11 Types of Porn On My Twitter Feed

  1. Zoomers wholesome fucking in earnest static cam, and somehow ends up being less sexy and more heartwarming to my elder millennial crone self.
  2. We’re here, we’re queer & we have no pants. The gender rainbow on the other side of the Overton window. <3
  3. Oh look, $pornclipsite made a sale and auto posted. You are (allegedly) gonna get shadow banned for that bot work, careful.
  4. Half the libidex catalogue and still not allowed to cum
  5. I don’t know who any of these characters are but their fandom ships them with my fetish, so I guess I am here now?
  6. Fairy princess anal fisting gape cat ears nyahhh
  7. Hypno spirals and migraine inducing flashes.
  8. This highly stylish goth is VERY focused on square peg/round hole problems with her partner
  9. Squint real hard and this re-shared M/m porn might get you off without making you feel completely unattractive as a dominant who prefers male subs
  10. Hot femme with caption about being bad at writing social media copy, damn it!
  11. That’s a lot of dommes on tiktok. Huh.

If you actually thought this was #relatable say hi and follow me on twitter!

Cold Confessions At the Peace Arch

peace arch lovers

The wind rips through hard, a roar of the arctic, cutting through layers of clothes. Silver and I huddle closer together. The warmth of his body puts me in a relaxed state where I am not particularly chatty, but I just want to stay nestled up.

We have made a spot in the park out of two blankets and a flocked back plastic tablecloth, plus pillows and it is almost comfortable. Each of us are well wrapped, and our coats never come off.

It’s there about -1 to -4 C before wind chill. That’s quoted as between -10 and -20.

 C Much of the time, today, it’s only two pale faces in a swathe of layers.

Somewhere a snowsuit and sweater fetishist must be having a moment, but we look so ridiculous it whips around back into the romance of deprivation. Under the blanket hands steal under clothes, secretive and private. We are sure to keep what kinks you can pass in the bitter winter to ourselves.

I want to go to sleep with him there. We repeat endlessly how much we want the luxury of a private bed. We imagine cabins, apartments, hotel rooms, hot baths. I imagine camping, that even this would go on and on, putting us back in time to where we can’t get more shelter but we won’t have to part. There is a sensuality, even in the plaintive lack of immediate comfort.

My Property and I, in love and unable to shelter together any other way than this.

It’s a patently ridiculous situation, hemmed in by the sort of NIMBY suburb so opposed to access the nearest bus is a 45 minute walk away. News articles write their increasingly impatient pleas to make this park loophole impossible too.

The media has gotten firmer about the the whole border thing, too. When we (Canada) realized various politicians were jetting off to the Carribean and Mexico, it caused a career ending scandal for a few people. Add discovering that people who can’t afford to skip the usual winters in Canda via Florida realized that some of the people who could weren’t going to stop, and restrictions ate getting stricter. More tests, ridiculous hotel confinements. All of course waived for “essential” travel, making me feel deeply uncomfortable with the use of the medical system to be punitive.

But this is it’s own thing. The park is the border, neutral ground neither over nor in.

In Canada, fear of the border makes a convenient scapegoat for a country that, if better than the US, plays acceptable math with community spread. Love and touch are luxuries right now. 

I write this expecting to be seen as a selfish villainess. Although I already mentioned I am not so inclined to risk traveling the air route because I might carry something over or back in the morass of travel, there is a risk in maintaining even this bubble. Even if we both work from home and live clipped lives of smallness, with minimal contact with others, I still worry about it.

And hey, I am not like the UK, which accidentally banned sex with people outside of your household.  My governments are sympathetic to the fact that a household to cram your loved ones and childcare together is an uneven privilege, even if having to make practical exceptions in their guidelines creates and ambiguous mess that is open to self serving rationalizations.

I fear I will hurt someone else. I get anxiety watching movies with crowd scenes where everyone is unmasked. I live in a cloud of guilt that a kiss I call a need could be deadly.

It probably won’t hurt anyone else. But because I am not supposed to, even if I am allowed to, I cannot cleanly cleave what is and isn’t ultimately ok. It’s the usual mix of “badness” in sex and love.

Certainly the vitriol I get can be unintentionally hilarious. A few months back, hearing I got Covid, someone wrote that I deserved it for “travelling to the US to do sex work”. When you are reminded that the average person can’t conceive of a domme doing it for her own gratification, slut shaming meets erasure meets just world fallacies. 

My covid was definitely community transmission back when it all started, but we want to believe that only bad people get it. We want to believe it’s a binary, not a nasty lottery with just enough human agency to fight over.

Is it better or worse to feel powerless about covid or to be angry, because control seems almost in your grasp?

I do also have a degree of self awareness here of my privilege. There’s thousands of couples like me, sincerely in love, who at current prediction will be separated between March 2020 and October 2021. Not everyone can manage 2 weeks of seclusion. And Covid is very real, as I know so from surviving it, as did Silver back when it first made landfall, both waiting out an illness like something out of an old novel. Bed bound, weak, lungs scorched like we had breathed in bleach.

But reading the news articles about the Peace Arch Park, with leading questions about crossing a border in a way that isn’t happening, and clumsy whining crop-quoted from Whiterock and the area otherwise around the park, is a reminder that some people already think you are scum.

In the neighbourhood around the park, they worry people visiting will “come into their community”, a laughable statement in the rows of houses without even a corner store. There is no local community to intrude into, just a nicely walled development of tidy little houses. And the residents are not thinking about the larger Surrey or even Greater Vancouver area, much less the province or country. Their community is a bubble, a fortress forty five minutes walk from the nearest public transit.

 For decades the locals of this neighbourhood have hopped the border for cheap gas and groceries, circumnavigating various taxes by living in close proximity to the US. Now the daily line of cars is gone, only a few essential travelers tick by, and there are six tents up in the little wooded area. I think to myself that this neighbourhood has gone out of it’s way to keep free from the transient population, cutting itself off from the rest of city and visible evidence of inequality, only to end up with the so called “conjugal tents” in no mans land here.

It’s not justice, but it is irony.

Lest you think the Peace Arch is a hive of the lovelorn only, it’s also still being used by locals.

From time to time a person walking a dog passes through, or similarly in and back out groups or singles to stretch their legs. Fury and fear of diseased outsiders doesn’t limit still using the green space, or maybe the sort of people who own dogs are not those who petition MLAs to shut this place down.

When the Canadian side closed they said it was pressure for the traffic, not fear of Covid. Every news article since then has emphasized there are no known transmissions from this spot. Now, of course it’s more emphasized the motive was a possible hazard.

A disguised vehicle with a border patrol person circulates on 0 ave, checking for the scourge of Amazon packages and car parts. On my return, this time, they decline to search me, though I suspect it’s an unwillingness of the officer to leave their cozy vehicle.

Border police are always brisk and unfriendly, holding you under scrutiny like every interaction is an examination of miserable underclass. They were like that when the border was open, but a kiss even in the before times costs a quick brush with an armed man who wields significant state power, every time.

I have no car parts, nor Amazon parcels. I did pass Silver two things his way, a body harness of handmade leather, and little bears made marzipan, carefully molded and assembled by me.

So, the border guard sends me on my way. I leave comfort with him to the warmth of home. I wish I was generally happy right now but I am not. Not (just) because we are parted, but because the whole stupid situation with the pandemic is treading water with little energy.

Will the virus mutate too fast and outstrip the vaccine? Will we be three years deep and still navigating barriers?

I miss him when I leave with an ache of frustration that comes from not knowing when this long limbo will end. I love him. 

Eustratia Latex Stockings Review

latex stockings review eustratia header image
I do my own stunts

The saga of this latex stockings review is one of a few bumps and hiccups, but ultimately a lovely product. I won’t bury the lede, this is one of my favorite items in my growing fetish wardrobe. However these full length latex stockings, lovely or not, were also a measure of the maker’s customer service as well as their skill in rubber tailoring.

Eustratia, the Latex Designer

As a UK based fashion house, Eustratia exclusively sells on etsy and at time of writing, does not seem to have their own store front. Their designs are unique, particularly in their use of pressed lace and mesh into the rubber. That’s well beyond my budget at this time (T_T) but like nothing else I can find on the market. For the most part Eustratia looks like a one person show with maybe some background help, and she is very clear this is a labour of love and not priced anything close to the high quality. But does she live up to her own mandate?

The Latex Stockings, Themselves

Nahm

These stockings were my second latex purchase after that Polymorphe blue hoodie dress I had been coveting for about half a decade. The stockings are that colour we used to call transparent “nude” until it occurred to the general public that not everyone is a creamy sort of buff. I’d describe the tint as reminding me of how I take my tea, or a latte, if you are not an abomination to normal tea drinkers like me.

When I bought them, I opted to get them cut to my exact measurements. I also added a little plastic rib in the band at no extra charge, to makes them “stay ups”.

Since buying these, I’ve also tried stockings by Cathouse Clothing and Libidex. From a cut perspective these are superior, both in my opinion of the shaping to my leg and the aesthetic placement of the seams. That latter part was actually a significant part of my attraction to them. Although I make no secret about my stocking fetish, I also prefer to work with the materials I wear, not against it. Most designers seem to try to mimic the more traditional back seam look of old fashioned nylons. To be honest, when you are already forcing something that barely qualifies as wearable into clothes, trying to copy conceits to material in the original garment being imitated can feel like buying leggings with fake pockets and jeans rivets printed on them. Eustratia approaches latex with an understanding and appreciation of the material.

I don’t think it would be fair to make a perfect “fit” comparison, because the other two designers were off the rack, and this was tailored. I can say if you can afford to get your latex tailored and you are either athletic, or like me, curvy, do so.

The most important question to ask is if they feel good and flatter me.

latex stockings pretty posing
Also that bodysuit is wonderful

Subjectively, I think I look amazing. That’s me modeling them in the images, in all my squishy glory. As a femdom they also fill the secondary goal of reducing my property to that state he had coined as “put my mouth on it” level desire.

These stockings are a dream to get on, giving that silky second skin feeling. I only need a whisper of powder to get them on and no silicone self greasing needed. They have discreet venting via tiny holes on the seams at the feet, so no unwanted balloon toes. Custom measure points at different areas at the leg means that I don’t have particularly bad puffy thigh spill over problems. Being able to select shoe size avoids the classic trouble I have fitting my giant (size 9-10 US!) feet into something designed for the small and dainty.

The little plastic ribs do a good job of keeping them up, as does the natural grip of latex. Rolling is minimal, although you do need to settle the rib just so as it can stab you a bit. That’s an easy adjustment, and the effect is worth the extra bother. They shine up nicely, and if you wear them for an hour or so, they remain reasonably comfortable.

Small Caveats

If I were to nit pick I need to dig very hard. The only thing I noticed was different was a tiny amount of stray glue at the clearly carefully hand done seams. After one wearing that rubbed away. Natural, hand made crafts are going to have handmade hints. The much more significant problem that after their first wearing, both latex stockings developed the worst nightmare of any fetishist- small cracks. (!!!) However, when you work with a custom made product, how they handle a problem is, in my opinion, as much a measure of the quality of what you get, as when everything goes smoothly.

The Mishap (And What Happened)

When I bought them, it was just as the pandemic was kicking off. This in no way impacted the promised shipping times, and after a preliminary inspection in May 2020, they were a secret bit of fun at a park picnic. However, after taking them off (June 2020), I quickly discovered cracking at both feet. At first, as a latex noob, I was concerned I somehow damaged them, but inspecting my shoes showed nothing they could have rubbed or snagged on. Consulting with people with significantly more experience than me, we determined this was a materials fault.

Eustratia was very responsive on etsy, and quick to come up with the easiest solutions for international repair. That’s good to know if you have something that gets damaged from normal wear and tear! In my case, when I discussed my concerns with materials, she suggested mailing them back for her to inspect them. At a very nerve wracking postal experience (for some reason tracking them there cost almost as much as the stockings themselves, so I opted untracked), the maker let me know they arrived and were in queue.

I held off on my latex stockings review pending the actual outcome of this. That meant both anxiously waiting for pandemic level postal service to get them to her, and waiting for all the supplier delays and ship back time until I could get my replacement.

Better with Round 2?

latex stockings review
I feel pretty, and witty and bright…

I received the new stockings in January 2021, from a completely different European country, but no less neatly and prettily packaged and prepared with exactly the same care and love as the first parcel I received. These got their test and photo shoot, and I’m now extremely happy.

In a perfect world, there never would have been need for repair or replacement. However, given the cost, Eustratia basically ate it on labour and return shipping (replete with tracking!). Further, when you are making smaller batches there will already by risks to supplies and so forth. With custom work priced competitively to off the rack, let’s not pretend that I didn’t get a massive deal.

No, seriously, the closest match of basic latex stockings by Libidex are about $20 more expensive, and that designer is almost certainly getting a bulk materials discount AND not giving you remotely the same scope in sizing. Sure something went wrong, but insuring it didn’t would have meant significant up front costs that just would have put this out of the budget of an experimental purchase.

That’s part of why I do these reviews. As with my last one, the Libidex Matrix Latex Catsuit for Women, as a relative newcomer, guessing fit off models and online shopping can feel extremely intimidating. I won’t do the thing of saying that my body is more “real” than someone who poses for a living, but out side of the carefully curated spread sheets, word of mouth and star ratings on websites, latex clothing really doesn’t seem to get much consumer support the way that vibrators or dildoes do.

Final Verdict

I am VERY squishy

Designer: Eustratia

Product: Full Length Latex Stockings

Cost: $86.41 USD ($110.64CAD) +shipping

How I got ’em: Bought them, designer has no idea I am writing this review.

TL;DR: amazing design and lovely fit, initial materials issue fixed with replacement

Would I buy this again? Already planning next purchase.

Submissive men, as a group are not ok

What’s Wrong With All The Submissive Men?

Relax, this isn’t a hate piece. I’m being sympathetic and trying to solve the problem that a countless horde of submissive men have brought to me to solve. Just get a cup of tea and get comfy while I focus on you and fixing why you are so lonely and unhappy, ok?

First, who am I to speak about the problems of submissive men?

This problem has been made my problem because submissive men keep asking me to solve it. If you are a dominant woman in the internet, you will be a magnet to the lonely “please help me” queries of sub guys. I still think we are some of the least qualified people to opine on finding a domme precisely because we are the last on the list of people trying to date us. Nonetheless, beyond the usual how to find a domme/how to find a mistress articles, some challenges a little out of scope of some simple check lists or quick tips.

Often a submissive man asking me also has no idea how to find a vanilla partner, or if he can have one, how to talk with her about getting his needs met. With that as a starting place, unpacking how to help him is a big ask indeed.

So why still try? I like men, so I’m interested in them. I don’t just like them as people to fuck, or boss to obey, but as a nerd, I learned to like em as friends. Being part of the minority of women in a stereotypically female hobby came with having a lot of male friends. And guys would repeatedly seek in me a soft safety and toolkit their peers didn’t have. So I am not a therapist, but I’ve been drafted into trying to help guys. A lot. And I am (mostly) ok with it.

Unlike many she-nerds, I escaped the identity of being Not Like Other Girls and was largely comfortable with the fact that I couldn’t escape the pressures on my own perceived gender by opting out of normal. But I was not blind to the fact that the boys were Not Ok. And I was drilled enough both in my right to rule as benevolent princess, and my toolkit of humanism that I almost immediately wanted to know why it seemed to suck so freaking bad for the individuals of the so called ruling gender.

Submissive Men definitely have a problem

You guys get it coming both ways. You’re under immense pressure not to let your kinks show, as your desires transgress masculinity in ways we put a lot of effort to punishing men who do. On the other hand, you are awash in porn that has evolved to cater to your fantasies without much concern for the practical, including a thriving market in lying to you about how things work to indulge wishful thinking.

The net result is an amorphous blob of men who REALLY want a dominant woman, but have no idea how to find her, or relate to her. These guys don’t just fail to get a domme, but can often destroy their participation in groups, making dominant women gun shy about talking to them, and women who might be dommes reject trying it for fear of being eaten alive. I talk a bit more about that problem from my side when refer to my challenges of being the oft chased femdom unicorn. But I am not so unempathetic to fail to notice that while some of the behaviors I receive or witness from men are downright terrifying to me, a lot of sub men are suffering, and they don’t know where to start being ok.

Caveat time: this isn’t going to tell you the secret is to stop being male, or men just suck. My exploration is seriously concerned about your happiness and fulfillment. I am not here to scold you, but there is a problem and it does need fixing.

It starts in boyhood, because the Patriarchy.

Patriarchy is a system (simplifying here) in which a few men have power over everyone and use a system intertwined of familial alliance and influence on gender roles to maintain that power. The extreme is say, the FLDS cults, where polygyny is sustained by booting out enough boys when they come of age that the gender ratios let the rulers broker power by trading around women and girls.

Patriarchy sucks for everyone in that (to quote mangle) it convinces people that it’s not men versus women in so much as men versus men with women as the ball.

More painfully, because even in literal slavery, people don’t stop having thoughts and some capacity to act, the system rewards women who play along. While they usually can’t grasp supreme power, if you are female and buy in, things get significantly less shitty for you than if you opt out. And by being a wife, mother, daughter, etc… who props up the people in power, you can even get power over some men and other women!

In my opinion, this creates a feedback loop where men are incentivized to lash back at women, as safer targets (they have less power to retaliate) but also to associate women in power with an extreme threat to their social position. Notably, in online gaming harassment, it’s the guys with the shittiest game scores being the nastiest. That nasty is more likely to spill onto female players, minorities and people who otherwise are already marginalized. And holy god is that not a good place to be starting from when your fetish is literally being “beaten by a girl”.

All the broken boys

If you go down the ridiculous MRA rabbit hole you may find yourself nodding along- hey society is weirdly quiet about the piles of dead men. We often hand wave this data as men killing men, as adults and equals, so they it is just the way of the cruel world. There’s some data there to belay this, but there are other pieces, including parts which the bizarre, self harming manosphere don’t bother touching.

You know the standard facts: shorter male lifespans on average. More successful suicides. Higher murder rate. What you may not know is where the count starts.

The first two big male die offs are in the womb, and in the early years of childhood. We cannot blame society for the fact that there are significantly more male to female conceptions, but the miscarriage rate for males is much higher. We think this is a product of the lack of genetic redundancy on the Y chromosome. Perhaps this causes the same effect in the next early childhood phase, but I think we need to consider when a possible baby is sexed is the minute that we apply external gender onto something/someone that doesn’t really have it. As much as you might see a different rate of certain genetic disorders, in so far as we can measure, sex differentiation in infants, in their cognitive and physical capacity, is minimal.

Despite that, whether shown in how you tie a baby’s scant hair, or the elaborately themed layette of princesses versus dinosaurs at a baby shower, gendered parenting is going on long before the kid would remotely demonstrate any differentiation in behaviors. To give you an idea of how blurry physical sex is: some infants are even born with ambiguous genitals that finish growing in one approximate pattern or another. Boy brain versus girl brain is completely irrelevant when you have a cute blob that sucks on things and can’t roll itself over yet. But… the external gendering of a baby starts before the body really changes.

Nature versus Nurture: Tough Boys and Talking to Girls

Outside of modern western pink/blue framing, there are two fundamental differences in how we treat infant boys and girls. Female infants receive more gaze time and social interaction and male infants receive more exposure to risk and physical challenges.

(Summary from parenting article here, dig into scholarly search if you want to know more. If you can’t afford the article, email the writer- they will usually be happy to share it for free. You may also be able to access it at a university library)

And if people don’t know the sex of a baby, they will default to the behaviour they think matches the presumed gender. This is the important bit. Girls are getting more social time and boys more exposure to physical challenges long before we can measurably tell any difference in base capacity. There is also a minor but significant boost in skill acquisition in what you train your kid to do.

Particularly in the culture which, if you are reading this in English, you are at least partially immersed in, we hammer into boys that being feminine, soft and vulnerable is bad. We emotionally and psychologically cripple boys, while building up certain skills in girls. Sure we also try to stop girls from developing certain skills too, but boys are particularly restrained from associating with the feminine. No babydolls, housekeeping toys, dressing up, or associating yourself with female fictional characters. Later, in school, the presumption that you can’t empathize with a female protagonist.

The problem with submissive men is encapsulated in the unsolicited dick pic.

You, the reader, know that women do not like getting nudes from strange men. Unless this somehow goes viral and reaches into the far pockets of places where women seldom go (doubtful), if you are this many paragraphs into a theory essay on gender, you are unlikely to think it’s an effective strategy.

The brain breaking part is that when there was an effort to survey guys who do send unsolicited nudes, the general finding was that the guys assumed that it was wanted behaviour that would be reciprocated.

What? How???

Yes, I know, that sounds bizarre. But bear with me here… You have an audience that has fundamentally discouraged from developing skills that improve empathy from day 1. Then, you rigorously punished them for even considering to associate with girl things. Are we particularly surprised that they popped out on the other side of that with no knowledge of the inner lives of half the population?

Ok, that’s nice, but now what?

There’s three schools of advice in how to “fix” sub men: mumsy belated parenting, scolding them to suppress their needs, and fap. Fap is the masturbatory passing off of “training” via BDSM play as helpful, and we can discard this as fun but ultimately nonsense. Scolding is born of exasperation, as there’s only a certain amount of sexual harassment and clumsy entitlement you can take before blowing out a cutting screed on why sub men suck. And the maternal effort to get men to learn how to people can be both incredibly patronizing, and as we came in here, not necessarily giving men the toolkit to self teach.

Why not sub training?

I toss out any program of “slave training” or the demands of the small line of sub men asking dommes to use kink to teach them to be a sub, because it isn’t practical. Wrapping lessons in sexy pants tends to favour the norms of people equip to do mass teaching, which creates a few issues. It puts the onus on the domme to figure all this shit out the non-sexy way, first. It overemphasizes sexual openness, not itself bad, but not how most people hook up. You shouldn’t need to also be poly or into teaching sex to figure this out. And, more cynically, it creates a dedicated market for selling the fantasy at the expense of the practical.

The Limits of Scolding

Some men report learning from the angry domme screeds, or the advice to learn to sublimate the self. However, although a safe space to be fucking pissed at how we are treated is a crucial fire that provides the light to attract femdoms to a community, it feeds two problems: self hating subs, and radical over correction. Radical over correction is the more subby than thou guy announcing that he is basically a passive recipient of literally anything a domme might do. It’s not sustainable for most men, so it can be dishonest, and it still puts the onus all on the female half of the couple to make things function. Human interactions are complex, and most dommes want their partner’s needs as part of wanting them. The other problem with the trend of endless sub shaming is that you have a population that is already incredibly insecure, being reminded they are all, by in large bad and nobody will want them.

Getting Beyond Being his Mother

Even me, the author, on the autism spectrum, has a whole toolkit I noticed most of my male peers do not. While maternal flavoured leadership is part of a typical woman’s gender training, unfortunately this is also one of those learn by rote versus teach critical thinking problems.

If you are a sub man you may find the greatest emotional fulfillment from the perception that you pleased your partner, but unfortunately getting there often means developing resilient and effective social tools that can adapt to the inherently ambiguous nature of all human social interactions. It’s not enough to give men a couple of etiquette rules local to your pocket of BDSM (like “always call her Mistress”, “no dick pics” or “tribute first”) and hope for the best.

Broadly the meat of my advice are as follows:

Seek out the (somewhat scant) men’s lib resources.

It sucks that the men’s movement is largely occupied by grifters and misogynistic dingdongs, because men need space to examine the problems that go with living as their gender without having to get just handme down resources. I know you feel like a needy tool hanging out as a feminist trying to unpack your own problems, but spaces like r/menslib are slowly getting you a bit of traction.

Maybe you are cool with gendered shit, but if you are feeling hecking alienated in this guy thing but still aware it’s your gender and you are stuck with its challenges, there are at least other humans being thoughtful about your real problems.

Reach out to other sub men and talk to them.

This one fucking sucks, but it’s been the observation that we dommes have made is that straight sub men don’t really like each other very much. Men have a hard enough time with community building, but the kink scene is particularly a mess. Every category of female + fetish seems to automatically build cliques, work groups and sisterhoods. Male tops tend to gravitate to showing off top skills, which I think is silly, but at least they can trad bro out about their erotic macramé or their awesome flogger swishing, or whatever trendy performance kink grants power and attention.

I can’t tell men how to order their business to have fun. However, if you *must* have a prestige skill anchor like the cis male doms to excuse your clustering, pick a couple of core archetypes you know sell well with women and obsess over that in a social way with other guys. What to pick? I dunno, strength training to give people piggybacks, being “the butler”, chastity marathons, endurance fucking, flogging bottom meditation- pick something, anything to use as a beard to open the conversation if the vulnerability of just directly admitting you need a community is too much.

Or talk about the guy dominated vanilla shit you already do outside of kink with them. If you MUST make this, ultimately, about a finding a partner rather than your own psychological well being, remember women will be lured to existing interesting conversations. There are more women who will feel safe talking about football than casually slide into a conversation about how fuckable they are. It works a heck of a lot better than standing in a corner holding a metaphorical rose and making overwhelmed worship noises.

Queer is your neighbour.

I cannot call straight sub men “queer”. That label is indelibly attached to homosexuality. However, it’s the closest frame of reference most submissive men will have for what, regardless of their firm attachment to being straight and cis. Queer guys are also heavily policed for displaying “weakness” (like you) and have valuable insights on being the object rather than the subject of gaze (eg how to be hot to get taken and fucked).

This isn’t the end state, as some things don’t directly translate. Your average m4m courtship is way more comfortable with in your face sexuality. For example, femdoms pretty much pan on the grindr special rosebud close up. But, queer is also a back door into understanding how women think, because queer culture has a lot more support for escaping “only for boys” aesthetic and social straight jacketing. It’s also a rare space where you can see other modes of being masculine (eg chubby “bears” being celebrated)

Embrace flirting as ambiguity

All humans are bad at knowing when other humans are flirting with them. We dedicate much of our massive brain power to trying to parse this out, coming up with elaborate schemas that still never successfully model every nuance of how we go from “Hello” to “Fuck”. Sorry, it is what it is.

But what you do have is that if you can’t tell if she is interested, neither can she in you. Until one of you pops, it’s a big playful game of “maybe”. I bring this up because sub guys are often trying to reconcile not trying to terrify the pants off of her, with the belief they have to lead aggressively, in antithesis to what they are trying to select for.

You may (still) need to be the first “hello”. I am super sorry about that. What you also have to wrangle is the grey area of finding and locating eachother’s boundaries. This is a topic that deserves its own essay, but broadly, flirting is an intriguing push-pull that lets you both deescalate in a way that saves face. Scared of being too bold? Socially, be mindful of keeping you both having an avenue of easy escape. (Trust me, once you flirt a lot, you too will appreciate learning to let her down gently).

Consume her world through art

Remedial consumption of media targeted at women can be one of the best ways of learning both what sells to her, and what she is likely to talk about. Even in the kink space, femdoms usually consume different porn than you probably do. Taking the time to know what pervy scenes get repeated a lot in her fanfic, terribad urban fantasy TV, and so on, can be key to getting into the larger conversation that is your mutual sexuality.

There’s a theory that reading fiction significantly improves all human’s “theory of mind”. That’s the ability to imagine the thought processes of others accurately. If you had a typical male childhood, keep in mind that one of the reasons women seem to have more “empathy” (a predictive capacity as well as a sensation of shared feeling) is that they have been encouraged since day 1 to enjoy and identify with male characters. You, on the other hand were robbed of a world of female protagonists. Some nervous pedagogue thought you might check out of learning to read if the story was mostly about a girl.

The damage is not permanent. From fanfic by women who share the same taste in media as you, to picking out shows aimed at women on netflix, you might even find stuff you genuinely like. Also you may end up feeling a lot less broken when you see the number of women who are not bastians of awareness and write men very poorly. But even that lets you know what they think you are like.

Now what?

It sucks. I’m sorry, I can’t undo a couple of decades of gendered damage towards keeping you lonely in the name of making you more competitive. But I can say that you are not without allies or people who care about you. You can’t necessarily fill the empty place with a singular domme and be whole, but your pain, bewilderment and confusion in the landscape of seeking fulfillment isn’t invalid just because you don’t have problems as bad as some other group.

If you take anything away from this, I hope you understand I am writing with a deep feeling of love for you. You matter and the world is better with you in it. I am sorry you got handed a lot of hard work, but I think that we can build communities where you can feel better.

Other sources:

Your Pleasure Doesn’t Matter

your pleasure doesn't matter

It’s a cliché of femdom porn, but many cliches endure because they work. It is also the antithesis of how I (usually) operate and it’s been a trust fall-esque exercise since our first hookup when my train was late so he drove me 3 hours home (and 3 hours back alone). It’s so hard to let myself relax and enjoy someone’s giving.

This one is both a soft limit, and the kink that I am exploring right now: being inconsiderate.

The vulnerability of being dominant is ultimately part of being a half of a whole. In power exchange you get things back, in the meta of D/s, you put a lot of vulnerability in the ability to have expectations for someone else that, more often than not, fetishize the unreasonable.

As such, I recoil at the masochists who do it just to please you, even as my own self thrills to see pain in the face of my lover. I needed Silver to be the slutty little masochist I discovered him to be, because my dominance has always had a generative more so than a consumptive aspect.  

I told him early on his fetishes belonged to me, the control panel of his sexuality. I want to be powerfully and compellingly desired. I glow to command attention, and have to tame very petty jealousy when someone is more important or better at something than me shows up. 

I can see how, of course, the inverse is true. Silver smiles more happily than anything else every time he is reminded I also actually share his fetishes, particularly latex. I think he feels about that the way I feel such delight in his craving to hurt.  

Pretty, perfect, driven, wired boy. It’s funny to use the diminutive on someone both older and having more of his shit together in many respects than me (we are about 8 years apart in age, and I often appreciate feeling it as much as it makes me insecure). But, “boy” comes easy. Maybe it’s the big blue eyes and sandy blond hair? Maybe it’s the painting in his attic, unweathered pale skin. I couldn’t place it.

Telling him his pleasure doesn’t matter did not come easily to me, but I am using it now.

There are a few things that come forth from Silver’s sexuality, fed from his desires and quirks. The masochism. The rubber. The hypnosis. The self initiated urge to please via “surprises”, and the surprisingly hard limits around long term rules via contracts. He has, historically, pleased me by trusting that I will treasure who he is. I prefer it when he is active, not passive, to please me.

And in intimate talk, to each other, those words tripped out of him “my pleasure doesn’t matter”.

At the time I corrected him. His pleasure, like his fetishes, are tools of my control. I was feasting on his enjoyment of this as a significant platform of my sense of power but also, my sense of security. 

In every person there is this being you can dredge up in psychology as an “inner child”. You use it in thought exercises to teach yourself to shed that raiment of self loathing many of us use to gird ourselves against things that are good for us.  

My child-self saw some shit, and often fantasised about folded down into nothingness, not a burden to any adult. I craved to be needless and giving, conceived of myself as selfish. Trauma didn’t make me dominant, but it probably influences my perception of love.  

In the hindsight of adult maturity, I can realise, alongside the pile of  other abuse I experienced, I was a victim of emotional incest. We should not ask children to provide for adults as I was. 

Unfortunately, knowing why I am fucked up doesn’t fix being fucked up.

Silver is perfectly willing to be patient with that warzone aftermath, but ultimately there is a piece of me that stays alert to danger when most would melt into an embrace.  You want to know how meta this is, I am anxious to write this in case he worries he is too much of a nuisance. 

So big breath, relax: Your pleasure doesn’t matter.

When I say it, he reacts with that sort of erotic, wide eyed cringe that makes my heart sing and my core tighten. It’s the same shudder of found out desire he gave when I discovered “whore” or “slut” and even more so “bitch” are sharp yanks on the leash on his soul. The same caught breath and big eyes, but relaxed body, as when I physically pull his cock between his legs in a controlling fashion. 

Trick is, I can’t just say things to indulge him. I have never been the sort of domme who could do things I wasn’t into, just cuz. The latex I wear is my fetish. The pain I give him, my desire first. To work for me (and for him), I had to take that phrase, understand it and use it as it means to me rather than just wave it about ineptly. I have to believe it, not put it on like an ill fitted costume.

In the spirit of the phrase, it’s been a defining thread in our relationship, to trust his giving. The first time I leaned in, it was a dark and rainy night, much like the Pacific North West weather of the last 2 months. He offered a big favour, and I stepped out into uncertain ground and said yes. I knew, over a year ago now, that letting him drive me back to Canada was a huge imposition. But that he offered because he meant it. So big breath, trust, say yes. And it worked. Every extension, every tentative query that my whole self might be wanted, has received an affirmation. Now I try it more consciously, with that phrase.

Let his pleasure not matter. Let myself enjoy. Let me trust to use him and be sure this is as it is supposed to be.

my review of what I experienced at the 2021 ero-hypno con

Notes on Charmed! HypnoCon 2021

If cost was a prohibitive barrier to me exploring latex, the complex vocabulary and my own skepticism has always limited how deep I could go into exploring hypnosis. Enter Silver, a regular subject/sub/victim to turn my mind control fantasies into mind control realities. There’s praise there for how much his experience in this kink has accelerated my own confidence and growth.

I really cannot stress enough the symbiosis in a dominant’s skill and submissive’s skill. The constant emphasis on describing submission as a passive act, and dominants as the universal energy and experts of all kink robs us of so much potential, particularly for baby dominants. Exploring Hypnosis as a niche of a subculture I have found a lot to like. There’s less emphasis on the “True Doms” (or gendered primacy the way rope feels like it decided hemp and patriarchy were unavoidable defaults) and a lot more space to blend it into a whole life rather than being a commitment to a different world.

Charmed! is a Annapolis Erotic Hypnosis convention they have been putting on for several years. This is my first time, and I am quite impressed by the professionalism, both in structure and delivery on the online medium they used this year. The silver lining of Covid is that I probably would not have attended if I had to pay to fly there and stay for a weekend, but the activity in particular is uniquely set to remote exploring and learning.

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Sex, Platforms and And When the Marketplace of Ideas Is A Shopping Mall

CN: perversity, discrimination and sexual assault and exploitation 

free speech porn and the POTUS

Jesus Christ, 2021. Nobody actually thought you were going to be different, but if we had any hope, you definitely managed those expectations effectively. One attempted coup later, let’s talk about where kinky sex applies to the current situation occupying anyone with an internet connection and grasp of the english language.

In the wake of banning the POTUS from various privately owned, but widely used social media outlets, there is a timely discussion on if the concept of “Free Speech” is applicable in relation to losing your access to commercially controlled platforms. Being a shiboleth for Americans, private curation gets called censorship, and people argue that this circumstances is completely different from state muzzling. 

Ultimately it’s the more sophisticated version of whether “irregardless” is a word that you can use interchangeably with “regardless”, or not. 

That’s to say that people are both correct that anyone using irregardless knows that more listeners understand it to mean “extra disregarding of prior argument”, but it’s not what that word originally meant. And, everyone hearing “this is an attack on free speech” knows damn well that the lines between aristocracy-level-powerful corporations and the state is blurry.

As a person who makes porn and has weird sexuality, I therefore find myself with the strangest of bedfellows indeed. This is even as I support excising the instability in the US like an old timey approach to breast cancer: carve off the whole teat into the lymph nodes to save the patient, if you have to.

If the house is on fire, forget about bath water VS baby ratio, and chuck the whole tub. However while sending your metaphorical bathtub out the window, you can still try to make sure it lands baby side up, and acknowledge some metaphorical babies may be harmed in the flight through the back garden.

And here we horny, loud fuckers are, shouting from the mall parking lot where we were ejected over a lewd, or being too strident about our rights, or having the wrong fetish.

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6 Femdom Highlights of 2020

Castlevania Season 3 = Femdom x 9000

It’s hard to believe that this dropped in March 2020. Just as North America became aware this Covid issue wasn’t someone else’s problem, we got ALL undead femdom.

Between bondage Alucard and Hector/Lenore, there’s nothing at all left in subtext and fan fic writers and femdom enthusiasts the world over are now waiting on baited breath to see if the F/m couple of our cartoon vampire dreams gets some sort of non-tragic ending.

So many online kink classes!

Probably the one benefit to the pandemic was that we were all forced to find new ways to run our kink communities. The educational component, previously locked to physical spaces, became unmoored from geography. It’s suddenly become possible to attend classes anywhere in the world

My highlights include several hypnosis workshops, and decided I particularly like The Eulenspiegel Society (TES, of New York) and via classes hosted by Dating Kinky.

Meanwhile the Ritual Chamber in Toronto has weekly options as a great way to keep the space available while most pro-dommes have taken a break in the name of public health. Likewise Ruby Ryder is running a rotating series on how to peg, for both beginners and advanced players.

That sexy tease of a poster

Earlier last year, the film “Cordelia” shared an elegant image of implied female dominance with a great aesthetic. something about her long dress and his high collar hinted at a historical romp- which given the target market of the typical costume drama, was particularly exciting. For a couple of weeks, we all lost our minds hoping it was the must needed femdom historical.

Unfortunately it wasn’t. A psychological thriller about the mental health of half a set of twins wasn’t what we are into at all, so we decided we needed “Regency Femdom Week“.

Ferns Started Offering Audio Stories

Launched through her Patreon, long term author of Domme Chronicles, Ferns, took her occasional presence on podcasts and went one step further. Erotica in a sexy Australian accent from the queen of lifestyle femdom blogging? You most certainly should take a listen.

I am told her book is also due to become an audio book too, soon!

Silver Became My Property

femdom latex sleep sack

You may or may not have noticed a bit of a content renaissance here and to be honest a significant portion can be blamed on acquiring a muse. Starting an Owner/property relationship back in January has been delightful.

As well as new femdom stories, you have probably been both following along with my real life write ups, or at least enjoying the occasional illustration, often directly inspired by my escapades. Oh, and sonnets.

And there’s almost certainly more to come- see the illustration on the left for an example.

(You can find posts pertaining particularly to him under the Silver tag)

Satanatrix and Empress Ming Caused an International Incident

Shooting a femdom film, with a priest in a Catholic Church was a risky move, but completely delightful. Unfortunately everyone got nailed with a public obscenity charge, but not only do I strongly feel it doesn’t meet the criteria (locked church after hours isn’t public), the clear intended blasphemy is both drenched in artistic merit and given the long term hegemony of the Catholic Church… not exactly punching down.

Although many people were SHOCKED such an indecent act might occur and the altar ritually burned, I donated to Ming’s Go Fund Me, since booting the hornet’s nest of the faithful can mean dealing with getting loudly and publicly outed, and then a mountain of abuse.

My 2020 Blog Report Card

Because I think this data is neat!

Total ViewsUnique Visitors
126,64760,257
There was a blip in my measuring mid year, so all data is minus a month and a bit

Top 10 Posts of 2020 (By Views)

Personal favourite post

Silver, Before I Kissed HimMy blog was only just starting to kick back up when I put this together. something of a love letter to a no-strings-attached hook up that I had not expected to do more than restore my rather repressed libido to some measure of confidence.

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I think you want me to write more femdom stories…

Projects Outside My Site

On Having A Cross Border BDSM Relationship During Covid

There is a point of comparison between how the safe drama of BDSM and ,the shockingly intense effect a pandemic both weigh on a relationship. One comes from a place of fundamentally healthy intensity, the other forces you to find something to cling to that’s good feeling, just to stop the inherent emotions of a crisis from making you crack. Add the first burning flare of a new relationship and it’s been months of yearning. It’s been a year.

Oh my god, it’s been a year.

We’ve gone from from first kisses at midnight and taking travel for granted, to leaping through hoops to even get to hold hands. I’m writing this in the melancholy cloud of self pity that comes from not getting to spend our One Year Anniversary (TM) together in person. But there’s a certain awareness that at least I have the capacity, despite all this distance, despite getting my own go with Covid, to feel something close to blessed.

Blessed is an odd word, since how we casually use it mostly means fortunate. I don’t think there’s a deity giving out favours, but I can see how when things feel unfair in your favour it is more comforting to believe it. In our case, Silver and I are fortunate in two senses, that he is the one I get to miss so very painfully, and that I get to miss him like this. Not everyone gets even what we have.

Not that I expected it same time last year, but let’s do a retrospective of how we got here: From scratching an itch with a cute sub guy, to deciding there was a pretty good body of evidence this might be my Person.

I thought fretting if I was rebounding after a break up in 2019 was going to be my biggest pathos. I though Silver was Mr. What I Needed Right Now, and I’d work the rest out later. At the time, and you can see it documented month over month, I figured slow was better. At the best of times I am good at feeling things hard, and I wanted to be careful with my heart. I mapped out a month by month calendar of careful escalations. But, people plan, and God laughs, so the saying goes. My commitment to the Aesthetic has nothing on the adaptions we must put love to, to live in and with a pandemic.

And I think of the sentiment, the impacts we put of old concepts: Dating. Courting. Love letters. Shame. Adventure. Simplicity.

I already mentioned that Covid had a sort of time machine effect on relationships, so I suppose I expand on that point. For good or for ill, this has been a ridiculously romantic situation. I don’t mean to say that the sufferings of billions is my immature backdrop. This is no renting an antebellum plantation so the columns will look good in your wedding photos.

This is romantic in the sense that the obstacles add a conflict you have to face together. Where everything is a monumental struggle, so the least bit of your efforts to reach each other has all the more impact. And it’s a lot of yearning, and time to think about missing them.

On Romance

I wish I had saved the origin, but in the ship wars that spill over into Twitter, a fragment of an argument slipped past: Romantic, in fiction, isn’t actually the model of what a relationship should be, it’s drama. Drama necessarily mean a certain degree of angst, discomfort and pathos. Stick “Grand” in front of the word “Romance” and you probably can guarantee deadly peril too.

In this pandemic, everyone flails around for a story to make sense of it. The Spanish Flu and the Blitz are popular. Sometimes we trot out war metaphors from other conflicts. I see the point, to a degree. I had not expected food shortages, sheltering in place or blocked travel would be part of my adulthood. I hadn’t expected to get sick in a pandemic, though I suppose I assumed there would eventually be some acute calamity or another. I just thought it was going to be a natural disaster or a personal crisis. My imagination stretching to earth quakes and car crashes, not long, long months of nothing to do while everything happened.

Covid, ultimately, is going to be Covid, in the stories after this. We’re nowhere near out, with it’s long tail aftershocks on the economy predeicted to last long after we are all hopefully stabbed twice and set back out into the working world. But, for now it’s the older meaning of the term “romance” we seek comfort in, meaning a story, often grand in scope.

I am sure it wasn’t Tolkien’s Hobbit that made participating-under-protest Bilbo the first hero self aware of the unpleasantness of the practical details of adventure. Nonetheless, the Hobbit and it’s titular species are the lives of most of us. Sure we have personal pains, but most of us go out of our way to avoid anything epic, because we are not self destructive.

And yet, in the awful can we farm a lot of just plain awe.

We are all aware of the fact that bad things breed good chemistry. The shared experience of suffering, even ritual and light suffering, bonds you to new friends and compatriots fast. Much has been said of the addictive nature of rollercoaster relationships, no matter how much they tend to behave a lot more like steamrollers to our lives and real happiness. So, what about the inherent drama of kink?

I believe that one facet of BDSM’s appeal is putting that lightening in a bottle. Like taking up sword fencing or tae kwan do, or immersing yourself in a nice novel, you get all the advantages and high energy of what would be bad otherwise, and none of the messes. A beating ends with check ins and aftercare. A scene almost always begins with both parties having the understanding of the ride the are on and where it is going. BDSM relationships really don’t get much worse than vanilla ones can, but can have a significant uplift than the alternative.

Perversity breeds a language for obsession, foreplay for days, and investment. I know a lot more kinky folks who are REALLY into their partners and the relationship itself, than vanilla couples. (I think people who are living a $Religion Lifestyle are the only ones I see otherwise so reliably obsessed in building a big thing off being together)

Now try being kinky, dating with a lot of firsts that are symbolic even for vanilla folks, and then have a pandemic crash through your world.

Let us be clear, in these times I exist in a position of relative safety and advantage. I survived Covid with only mild respiratory damage. Silver and I work from home, and live a not unreasonable commute from the only easy to reach neutral ground between our nations in the world. We even managed a visit in October, because I could afford a $250 flight and a $60 uber, where I plucked his technical virginity.

After, I confided that I had not expected it to impact me as much, to feel so bonded. I had lost my own technical virginity with the speed and enthusiasm of a teen breaking in her first pair of Doc Martens. Literally. I snapped my hyman like I was trying to make something transform from painful and chafing, to the badge of experience and the power I wanted fucking to symbolize. Control. Freedom. Artificially extended childhood through “purity”, as the larger body of adults recommended, constricted.

So it was bewildering to feel something a little more real just from popping a little rubber bag on his cock and making him ejaculate inside me. And it was reassuring to be told that he also felt like something relevant had passed between us. Uh, did True Love really wait? Snrk.

I love him, rather intensely. Did I mention that?

In November, after passing quarantine confinement for the first part, we made a last pilgrimage to the Peace Arch. The sky, which had turned Cascadia grey by my return home from Washington and dumped water daily, gave us a break for one perfect Friday afternoon.

Understand, of course that this park meeting would be unthinkable if we didn’t lead very constricted lives. Numbers of infections are watched in British Columbia and Washington. Even so, this was the tail of the year, with few leaves in the trees and the earth even more muddy than our first May meeting. And the park had only a few well swaddled few, more border guards than guests.

These days, there’s a significant pressure, and for good reason, to be as good as possible. The intimacies of my picnics feel as daring as the carnality of my sex life, if not more so. I worry that I made my calculations wrong. I worry that if I tell you, even here in a fairly shielded sex blog I will end up earning some sort of scarlet C. And guilt too, because some people don’t have a means to see the one they love at all. And woven into this shame, is a sort of awareness of the larger struggles from time past.

So much hope and want, all poured into one thermos!

I made oxtail soup from scratch in my roomate’s instant pot. Simple, carrots, celery and onion, the latter diced nice and fine, and a little tomato paste and herbs from the last on my balcony. I wrapped the thermoses in a pretty tea towel, making the most simple thing we were stuck with as special as I could. He brought pumpkin pies capped with Chantilly cream, rich and perfect. After the bandstand proved occupied by one of the few other people (the seemed to be doing some sort of group therapy), we stole away to make a plastic tablecloth and blanket nest at the door of the little building that serves as a kitchen-for-rent in better days.

I wish I could tell you of some great erotic secret game we played, but the truth was I had a migraine that made me ache until he began to stroke along my back and neck. Though there was more than captured kisses, there wasn’t the full lavished torments to the degree we sometimes do.

The truth is that I’d seen that arch that’s a monument to our respective nation’s diplomatic peace a good dozen times now, and until now I though it was trite and over stated. It’s League of Nations styled optimism that the First World war got it out of our system at long last, refreshed just this year with new white paint on a hulking structure that’s too public to pretend its a lost gate to Narnia, or some such. But there, framed by trees shedding their last leaves, and cuddled close against the wind, the fact that the gate was essentially closed hurt. It was a family heirloom you took for granted as “that old thing” now pawned, or lost in a fire.

Here we were, almost quaint enough to make the most Family Values oriented elder cluck indulgently at us. This picnic was all we had. Sure, I wanted him back in a rubber bondage sack with his hard cock peeping, and every fiber of his being focused on what I might do next, but it’s going to take either great age or a traumatic brain injury to make me forget that afternoon.

The soup arrived still so hot it burnt my tongue, but I want to make it again. And I can’t tell you if the pumpkin tarts were the best I have ever had, or if that was the moment’s energy giving them the flavour, but ultimately, if my meat prison is giving me intense happiness in a pile of things I would have previously thought were mundane, I will take it.

We hoped hard, in a few weeks, things might stay as easy as they had in October and maybe, just maybe, one more meeting to end the year. One more hand on throat, midnight kiss to seal 2020 with the same hope we entered it with.

And after.

The panedemic got worse, of course. We know, you’re reading it with me. The optimism that I had thought perhaps to risk an imprudent NYE rendez vous all abated. I MISS HIM. I won’t see him or hold him or pin him in place and hurt him for months.

The park’s awash in the sky’s further blessings: wet snow, and here I am making a tearful record. I shan’t fill his ass with anything, but toys at my direction. I have to reassure my beautiful, perfect man that my crying isn’t some ill he did me, but the awareness of wanting.

And the pictures we send back, well, his pale face and perfect dark blue eyes have a little sad. The hair he grew out long enough to yank will have its trim. I suspect he just packed the bounty of gifts he wanted to get me into a big box an freighted it to me, instead of getting to watch as I blushed redder and redder at each unwrapping and put kisses on his neck to hide my face.

There’s a rubber armbinder still in tissue, waiting for me to join him and strap him in. There’s promise unrealized, things I hope for. Even our relationship, at one year at the end of the month, has crazy holes we will have to wait to back fill. We have spent barely three days together in a row, and still need to determine if four is too much. I have to let time keep going forward to get there.

I will comfort myself. I make the effort to dress and pretty up as if the pandemic barrier might drop at any minute and I would need to drop everything to see him. (with laws in place, I doubt it will go that fast). After January, I will buy a short whip, and take it to the nearest park to learn to aim it, so the next time we are alone, even if he’s stolen from me again, I can send him back with welts.

I will progress as best I can with what we have for now. And it will be some comfort that although hot soup and a picnic are now the height of decadent luxury, they feel like much, much more.