O Self

State of the Dis-Union

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destr_torsion_padlock1I took care of some tax paperwork that needed doing, and followed up with the Ex so he knew that as far as cofiling for 2012, the ball’s in his court again. Next month I’m turning 27. Perhaps for that reason I’m filled with a particular impatience, as if nothing is coming at the speed it should.

And yet, I took a pretty big leap in January, to correct something that was demonstrably not a large sign of maturity in my life up until that point. I broke off an almost six year relationship, expecting to abandon everything that didn’t fit into a taxi.  With my Ex, I’ve been particularly careful talking about it- his privacy deserves respect and nothing is worse than tirades about a person who cannot defend themselves.

Breaking up didn’t make me a happier person per-say, because I’ve always been particularly good at living inside my head, and from that point, manufacturing my own contentment. I think, to apply a lesson from that situation, the problem was not basic sexual incompatibility, because I was quite capable of finding him attractive.  It wasn’t ideological issues, though we didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff, because I again, tend to have that space in my head that generally lets people I’m close to be people. It was a fundamental lack of respect that was eventually starting to go both ways that was making it bad for both of us.

Again, I think I’m on pretty dubious grounds as far as telling the whole wide web, though I’ve also talked intimately of my sexuality in other posts so… I’ll try to stick to talking about me and not him.

A lot of people seem to think that being a D-type makes you magically able to pilot relationships  to the point that a few lonely-and-delusional sub types will chime in about how you just need to put glue in the lock of the chastity cage and everything will come up roses, and yet I think this sort of problem is something that could happen to anyone, kinky or not.

Things I took into the relationship, that were pretty important, is being a survivor of child abuse, and being part of the addict-and-enabler song and dance. A lot of people have gone through what I did (there’s no apparent correlation between being kinky and childhood abuse survival) and it grinds a pattern into you that is so familiar and reliable that I can meet someone from the same weird world and just about close my eyes and run my fingers, blind, through the maze they’ve got embossed on their psyche. What does that have to do with my Ex? Learned helplessness is a bitch.

In the oddest way, kink did kill our relationship. Not basic sexual incompatibility  but some older person on fetlife advising me that as I aged I would understand all those “[Sigh!]… whatever!” things women are supposed to give in response to their male partners. I find the idea horrifying. And, one of the prices of staying with the ex would have been fundamental acceptance that I would never be listened to, in any particular capacity- I’d rather be a crazy cat lady than resigned.

But independence is pretty amazing. I like having my own apartment. It needs work, but even the relative lack of resources that came as a trade off of not being in a shared household… does not seriously impact my quality of life. I have noticed that I am being treated like I am more attractive, which generally tends to go with being on the lighter end of my weight fluctuations and is a definite thing. People are shallow. Then again, I’m not living as much inside my head as it was, so that’s a positive trade off.

I engage in lots of little projects, as is my habit. Honestly, it keeps me occupied. Each month brings some small improvement. Not bad for someone who was sleeping on a pile of laundry mid January! This week’s extravagance will hopefully be updating my bedding, at least to get a nice duvet cover that doesn’t have the general texture of sandpaper.

And on the flip side, I’m enjoying the challenges of my job. Hilariously, my boss wants me to temper my “direct” communication style, which means code switching to utterly fake corporate cheerleader in all external emails. This is not challenging for me, but if I actually believes in True Dominance (TM) I’d claim it was my nature shining through.

Instead, insincere exclamation points.

This is generic stock art. No idea where it started out.

Me and My Webcam

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Something…something…performative space… something… self objectification?

So I have been livestreaming daily life activities. Mundane stuff like me doing the dishes or yack-yack-yacking to people about safe anal sex.  Despite my reticence to put up static images, I actually enjoy interacting in this way.

It’s not precisely exhibitionism  because even though I’m under a barrage of sexual attention, it’s stimulating the upstairs not the downstairs, if you get my drift. It’s also rather interesting because I feel like I’m nudging up against the thorny issue of asking for attention.

I want positive attention. I mean, seriously, I wouldn’t be blogging and writing and talking to people if I didn’t adore hearing “Pearl, you’re the coooo0ooolest!” This isn’t even just a gender thing. Sure what I do is gendered, but guys who get attention deal with odd stuff too. But asking for attention has a certain degree of… I don’t know, social hazard?

Celebrity, even wimpy 10 person celebrity, is fun. I get a similar degree of fun being the person who organizes munches. As a nerd, I tend to be the GM in rpgs, or I admit a certain perverse desire to play characters that are different. Not different as in Mary Sue-esque “Oh my family was murdered!!!”  but characters with a reason to interact with people. Often i try to create underpowered character or other people’s villains.

Thing about getting attention is that it’s kinda like the double standard around beauty. You’re not supposed to put exceptional effort to get there because it’s supposed to be an anointed blessing from the gods. On the other hand it is supposed to be a good thing to be attractive, but being able to say “actually I’m kinda hot!” is a social faux pas.

You’re allowed to acknowledge your own cleverness. People polled generally see themselves as being slightly more intelligent than average, regardless of where they land on an IQ spectrum, as well as being a bit nicer than average. But if you say you’re more attractive than average… ouch! Prepare for a world of hurt. People are just as quick to assign people 4/10, would not bang scores as the are to croon at people calling themselves unattractive that they’re the contrary.

My hotness, incidentally seems to be one part context and one part related to the vagaries of how bloated I am and what my adult acne is doing. I can effect it in small part by what I wear and the application of makeup combined with the removal of eyebrows, but other than that…

Mostly I’m trading on nubile-ness, ultra pale skin and personality. Camming seems to have a positive effect on my perception of my looks even if I’m deeply distrusting about the actual nature of what people are perceiving. When I had an OKcupid account I got filed in the top 25%, but I still can’t trust it- I was generally considered “not hot” in other circles.

But give me a room to work and I start feeling more attractive. So there’s a definite push-pull going on there. There’s also a control issue. Which I will try to expand on.

Helen Mirren, of all people, talked about it pretty well

“I’m still trying to wriggle out from under that label. […] Being a sexual object is mortifying and irritating, yet it’s giving you power–an awful power that you’ve done nothing to deserve, a powerless power. I think some young women fall in love with that power, and it’s really objectifying.”

What she’s talking about is how when you put yourself out there to be desired, you’re simultaneously suffused with the ability to draw people in, but it encourages possessiveness on the part of the beholder. I don’t just mean the guys who project submission fantasies onto me, it’s that the attention other people give you is never really in your control.

My approach to camming generally comes with the caveats that I want to be able to limit it. It’s exhibitionism without vulnerability. But even beyond the persistent guy asking me to look at his penis… (and there’s always one without a fetish context) there’s the issue of always watching the crowd as much as they watch you.  As soon as you make yourself visible you need to be more conscious. On the other hand… I over thinka and…

My sex toys, months later.

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(Gmail is eating some of my responses to your email, so I’m throwing an FYI up on a post about sex toys, that if you didn’t get a reply, blame google)

It’s pink. Violently pink. I’m looking at a neat little row of anal plugs in small sizes, with about the colour tones I would expect out of a Barbie accessory. As you might guess, about a week ago Pinkcherry.ca delivered for me after a few little hiccups, once my fault and once inexplicable (but probably my fault). And by the way, they refunded my money *instantly* when the package failed to deliver in the first mail attempt.

Of course I tried them out!

The Tantus silk large isn’t actually that big, but it’s big enough. I have a personal preference for non-phallic, or rather non-realistic dildos. I don’t want to go shoving jaunty rubber dolphins or artful roses into my cunt, but especially for a strapon I’m particularly inclined towards things that aren’t obviously a vein-y male cock.

The ideal toy for me is smooth (not the soft rubber) silicone, thick-ish, with a flared base and a slightly pointed head.  Basically cock shaped without being an actual cock.

Some of this is actually because replicas do the uncanny valley thing for me. By this I mean that they are just real looking enough to be unsettling without having the arresting om-nom-nom of a real man’s penis. Between my legs, I’ve never wanted to do the gender fuck think or do futanari- I might call it my cock but it’s just a tool.

This actually hard in the sizing I want. There’s a certain size range where suddenly the manufacturers decided you want veins and circumcision scars and vestigial balls. Unfortunately for me I’m in that awkward zone. I don’t like monster sized, but something in the realm of human possibility is more my cup of tea.

But my relationship with toys still involves a hell of a lot of blushing. Like, as I mentioned, fisting someone else is practically humdrum but anything involving me is something I don’t talk about. Because… butts! In me, and stuffs!

In practice, everything does what it’s supposed to. The slightly bulbous head of the Tantus large is a little awkward unless I’m really, really turned on (and then vaginas are pretty elastic). Personally, for anything penetrative I’m a fan of the masturbate and nudge method of getting the equipment to open up. A slight taper at the head gets the process started.

Which is about as bleakly clinical as you can get about describing it, and I suppose I can do better.

My fingers always gravitate to my clit, a tiny nub that never leaves its hood, so sensitive that even a little bit of direct stimulation causes me to buck and shove the offending party away. Not because I don’t want to surrender, because if I persist, with fingers or vibes, it petulantly shuts down.

So the hood, and the modest pink inner lips are the real target of my attention. Words like pouting, fat labia apply, with the thicket of hair shaved from my mons but still covering the outer labia.

The clitoris, of course, according to medical knowledge earned from people fucking with ultrasounds, is a curious butterflied structure of which the protruding nub is just the iceberg tip of the more complicated system. Arousal is something I feel, as a warm tingle from cunt-crest to the inside of my thighs.  As I get more turned on, the coil climbs my spine and down to my knees, infusing my entire body with sensitivity. My breasts swell, though aside from the very tips, my nipples stay rose pink.

I really like being fucked while I bring myself off. My clit brings me orgasms I doubt I’ll ever get from a partner, and it’s a fickle little bitch that needs to be petted in just the right way. But when lust is stokes up what was uncomfortable suddenly feels like a delightful idea.  That’s when very rapid, very hard penetration suddenly goes from “meh, ow” to “omygodyes”.

It’s a good tip for anal beginners too, and my trick for getting up other people’s asses. No mater how much you stimulate the orifice, it generally won’t open up until the person is nicely aroused.

Hint- to get into a dude ass, start with a handjob.

Pinkcherry.com

Me, the Masochist AND Dominant ALSO Ego

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I recently filled out the University of Nova Scotia’s sex research survey, apparently trying to cross correlate personality  with self identified sexual orientation in BDSM.

So my identification is something that’s sometimes a bit awkward for me. I’m not “Undecided”. I know I’m a dominant. But even beyond the sensual/sensitive/strict variations, I also have other stuff in there.

I am, among many things, a masochist, and not just a pure sensation based masochist. I have of course encountered this often enough that I can’t claim to be a special snowflake. However I can observe how it effects and effected me and what this sort of experience demonstrates about how we construct the concept of sexual dominance but also submission.

Dominants, by common stereotype, are not supposed to be in a weak, subjugated position. We’re not supposed to be confused, incompetent or insecure. And not emotional either, though we can be rhapsodic about our “pet” a bit, or possessive. It’s hyper performance masculinity for the masses.

Occasionally dominants chirp up that they feel a little bit like they’re not allowed to be incompetent- Bitchy Jones and Dumb Domme both touch on it pretty well. A lot of pixel text passes through BDSM forums fighting the idea that dominants can’t fall in love (wah?!) and so forth. Everyone’s fighting the looming spector of the true dom.

Me, my masochism was a red herring that diverted me for quite some time. Of course we make room for so called ‘sensation bottoms’ but trying to explain that I enjoy more than physical sensations but I don’t actually submit really makes me feel like I’ve traipsed into that special zone of hell where you need to split hairs and refine terms so exactly you’re defining things on the molecular level.

Then again, you have to do that anyway when you define what kind of dominant you are. I’m nobody’s Mommy, Sissy Trainer or Goddess. I have to do that already. And yet…

I like, as an overarching thing, to have authority. It feels very good in the “me” place. The principle that someone or something is Mine really appeals to me. i’m a nasty little sadist who would love to hear you in that abject, broken down place. I just go a tingle from writing that last sentence, it’s such a big thing for me. And yet I like to caretake in a way that borders on acts of fussy service (of course I made your gruel into a happy face, prisoner!) and there is an aspect of me that really enjoys sexual victimization.

Yeah, yeah, all strong women secretly want to be raped and taken by an aggressive man, etc… etc… No. I don’t want to be owned. It’s not about submission. In practice, being on the receiving end does not take me to that good, cozy place that domination does.  As a victim, sure I’m physically aroused, the orgasms are good, I’m crying and pleading and so forth. But part of that is the ability to pull away from the victimizer. I’m actually pretty loathe to experiment because I don’t want actual vulnerability. Ew, gross. I pretty much have a rule that if you don’t sub to me, it isn’t going to happen. And don’t get me started on me and aftercare.

I’m a person who needs to be hugged and held after something intense, or I feel like a truck backed over me the next day. Constitutionally speaking, though my pain thresh hold  is high, I think I take strong emotions really hard. I’m even a little loopy after intense topping! But there is very few instances where I will trust someone to give me that real need.

So there’s that piece of awkward. Especially since there is a background tendency, that bastard “True” to think about subjugation on a rank scale. Like people still tell others how positive it is to “start as a submissive” as if being a dominant was something you worked up to. Or that you would be a more skilled dominant, which from a sensation experience might be correct, but honestly, from a *doing* perspective, if you’re actually into technical skill the sooner you can get started the better.

I’m a lot less open about the broad spectrum of my sexual desire because I feel like it creates more headaches than it sooths. Kink profiles mainly only make oblique references to it because I am made extremely uncomfortable by aggressive come-ons, much less the sort that people perceived as sub women get. I mean outright rape threats meant as come-ons will make me stabby.

So far my policy is simply that if you don’t sub to me, you don’t get to even consider negotiating with me. And I really don’t appreciate how often some random would be mentor has offered to help me “explore” this side. Granted the last guy went off on a rant about how I was rejecting him because he was black, so there’s other reasons why that sort of explicit come on creeps me out.

So I’m a dominant sadomasochist. If I own you, I own you. If I like and trust you, I can be a victim too, but don’t get too attached because the dom thing is going to bob back to the surface.

 

Freedom and Caution

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So I hosted my usual 18-35 munch (ohhhh, you’re that Pearl!) and it went swimmingly. And because I have the words “freshly broken up” stamped on my forehead, and because I am flirty and approachable, the tentative interest is starting to manifest.

Funny thing about that, at the moment I could be banging half the city of Montreal. Or having kinky BDSM with them, assuming consent in both cases. There’s a play party this weekend, and my dance card has been given a few longing looks from people who’d like to give it a punch. Or to be exact, would like me to give them a punch. And yet, I find myself up against the issue of being a theoretical slut.

Okay, my sexual history puts me firmly into the “slut” category, by even a fairly liberal culture’s standards. But, finding myself with the complete freedom to do as I want, something doesn’t quite feel like it would be a good idea. Some of it is the nature of my separation  being a bit over a month shook of a really long tenured relationship. Of course, reportedly the other side of the Divorce had a date lined up for that weekend with a “Lawyer” according to helpful friend gossip. But he’s always landed on his feet. I give him six months, tops, to a pretty good new girlfriend or a series of entertainments.

And there’s Strong, doing his quiet presence in the background. Not that he is a barrier to anything, but life, upon embarking on my Divorce got at once more simple and immensely more complicated. Suffice to say, temptation, and also the leftover sense that how the Divorce went down means that life should not be rushed. And one of the things I have to face up to is the fact that I’m a lot better at being flirty than I am at playing musical cocks (or vaginas).

And I don’t think I can have a zipless, body based fuck. Some of it is that I am hard to bring off, and so complicated sexually that I might as well stay home and masturbate. Some of it is that despite the reputation I produce I am shy.  As a combination, despite being  a female dominant  and thus treated like scarce joy, the urge to paint the town pink, much less red, is not there.

Some of it is being worried people will get too attached. some of it is worrying that you will deal with people throwing a hissy when I want things entirely on my terms- I’m going around telling a lot of people “I am flirting and touchy, but if I want to have sex with you I will explicitly say so in as many words.”

Weird, I don’t feel like being promiscuous with sex, or playing with as many people as possible, when I’ve had the most freedom ever. It’s going ot be interesting to see how the party goes down tonight.

I’m Doing This For Me, For You

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Subs often talk about how their D/s dynamic is posited on making them better people. The negatives in their life, from house cleaning to working on their mental health, become positives when it’s to serve, please or obey a dominant. It’s not something you usually get at a dom and yet, there’s something motivating about owning someone.

I did not expect to take the “gift of submission” seriously, until someone I really respected decided to submit for me. I won’t go into particulars about Strong…

But he does just that, he makes me feel stronger and more responsible. It’s a weird feeling, but something clicked- “Oh my god, I have to get my shit together.”

And I started working on a lot of stuff that needed fixing about myself. I think I carry a lot of shame about not meeting up to my own standards and with strong, it is easier to ignore the distractions because of the internal voice that counters them with “Fuck it, you have Strong, you don’t have time for this shit.”

It’s not a panacea, and my attitude to these things is pretty distrustful. I don’t think I’m an inherently trusting person at the best of times, and I tend to see strong emotions as particularly suspect. I can’t tell, of course, how much of that is familial habit and how much is a fair take away from experience. It’s always been natural for me to have both a primary emotion and a degree of detachment buffered by secondary emotions, so there’s the raw LovesLovesLoves! torrent ripping its way through my head, and there’s the analytic part of me, taking measurements like some sort of lakes and rivers worker taking water samples from a flood.

So there’s the compulsion to be a better person. I can’t say how long it will last or if it is healthy, but while I might have scoffed at the saccharine “Dom’s Responsibilities” , and still scoff at the facebook forward style lists that make it to the Kinky & Popular section of fetlife, I decided to go with it.

D/s also does weird things to your perspective, because it asks things of you that are otherwise not supposed to be part of your relationship repertoire. For example while caretaking is a great part of any relationship, you’re not supposed to think it terms of over riding other people in healthy vanilla. It’s also a funny sort of game, because if you can have a healthy relationship with someone they need a degree of self sufficiency and mental tidiness as a single person. Being completely dysfunctional, no matter how well intended, is going to scupper your D/s

I’ve got a friend who is a bit older than me, a sub, who I guess I’ll call him the Professor. Nice guy, very emotional in that sort of hedonistic pleasure seeking sort of way. He recently re-hooked up with his old flame, a woman from when he was younger. She discovered she was a dom and they’re attempting to launch a life now.

As a background, generally speaking Professor likes a particularly zany woman, the kind that seems, from his reporting, to be somewhere between manic pixie dream girl and hot mess. Lots of intense, passionate flings and one night stands. Anyhoo I generally assumed this was more of the same.

Now I’m, at my core, a judgmental and cynical bitch, but this is one of those cases where I looked at the actual instructions Blume was giving Professor, who is, himself, a bit of a hot mess. Basically she was having him do the shit that’s good for him.

Oh. Right. Quick reminder these people are still okay as separate individuals, but have found a way to connect. And she was over riding him and it was working out well. Judgmental bitch voice -Silenced!-

But for me, Strong has the weird effect of making me want to be more competent, capable and otherwise able. I feel like I suddenly have to develop a lot more focus on my life. It’s absurd, because he’s perfectly capable of surviving without me, but I feel like suddenly I am needed in a profound way and I must be better at things. All the things.

I’m A Domestic Dominant

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domestic dominant

If it is really mine, I want to  care for it. If he is my property, he is, like a pet or another thing I like, just as much there to nurture as to please me.

And I really, really like looking after people in a domestic and care taking sense. This can be a bit awkward, since the other traditional group into this is the people into Domestic Servitude.

I’m just as likely to be found browsing the domestic servitude forum on Fetlife as the corners explicitly put aside for doms. Not because I want someone else to force me into cleaning though…

It’s more of a natural inclination to be a fussy husswife, and that’s the place where people go to be husswives and fuss. I already keep a pinterest account with more time on the ‘housekeeping’ boards than I have any business spending. I’m really rather fond of small domestic touches and I’m the sort of person who buys myself fresh flowers. Despite being more personally inclined to chase a career over a husband, and being rather less than talented at organization or being tidy, there’s a part of me that’s a wee bit Hestia worshipping. I’m the sort of person who wastes money on table cloths and doesn’t like it if she has mismatched cutlery. Moving out into my own place after what I generally think of as my Divorce has been an exercise in highly pleasurable budget nest building.

You’d think that I’d simply get myself an exacting domestic submissive and have things the  way I’d like. I actually get offers periodically, and some of them have a good enough head on their shoulders that they’re not time wasting flakes.

And yet, when it comes to the D/s stuff,  I’m way happier being the one doing the feeding and looking after. Don’t get my wrong, being cared for with small acts makes me feel loved. I do not want to be taken for granted and treated like an ambulatory Teasmade But looking after someone feeds into the control aspect that gets my ladybits feeling all buzzy and warm, as well as the loose chest feelings that being romantic inspires.

It is to the extent that for me, a breakfast in bed tray is as much a fetish accessory as a whip or a corset and it is more of an expression of my identity as a dominant than either of the other options. It’s the ability to look after that’s important to me even beyond the whole D/s thing. I like it.

It also opens me up to lop sided relationships. I wish, at this point, that I had a link on fetlife to the thread, but it was discussing something particular about female dominants and a tendency of ending up being someone’s Jesus Girlfriend or at the very least getting a lot of relationships where you were doing all the looking after because it gave you control. This is not surprising, as women are generally trained to get authority through becoming some sort of mother.

The flip side is that “me do it!” can prevent you from opening up more than you should. It’s something I’m working on right now. I want my future relationships to be healthy and I made a rule or myself that I was going to pay attention to the back and forth of how I and partners interacted.

For a lot of people, caretaking is an “act of service”. But for me, the caretaking also goes into the vulnerability aspect and outright into the person being physically sick and enjoying being able to help them. As far as fetishes go, it’s so normal as to not really have anyone notice it unless you point it out. Think about the plot trope in a thousand romances where the handsome hero is nursed back to health. On the other hand perhaps it is not so ideal to spring “damn, you’re hot” one someone after you just finished mopping up their puke and tucked their wan and trembling self into bed. In case you’re wondering he started wondering if I poisoned him. Oops.

Fair warning, I may talk about domestic stuff on here.

Sex Toys Ordered

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So, after terminating my common law situation about a month ago, one of the casualties was the giant sex toy collection. Suffice to say, while it was no means a D/s relationship, about every 3 to 6 months I had bought a toy. Some for me, some for him.

That was probably ten insertables, of various sizes and tricks. All gone, plus hitty things and so on. Hopefully not burned because the melted chemicals and burned rubber would be enough to stun a horse. But a breakup means it’s time to make new memories. And, you know, starting over with clean things to put into orifices.

Thus, now that moving expenses have stopped causing my budget to cower like a little bitch, I had spending cash to buy toys and a sale at pinkcherry.ca post Valentine’s day.

As it stands, I still have 5-7 business days to wait because I sprung for the free shipping, but about the buying experience…

I’m a big fan of smooth, non-grippy silicone. I tried glass but it was too stiff, and I really don’t like the smelly jellies and anything with a taste is a no go. I use condoms with my sex toys, especially if it’s going places in multiple people, but I don’t like the idea the rubber is out gassing.

For that reason, I’ve been admiring the Tantus Silk line for a while. This time I tried getting the medium and the large.

This is the “Large”. I like a knobbed head better, but it was $22!

The Tantus Silk Large first caught my eye, but it’s big-ish. It’s funny it’s being sold as a plug by pinkcherry.ca, since there’s no flare to hold it in. However it’s also partnered with their strapon harness so the concept is basically a non-phallic pegging toy.

The Tantus Silk Medium is a much more manageable size, though I think there was one in my old toy collection in pretty red. The advantage, of course is that it’s strapon harness friendly.

My harness and the Luna Beads that mysteriously made their way into a box from my ex (Here you go! whaaaa?) were the two casualty survivors. I’ll talk more about Luna Beads later, though they’re one of those toys I don’t see the point to. The harness, I think may even be a Tantus product, and ended up being sorted into the box with my garter belts and things. I’m okay with keeping it because it’s machine washable and used in numerous escapades.

But when it comes to sex toys, on me, or in me, I like them non-phallic, and I’ve noticed that I tend to prefer black and red. I automatically gravitate to the stuff made for guys, which tends to have the aesthetic design sense of a rubber washer. It’s kind of funny- I actually like that shade of pearl pink, but a pink sex toy makes me squirm with embarrassment.

For reasons I can’t fathom, so does stuff to go up my ass. It’s funny, I like being on the doing end and can cheerfuly discuss toys with sex shop clerks, but I’m very shy about being on the getting end. That means itty bitty little things and inexpensive or not, this is also seriously pushing my comfort zone… but hey, it was cheap.

What about you guys, how easy is your shopping experience? Do you go online or to a store?

Non-consent Fiction and Me, Also “Punished!”

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Belly button gazing time.

It occurs to me that both I do a lot of writing about non-consent, and that I think this both bugs people and somewhat sets my writing apart from a lot of the other badly written, self indulgent porn. For example this well meaning, distressed person scolded me, after reading the first two chapter of Catamite.

You make us feel and sympathize for Phillip, and then you decide to destroy him w/o any chance of vengeance or retribution (b/c we ALL know you aren’t about to punish the female). It’s kind of like watching a puppy beaten for kicks.

There’s nothing wrong with having a thing for pain/nonconsent/femdom themes, but there’s a line you cross once you start adding depth to your characters that you’ve obviously failed to learn.

There’s a lot to unpack there, and it’s not the first time I’ve gotten that response. I’ve also had people earnestly write to me to tell me that “a man does not submit to evil” and that they’re otherwise bothered by the character of Annette.

I think one of the things people don’t like is that it’s not a clear story of good ‘punishing’ evil, but when you get down to it that’s actually something that squicks me. There’s a lot of non-consent stuff where the victim is introduced, usually off stage and without any evidence other than the narrative voice of god, as adulterous, a thief or some other petty crime. That sets up a dilemma for me: first of all I don’t think torture is actually a good punishment in real life and second of all, for my sexuality I like the idea of my ‘victim’ being worthy.  I’m one of those people who cringes when other people talk slaveringly about prison rape for pedos, and not just because I know that most prison rape is guard-on-prisoner (even though the fantasy of Bubba in Cell Block B is that it’s simply a side effect of being in proximity to evil) and treating it like part of the prison experience is creepy, but also I just can’t mentally do the ‘not worthy’ thing for any sub guy I’d connect with.

So, back to writing criticisms and non-consent. It’s actually kind of flattering that the people who try to reach me do so intelligently and as if they’re only speaking up because this troubled them rather than an incoherent cry that I’m sick, sick, sick.

If you write BDSM, the regular publishing houses, and even many of the freebie erotica publishing areas of the internet are very careful about rape and undesired torture. A lot of them ban it outright. Literotica, for example allows a category of ‘non-consent’ but turns a but queasy at the word rape. Fetlife’s giant erotica group specifically bans rape and non-consent violence in the same category of illegal nonos as bestiality and minors.

On the other hand the stuff that’s okay, is in-itself  a head trip for feminist sensibilities. A small sampling of stories picked at random from literotica’s non-consent/reluctant shows a lot of ‘reluctant’ where it’s rape, but it’s okay because the female victim is being sorted out and goes from stuck up to liking it. Or her rape is a sexual awakening that concludes with her consensually screwing everything in sight and/or loving her first magic cocked rapist.

I can’t defend Annette’s actions in my story from my moral perspective. It’s not supposed to be ‘okay’. But I haven’t the foggiest how her being ‘punished’ somewhere over the course of the story would make it okay. He’s still going to be raped even if he turns around and rapes her. Mostly I’m just going to keep writing fiction that suits me (because it’s my fetishes and fantasies and you’re not paying me) but unless we were all writing about pan-gendered utopic informed consent sex (“May I touch you?” Zie breathed huskily and held back, hir hands hovering. “Yes, you may!” Zie moaned in response, “Treat me like an equal! Respect me! Oh YES! I want this! I am speaking with a clear mind and no social biases! YES!”) there’s always gonna be the ‘Ewwwwww’ moment, and at least my icky-no-bad-wrong doesn’t need to hide under retribution or justice.