so wrong, so wrong I can't even tell you.  I got the same lessons as everyone else.

But here's the thing.  Even though we all were taught these lessons, we are not obligated to follow them.  If anything, we're obligated to unlearn them and not follow them, because they're fucking wrong and lead directly to things like rape.

And because of those lessons we all got, I can take all the personal responsibility in the world - never going to a club, never going dancing, always wearing modest clothes - hell, wearing a burka - never walking alone at night, learning self-defense, all of those sorts of things - and it is still possible for me to be sexually assaulted.  As in that link I posted earlier, the only way I can ever truly prevent my self from being assaulted is to never be in a room with a rapist or person who commits sexual assault, which is kind of fucking difficult seeing as how they don't all have nice big signs on their foreheads alerting me to the fact that they are in fact the kind of person who would assault someone.  Because we teach people that it's okay to rape.  It's okay to assault.  That clothes can give consent, that sluts are out there and just asking for it, that you're more of a man the more sex you have.

(cue trolls about how well then obviously I want everyone to just never interact)

Here's the other thing.  None of this precludes my being asked.  None of this precludes you trying to strike up a conversation while we're dancing or riding the subway, none of this precludes your asking me if you can buy me a drink, none of this precludes you asking me if I'd be interested in going home with you, none of this precludes your asking me if I'm interested in making out, fucking, doing anything else.  Asking is not the problem.  The problem is either, you don't ask, you assume, or, you do ask, I don't consent, and you go ahead anyway.

If you strike up a conversation with me, and I don't immediately jump right in and participate?  I'm not consenting to the conversation.  If you ask me in the club if I want to go home with you, and I don't immediately enthusiastically agree that's a great idea?  It's because I don't think it's a great idea, and I'm not consenting.  If we're making out, getting all hot and heavy, and you put your hand in my pants and I don't immediately moan, start grinding, say "oh yes" or otherwise make it really, really fucking clear that I liked that, I'm not actually consenting to that.  If you continue to converse with me, or continue to try to convince me to go home with you, or keep your hand in my pants, fuck you, I haven't consented.

If we are dancing, and you figure it's okay to hump me?  If we're in the club and you assumed we're going home?  If you're sitting next to me at the subway and figure it's okay to just talk at me?  If we're making out and you figure that means clearly I want some piv sex?  Fuck you.  I haven't consented to any of the things you've figured on or assumed.   Don't give me this "grey area"  or "misunderstanding" bullshit that I see so often.  If you are paying a modicum of attention to the world, and are at all a decent person, it should be pretty fucking easy for you to figure out if the person you're doing things with is consenting.  And if it is at all not clear?  You can fucking ask, and in fact, are obligated to.

The person doing the initiating is obligated to make absolutely sure they have consent to continue before continuing.

See how that works now kids?

Here's the other thing about consent:  capitulation is not consent.  For example, if someone is attempting to rape me, and I figure I have better odds of surviving and being less physically injured if I just let them rape me, rather than try to fight them off, that does not mean that I have consented to sex with them.  It means they are raping me, and I have capitulated out of survival instinct.

And here's the last thing about personal responsibility:  the person who needs to take some fucking personal responsibility in an assault is the person doing the assaulting. 

LOVE, FRENCH

With a capital 'T'

I've been seeing a lot of Hal recently, which has led to a lot of very interesting conversations.

I saw him Wednesday, and long story short the conversation ended with me saying that if he was going to be "torturing" our mutual friend on Wednesday, then he was aware that he'd have to torture me on Thursday when we were working together, right?  To which he responds "Of course, but the difference is, you want it."

Thursday's session also included him asking "Wait, so who's the sadist and who's the masochist here?"  Responding with "Oh honey, I'm a switch" just seemed a bit too beyond the pale, although I am reconsidering.

Our conversations are always relatively flirty, and he's also admitted that he likes messing with my head as much as I like messing with his.  But lately there's been a lot of kink-hints included, and I'm not the one bringing them up.  I am not entirely sure what to make of this situation, and what to think about that boy, that is for damned sure.

Drunken non-escapades

I have this entire week off of work, and oh dear god it is wonderful.  I get to wake up at 9 when Jay leaves for the day, kiss him goodbye, and then snooze for a bit.  Then I get to do whatever I want.  It is extremely awesome and I don't want to go back to work, like, ever.

Unfortunately, I still have not figured out a way to make money without going to work, so Monday's going to suck it.

Over the long weekend - well, Jay's long weekend; he is, as mentioned, working this week - we went to visit some dear friends of ours and stayed with them.  There was much drinking, much movie watching, and much video game  playing, as it was about A MILLION DEGREES OUTSIDE and none of us are fans of the heat.

Saturday night we made salsa and were drinking mojitos.  I would not have called myself a rum fan - and still wouldn't - but oh lord I love me a good mojito.  I lost count at 5, which was somewhere around 11 that night.  Jay and I eventually went to bed around 3, and, being drunk, that meant I was horny.  The problem is, I'm loud.  Like, really loud.  I am an extremely vocal person anyway, that doesn't stop during sexual activity, and my voice really carries.  And we were in our friends' apartment, with four other people, so being loud wasn't an option.  Jay being an asshole, he was doing things specifically designed to make me scream, such as trying to remove my nipples by hand (swear to god that's what he was doing).  It's a lot more intense, I think, when you have to deal with the pain silently.

This went on for a while, and my control started slipping and I let out a whimper.   Jay responded by putting his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet, which was hot as hell for the thirty seconds it took my brain to work out that there was something on my fucking face ohohgodohgodgetitoff.  Things on my face - like hands, scarves, masks, etc. - freak me out proper.  So I freaked, Jay cuddled me, and we passed out.  Dammit.

We did make up for it Monday  night when we got home, though, so that makes me feel a bit better.  But it was sober, which is a completely different sensation.  Ah well.  It's good to be home.

Using words like grownups

It's sometimes surprising to me how much the cliche of "communication" in a relationship really is true, and really is  helpful.

Case in point:  Wednesday night, Jay and I were up until 4 in the morning (FOUR IN THE MORNING.  ON A WORK NIGHT) communicating.  On various levels.

It started out with a discussion of what we'd done recently that we'd liked, what hadn't worked so well, and so on.  Then it moved on to things we thought we'd like to do more of, things we liked but found scary, things we fantasized about, things we're pretty sure we'd like to do but maybe are better left as fantasies, etc.  Basically updating our kink checklists, without the formality of a written checklist, and checking in on where our relationship is.

It was pretty fucking hot.  I am continually reminded that I am extremely lucky to be married to a man with whom I am a matched fucking set.  And I do mean fucking in both senses it could be taken there.  Our kinks don't exactly overlap, but if there were a venn diagram of our kinks it would look pretty similar to this one:


see more Funny Graphs

(oh graphjam, I <3 u)

So again, pretty lucky.  We compliment each other fairly well.  But even with that, I like having these discussions.  One, kinks change and evolve as people change and evolve.  Two, even after ten years, there is still no way that I know everything about Jay, and vice versa.  There is always more to explore.  Three, it's a hell of a lot easier to please each other when we are clear on what the other wants.  Four, even if it's something the other isn't necessarily interested in, it's good to know that, and I find that for me, bringing it up in this context is a good way to get me thinking about it and possibly engaging in it.

Then after being up until 3 talking about kink and sex and kinky sex, naturally we were both just a bit turned on and had to engage in some.  I wound up on my knees at the side of the bed giving Jay a blowjob, with his hands in my hair, whereupon he gave me a choice.  I could finish the blowjob until he came, and we could go to sleep, or I could get back in bed, masturbate until I came, and at such time as I did come, he would then fuck me.  I tend to get extremely sensitive after orgasm (as in, don't even fucking touch me), so this was not the pure treat it sounded like.

I opted for door number two anyway.

It was a lot loud, and a lot intense - both for the circumstances as well as for the actual act - and we both passed the hell out shortly afterwards.  Work on Thursday bit, but whatever.

This whole communication thing really has done nothing but improve our relationship.  And not just in the form of better, more frequent, or more intense sex, which are all true.  It's given us a lot of intagibles as well.  We trust each other.  A lot.  We know each other well.  And honestly, having had the discussion, I'm a lot less stressed, and just generally feel closer to him.  Not that I didn't feel close before, but, you know.

So yeah, cliche, maybe, but damn are we fans of this whole "communication" thing.

Sometimes I think life is designed as a torment to me

So just what am I supposed to think when, as part of a costume, Hal had a pair of leather cuffs danging from his belt?

"Oh fuck yes, I knew he was top-ically inclined"?

I don't think you're paying enough attention to me, she says as she rubs her naked body close to his in bed.

Oh?  he replies.

No, you definitely haven't.  I have been giving you so many clues, she whines.

Like what? he asks.

Like even on Wednesday when I fell asleep at 9, and I said that I was thinking of putting on the collar and the leash and waiting and letting you find me like that?  That was a big fucking hint.

I have clearly been remiss in my duties, he states.  Put the pink things in, go about your business, and I'll deal with you later.

Well, fuck you very much Blogger, for not saving the major changes I made to my blogroll!

Fuck.

And here you thought you were predictable!

For a long time I would have said that when I'm mightily stressed, I'm completely uninterested in sex.  This week - well, this past month, really - seems determined to prove me wrong.

I work full-time, as does Jay.  I'm not in the field I'd prefer to be, but I do something I'm damned good at, and I like my boss, so that helps.  Work's been... busy.  Really busy.  I don't have enough hours in the day, etc. and so on, blah blah blah.  Added on top of the busy bullshit, this has been the week of my name getting associated with shit that is so not even close to my demesne.  I have job duties.  I'm pretty clear about them with people.  And no less than four times in the past three days has my name been listed as the responsible one for things that I don't even have the slightest clue about.

That is intensely frustrating for me.  If I might indulge in a bit of bragging, I know a fuckton of things.  I am a wealth of knowledge, which is actually part of my job description.  But I don't lie about what I don't know - I'll be very blunt and upfront when it comes to telling people I don't have a fucking clue.  And I'll also be blunt and upfront when it comes to telling people that it's not my job, and they need to speak to the person who does own it.

So when others fuck up and put me on the hook for things I shouldn't be, I am irritated.  I am even more irritated when it results in hundreds of emails and phone calls to me (oh, if only I were kidding).  Let's talk about the fact that answering my phone is pretty much my least favorite part of my job, hmmmm?  (And how my voicemail is now changed, and I don't have to answer it this week, with my boss' permission.)

So a lot of things have been conspiring to make me stressed.  And I, oh, I am all about the sex.

Jay and I have had sex every night for the past week, and almost every night for the past month.  Joseph is all up in my business again (shocking, I know) and that is totes okay with me.  Hal's been on his game as well, and let's talk about the lovely comments we've made to each other.  The imagination?  In overdrive.  And the dreams I've had!  Good lord!

And yet I am so stressed that rather than join Jay at an activity tonight that we both enjoy and I adore, I opted to stay home.

What.

To be sure, I am not complaining.  I am slightly confused, but I am not complaining (okay, maybe I'm complaining about not being able to go two nights without dreaming of Hal in an inappropriate way, but other than that...).  Perhaps my self has decided that since sex is a highly effective stress-reliever, it does not behoove us to not indulge?  Who knows.  But good lord!

Project plans

One of the biggest selling points of our current house was that there are enough rooms that both Jay and I can have our own, separate offices, and we can also have a guest room.  Jay and I are both the type of people who need space of our own, to do our own crap in, etc. and so on.

Better yet, my office is up on the third floor, which means there's a whole floor between it and the downstairs neighbors.  Meaning I can be up there with the stereo blasting, working on whatever I like, and they don't hear me.

And perhaps best of all, I can paint my office.

The office is currently getting painted a lovely deep dark blue called "Nocturnal Sea".  Eventually a painted, glow-in-the-dark moon and stars will go up there as well, and I've already bought a room-sized rug for it.

Once it's done, I will have a nice little office.  And Jay and I will have a nice little playroom, with a conveniently-located attic in which to store some of the larger pieces we're thinking about building, such as a wooden pony, and a spanking bench, and a bondage frame.

Sure, we could buy them, but where's the fun in that?  I <3 power tools.

We'll also have a nice bureau in which to store some of our toys, like the honkin' huge (seriously, it is titanically huge) dildo I just bought!  Apparently right now I am very interested in insertions, specifically, large ones.  Good times!

There will also be hooks for canes and crops and paddles and such, and nice thick curtains so no one can see in.  And air-conditioning, because fuck this summer heat and humidity, seriously.

The second coat of paint goes on this weekend, and then the stars, and then the rug and OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY.

Some times you feel like a beating!

Some times you don't!

(Yes, I am singing that to the tune of the old Almond Joy/Mounds jingle, why do you ask?)

One of the things I've gotten more aware of as I've gotten older (you'll note I did not say wiser) was that my life tends to move in cycles.  Oh sure, there's the usual circadian rhythms, and the menstrual cycle, and blah blah blah, but I'm talking more, and more overarching.

I've noted that I have an overarching cycle in my life, for example, with my appetite.  I cycle back and forth between a highly diminished appetite, where I can go all day without eating and nothing is very interesting, and a very enhanced one where I need to eat about every fifteen minutes and everything sounds DELICIOUS.  Similarly, in terms of how easy it is for me to get up early in the morning, how interested I am in interacting with other people, how interested I am in leaving my house and going out and being social, and how interested I am in bottoming.

Well, that last, it varies from "please beat me ALL DAY THANKS", "yeah, a beatin's 'aight", "touch me and I'll break your arm", and "I can beats you nao?"  But, you know.  It cycles.

When I first noticed this, well, it caused me some worry.  OH MY GOD I would think WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME and WHAT THE HELL HAVE I BEEN DOING.  You see, I frequently question myself.  I shouldn't really, but I do it anyway.  And clearly since I was not interested in any sort of submissive or bottoming activities, that meant that a, I was screwed up, b, I wasn't really a submissive/bottom, and/or c, I really need to not do that.  Mostly it was d, all of the above.  With a dash of "how the hell did that seem like a good idea".

Hey, I didn't say it made sense.  However, it is more or less what I thought.

I'm in one of those "please to be beating me all days thank you" phases right now, which I haven't been for a while.  It is delightful.  I'm past worrying that my ever-changing desires make me wrong, or broken or whatnot.  Now we're working on enjoying what's happening right now.  Easier said than done, but I think worthwhile.

Also linked to that is working on communicating with Jay as to where I'm at and what I'm looking for.  Again, easier said than done.  It's one thing for me to know something in my head and be aware of it, and quite another to verbalize it.  Words have power for me, and giving Jay the words to describe what I want gives him power.  Whether I trust him or not is secondary to that, really - certainly trusting him as I do doesn't make it any easier for me.  But... working on it.

Working on a lot of things, really.

Naked time!

It is about a MILLION DEGREES out here right now, which I am NOT A FAN OF. It's only May 2!  It's not supposed to be hot until at LEAST June!

Yeah, that had about the effect on the weather you think it did.

On the plus side, there are curtains on the windows.  We had guests up in March (oh fuck, that was March already) and that prompted me to move really quickly through the rest of the "getting the house put together" business that I'd been neglecting since we moved in.  Oops.  Well, no, since I got it finished in time.  But... yeah, so I'm not the most prompt about that.

But as I was saying, there are curtains on all the windows now, so we can have the windows open and the curtains drawn, so we still get air but can wander around naked if we like, and seeing as how it's about A MILLION DEGREES OUT, that's on the plan.

If this is what getting older entails, I am NOT INTERESTED.

While digging around in old computer backups tonight looking for some music that somehow fell OUT of my iTunes library, I came to the realization that I have turned down a shocking, shocking number of opportunities of the sexual nature in my life.

At this point in my life, I have to admit, my first reaction is whyyyyyyy.

Like, there were three guys in 2003 - THREE - while I was NOT with Jay, who were all about it.  Why on earth did I not do anything about that?  Seriously?  What the hell was I thinking?

There was another guy in 2005.  Didn't do a blessed thing.


There's been a few more this year (okay so odd-numbered years tend to be good, okay).  There were all the guys in college who I didn't realize until well AFTER college that they were hitting on me.


Christ I feel fucking stupid.


To be a bit more fair to myself, I do know a bit of what I was thinking.  High school having done a number on me but good, the idea that anyone found me attractive was not a feeling I trusted.  I never quite believed that anyone genuinely found me likeable and attractive in a sexual sense.  I always figured they had some ulterior motive that generally involved my public humiliation.


Then there was the fact that I was brought up to believe that you shouldn't have sex before marriage, and once you're married, you stay married.  I still believe in the second, although the first I've done a lot of work to unlearn.  However, again in 2003, while I'd gotten around it to the point where having sex with Jay was okay, it wasn't completely okay, and the idea of having sex with more than one person in my lifetime was ZOMG WTF scary.


Still, the older french thinks the younger french was a bit of a frikken dipshit.  Just... CHRIST WHAT WAS WRONG WITH YOU AUGH GOD.

New year! Sweet lord!

My god, when did it get to be mid-January.

Oh wait.  After the frenzy of making sure I had Christmas gifts for everyone, including the in-laws (which, oh god, what a challenge - what do you get people you don't know well, aren't fond of, and who have everything they want anyway, especially when your partner is no help?), wrapping and shipping gifts as required, driving two days each way to see my family for the holiday, driving back home for New Years, having Vinnie up for New Years, going back to work, working on two routines for dance showcases at the end of the month, having friends over, attending a couple of birthday parties and OH RIGHT working... yeah.

I really would have liked to ring in the new year with something, oh, KINKY, but with Vinnie up that wasn't going to happen.  True, we now have a guest room, and it's not right next to the bedroom, and both doors were closed, but still.  And now that Jay and I are both working long hours again, we pretty much get home at night, eat something, vegitate, and go to sleep.  We just haven't had the energy to do much else.

Sad part is, we're both working on major projects for work, so who knows when that will change!  Seriously, we like our jobs, but UGH.

However, one of my goals for the next year is to blog once a week.  SO.  Even though I may not be participating in anything kinky,  I am going to make the effort to talk about it.  That should be a good time, right?

Right?!