femdom life

Trans-Mortem

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Breaking up with Wildcard was hard!The whole process of my breakup is not done. We are still in awkward close quarters, negotiating the logistics of the seperation as we each move into our own household. Lots of crying. He took a week off work to grieve and has been pretty much high half the time. I have tried to get out of the house more and took up archery.

I have developed a sort of insomnia as well, a rarity, and stay up late writing this. What have I learned?

This isn’t a post mortem, but a trans-mortem. Things are still going. Or rather, still falling apart.

What do you do when you love someone but they fundamentally want and need different things? Obviously breaking up with Wildcard was not a choice I made easily. This blog contains a detailed description of much of the ways I cared (in sticky intimate detail) and because of it, I know that we developed a reputation as the cute couple.

Caring comes easy. Leaving is harder.

Literally everyone but my closest friends were shocked as hell to find out we had a problem. Mrs. Castle was probably the only one who called it, but Mrs. Castle probably has the broadest perspective into my life.

Functional issues stemed from being his rebound after a really horrible relationship. Hell, not rebound. Rescuer. For me, I was inclined to focus on helping and patience because I knew we had a problem, but I trusted his belief that it was a him problem I just had to help him through. I don’t think it is a problem anymore, just his personality and preferences.

I got what I deserved. I am the woman who barreled into his life and dragged him out of self imposed hell towards the life he wanted. Only the life he wants is not the one I do. It is a fuck ton more poly and switch focused than really is remotely compatible with me. Oops.

About a year ago I accepted it wasn’t going to get better. Then it was if I could live with it as the price of admission. I looked about for other outlets. It… Did not help. It made the dissatisfaction worse. The enthusiastically waggled penises of dozens of men looking for something other than service topping provided a stark contrast.

I don’t think he was ever into me sexually like I wanted. That stings.

A part of me feels like I just blew up a great thing out of being too picky, because Wildcard is loving, kind and generous.

Maybe in a smaller, less people’d world we would have been ok and I would have sucked it up and dealt. But also I was starting to wonder if resenting the missing stuff and the stuff I hated was healthy. I try to have perspective that 100 years ago, I would have 8 kids and polio, but it doesn’t help.

So I told him I wasn’t getting what I needed. And… Cue the sadness vortex.

My life is now apartment hunting and furniture logistics. Everything upended. Everything examined now “do I really need this?” From clothing to volunteer work, it is one non-stop rip down.

I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I am scared and unhappy about the chaos. But…

I would rather end up a bitter old maid than end up resenting him for something that isn’t really a flaw. And actually some of the change is not so bad.

Sickness and Idleness

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It’s been two weeks since I went into the emergency room, my stomach so pained that I was crying with it. Two months of hurting, escalating from a week of bad things pushed on me.

They scoped me out, found nothing in my guts by MRI, and a non-threatening cyst on my left ovary. I had the worst time in the hospital- the IV caused a vasovagal reaction and dry heaving, then the fluids used to make my guts show up of course make you even more ill. It’s not sexy, but it is my body.

The doctor called it stress. Stress so intense my appetite’s shuttered and I wake up in pain every morning. I’m thirty-one. I lost 15 pounds in 2 months. I don’t even feel hungry anymore.

I’m on sick leave. Temporary disability (paperwork ahoy!) paid for out of premiums I was just signed on for at tge job I am tired of.

I miss wanting to eat, I miss having stamina. It’s Canada so all of this is free.

Wildcard, who lives to feed me cooking that would make a professional jealous, watches with wary, sad eyes. He doesn’t know how to help me. He wants to help.

I spend about an hour every day in the shower. It relieves the cramps and turns my brain off under the thousand drop prickle massage of the water. I do laundry because I hate being useless.

I will get better, I think? I’m mending slowly.

Post Mortem 2016

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This is "Zozobra" a spirit of pain and despair ritually burned at the change of the year.2016 was not a sexy year. It was a year where I had a very complicated relationship with the Montreal BDSM Community (which is a nice way to say I shouted about sexual assault allegations) and also a year when my libido decided to take a nap, helped along by a cushioning layer of medications for various health problems.

Outside of the context of kink, I took on a vanilla project where I kicked butt, but it ate every scrap of my spare energy.

Other stuff happened in large volume. Some of it was simply a bunch of changes that manifested themselves at the very end of 2015 (moved, got promoted), some of it was background family things (my brother got very sick).

On the safety front, I accomplished a lot, and I accomplished sweet fuck all.

I got enlightened to the HerrK mess and reacted to it. A person I was previously close to decided to get excessively handsy with other people to everyone’s detriment. I yelled at a person who has other assault allegations including my own against him.

People mostly listened, but unfortunately this isn’t a movie. My former friend is on the edges of my social group as many people decided not to cut ties.  HK dramatically quit, and then slunk back into the background of the Montreal BDSM community, moving to separate Urban Dungeon from Opal and carry on as if nothing ever happened. Yelling at the guy who fondled me was about as effective as yelling at the sea, but… at least there is little room to pretend that people don’t know about that shit.

Various event organizers in Montreal were made aware and took approaches ranging from outright denial to taking it as the safety tip, although the vast majority decided that unless there was an iron clad court case with arrest records it was a dramatic mystery. I even got lectured about how poorly I handled this, as if anyone was bothering to touch this shit elsewise.

Eh, it really soured me on a lot of the general Montreal community, because I held the opinion that most people were just unaware of the severity of this and I discovered that given intelligence about a risk most people doubled down hard on the personal responsibility front.

Otherwise…

I did some writing, but not a lot relevant to here. I gained a lot of twitter followers, which meant deepening my connections to online people, and gave my website a much needed face lift.

Wildcard and I ticked through another year in a shared home, this one picked out as a mutual thing at the end of last year. It’s got a lot of floor space and is still located in Canada. We hosted parties of the kinky kind, which I generally failed to document except as stubs of drafts.

Eh, feeling better and not being quite as medicated, I can tell that I was not engaged with my sexuality at all. I think I was averaging an orgasm a month at best, and being pretty rabbit like in my usual habits,  this was quite shocking.

I mean I have pretty impeccable control when I want to, and have been known to match hapless orgasm denial suffering subs so that when they whine I can point out how tough I am. (Old trick from my ex military aunt, never assign a punishment you can’t handle, up to being ready to do push ups right next to them).

Photo source – npr.org

 

 

The Crown & Home Cooking

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It was a Tuesday, but not a #PunishTuesday.

I came home and I don’t think he’d left the bed since I went to work that morning. It’s his vacation and I want him to rest, but like many humans with a streak of perfectionism, idleness is deleterious to his emotional well being. As a person with a chronic physical ailment, not having the energy to do things is an all too common experience for him.

For myself, my mood has slipped a notch since the last week of October. What is generally the favourite part of the year for me has been marred by a heavy measure of frustration, anxiety and sadness over various things. It’s given me less time to notice that Wildcard’s been a bit droopy too.
He’s not been on the outs, health wise, but my persistent battery at the norms of looking the other way in the Montreal BDSM scene when someone is (allegedly, always ALLEDGEDLY) sexually assaulted has been his burden to carry as well as mine. It’s really hard, you push and push and people call you a hysteric, a liar and a monster.

I mad November about inaction and self care.  If he was too under the weather too cook I’d let him rest. I’d bought piles of vegetables the night before and went about sorting out the long skinny egg plants, enoki mushrooms, bright crisp carrots and all the appropriate other things for putting together a stir fry. By the time I was sectioning the eggplant into neat diagonals, he’d rallied.

I still helped him, asking questions every step of the way, while he added other things to the process, mincing and mashing garlic, creating two bowls of fresh and savoury vegetables and tofu on rice.

Afterwards, we cuddled up on the couch for Netflix & “The Crown”

I’ve been watching The Crown, and intensely self-indulgent Netflix series about the early reign of Queen Elizabeth II. It is of course, very obviously one of those made-by-math stories, like House of Cards was a product of looking at how popular Kevin Spacey and the original series was. I am being pandered to with lush, vintage sets and darling but relatable female characters.
Someone crunched the numbers regarding who was spending their time on The Kings Speech and Downton Abby, and decided that what we needed was to feel intimately the challenges of a woman who wears fabulous clothes, is waited on hand and foot and wants her husband to kneel to her.

I do not mind. It is good to be pandered to.

I think that the series occasionally suffers from attempting to worship everything it touches with a reverence that occasionally shades to the absurd. I also feel a little odd being presented with a real (living) person’s life, as an object of objectified and packaged desire. But there hasn’t been any sharp notes from the Queen’s press office about depicting her husband as a fuck object, so I can assume she is unruffled by this love letter to the monarchy even if the Royal Consort’s body is being showcased as a perk of the job.

It is not a femdom story with whips and chains and beatings. But it is a meaningful examination of women and power, and this is something missing from contemporary femdom. Everyine talks about making your sub happy, but very little time is taken to look at a femdom’s personal complexities and vulnerabilities.
That night’s episode was about feeling empowered and rife with little femdom hat tips and jokes, as we watch the new Queen get a measure of control in her intimate life and the subtle yet central role she plays in sustaining her government. For a while we forgot our respective black moods, and the post show cuddling turned to kissing and giggling.

Femdom life is like that. I don’t know anyone who really has orderly protocol 24/7. I know FLRs where she has ultimate say, but even so, there is more of moody cooking and cuddles on the couch than titles and slave positions.

It’s a good life, if you can find it.

A Sex Shop Date With Wildcard

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sushiLast Saturday, Wildcard identified my doldrums as needing fixing, s we went out to watch Dr. Strange and then gorge on sushi, the latter activity almost  meaning a visit to the nearby sex shop, called “Romance“.

Every relationship has its rituals. I have an undying love for salmon, particularly raw or smoked. Wildcard has a tradition of eating his feelings in delicious all you can eat buffet omnoms. Having a favourite fishing hole, and being fond of me, he shared the location and now we make monthly pilgrimages. Faces get stuffed, then we invariably go sex toy shopping.

At first the shopping trips were an accidental extension of geography. The store just happens to be between us and where we always park. Honestly, showing up there started with very little expectation other than having a giggle at the hilari-bad porn DVDs.

This branch is open absurdly late, which was probably the first draw.  Plus, in addition to the breast shaped macaroni and strawberry flavoured lube (euch), they have an upstairs BDSM and fetish section. It’s an Adult Novelty style shop, but it is more than dick hats and copies of Pink Eye 2.

Still, why pay the markup?

You might wonder our motive for being there. After all, it is never going to be as cheap as shopping online. No brick and mortar store is going to beat a fresh-from-the-warehouse site like pinkcherry.ca in cost. If I want a bouquet of a half dozen riding crops,  I will never argue meatspace is cheaper.

I keep going back to Romance, because they beat even my favourite online retailers in immediate customer engagement. The staff cares about and is knowledgeable about all their stock. And, while online sites offer reviews, at a certain point you can’t beat actually touching the merchandise.

Going Hands On

Does it bounce well in the hand with a fleshy weight? How strong are the stitches in the leather? Can you slap it against your thigh to feel the thud or the sting? How does it stand up to my personal tastes? You can tell right away what will and won’t work for you.

For example, this time I wanted a cock ring for Wildcard. We’ve basically maxed out on vibes and insertables, but I wanted to take my teasing game a little further and make his erections more persistent.

Sure cock rings are a cheap grab. They seldom cost more than $20, unless you are moving into the territory of elaborate gilded ornaments. Still, I could have bought multiples online for the price of the one I got.  I paid the store markup because I wanted to actually handle the products properly, and get Wildcard’s immediate feedback. After all it was his penis about to be cinched.

At Romance, anything is available for reasonable in store testing, and I had six or so different sizes and models to play with and figure out which was best. Otherwise, I would either need to borrow a friend’s personal items (assuming I knew someone who did have one), or try my luck with buying before I try. Why gamble and create waste?

Curation Matters

Romance doesn’t stock the super high end, gold plated luxury brands, and while they have a few of the lower quality toys, they are carefully screened for skin safe material. The quality and price point runs a range, but nothing will cause a rash. They have recognizable brands, like Tantus, and various versions of the standards in less recognized brands: glass, masturbation sleeves, bullet vibes, etc… Nonetheless they have their share of the cheap quality stuff.

However, what makes me trust in the quality of their offerings are how they handle duds and poor purchases and how they constantly make purchasing a conversation.

corsetback

For example last shopping trip, I impulse bought a Music Legs branded corset back fishnet tights set. That’s not a band I’d expect much from, but even so, the quality was terrible, neither matching the claimed colours on the package, nor coming laced. Indeed the wretched things gave you your lace as a single length of uncut ribbon- unacceptable for an item fragile enough that the first wearing was likely the last.

Online shopping, you write an irate review, and maybe process a return with shipping at your own expense. The smaller ones have time to address you complaints, but there’s a lot more time and distance involved. Here, you get the immediate feedback and from the staff, checking if it was a one off and pulling the defective product, as well as making a note to discuss the problem with the supplier.

And their relationship building also works in the opposite direction. I admit a certain degree of entertainment in getting a post purchase inquiry into the effectiveness of other toys. As much as they are ready to take unsolicited feedback, when you shop they ask questions- and if they know you bought something in the past, they ask you about what your experience was.

So in all, I might buy most of my toys online or seek out pervertables from cooking supply and hardware stores, but the post sushi sex shop date isn’t going to stop any time soon.

Disclosure: I affiliated with pinkcherry after I realized I was giving them a bunch of business from simply bulk ordering cheapo toys and talking about it. Romance and Priape offer no compensation for being mentioned. The sushi pic is free stock photography from clker.com

 

Femdom Life: NO-vember Begins

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A sleepy femdom made out of free clip art.November is prostate cancer and men’s health, diabetes and national novel writing month. It’s also the first quiet period I’ve had in a long time. Thus begins the month of Pearl Not Doing Things.

A major vanilla project I’m working on has started to wind down. I’ve dealt with the whole (alleged) serial rapist in the community and pitched a friend from my social group for less severe but definitely horrible things. Those of you that follow me on social media know it was an intense experience that drained a lot of my energy. That and I’ve got one of those persistent low grade health thingees that I need to spend some Canadian Healthcare on. And I was a bridesmaid, which did not entirely agree with me for various reasons mostly to do with being surrounded by happy other people’s families makes me sad mine sucks.

My job has suffered around all that, and I kind of need to focus harder on it. Bleh.

That being said, it hasn’t been all bad. Phantom review sent me a lovely package. You guys were incredibly supportive through the Herr Kommandandt thing and made a serious difference to getting the word out.

But I’m very, very tired, so I am taking the remainder of this month to catch up. I’ll still be on social media but I am adamantly refusing to organize any parties outside the pre-scheduled monthly munch, or worry about accomplishing anything with any sort of plan, deadline or performance expectation. Of course 99% of this is just removing hiatus guilt, since this blog has never been on any sort of sensible schedule, but I’m hoping to do crafts, read novels and if I write or make art, have it be for fun.

Although a part of me is super excited to start cleaning my apartment. Because of course that’s the kind of weirdo I am.

Oh and I want to make more time to actually have sex and less time to writing about it, or scolding people for being terrible about consent.

… I freely admit that about a week in and I’m still getting “omg I need to be USEFUL” jitters and trying to find something to plan and work on.

 

Fall, Projects, Relationships and Stuffs

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cozyIt’s cuddling weather! <Squeeeeee>

Summer heat saps my energy, zapping my will to move and probably putting me at my most emotionally meh. Yeah, I have air conditioning, but then there’s a noisy fan and that weird dry-cold draft.

For me, the encroachment of fall always comes with a little burst of enthusiasm for life, something about the colour of the light, and the cool air. I’m about as far from Agrarian/Pastoral as you can get without living on the ISS, but the moment I can put on thick knit black tights is the moment I start skipping and hopping about.  And it’s the time when Wildcard stops scuttling to his side of the bed with a “don’t touch me you’re too WARM!!! T_T”

So what’s up with me?

The massive (vanilla) project I embarked on at the start of 2016 is starting to settle down, so as of February 2017 I have actual breathing room to work on other projects. The blog overhaul is basically done, although I might look into a better mobile browsing template and tweak a few things, for example making the title and logo smaller. I like it, but yes it occur

Again, a big thank you to the various people who helped out, particularly the Phantom Reviewer and the people who drove themselves crazy trying to figure out the source of the mystery space in my sidebar design. That’s resolved and my general web presence is much more part of a connected unified whole. I know because I’ve started getting messages on fetlife and elsewhere from blog fans going “ZOMG IT’S YOU!”

For such things does one write.

Yeah, yeah what about the porn?!

Writing-wise, as of January, I have a few projects I want to work on, including finishing up some story requests from people- JT is due for a misuse-of-professor story, while I have a second chapter of this superman porn parody 3/4 done, and of course that sequel to The Pet Gentleman is languishing, waiting or me to sit down and finish it already. Part of my goal for the first 6 months in 2-17 are setting aside time to bash what’s written into some semblance of sharable- something that’s been embarrassing delayed in a George RR Martin fashion for far too long.

That’s not even mentioning that I’d really rather be creating more general femdom stories for the blog than my current once every three months output. I suspect I’m not posting as much because I am getting exceptionally focused on perfection. The Friday femdom fiction in particular tends to stretch too damn long when I start writing them, which is the antithesis of what started as 500 word shorts to be dashed off in quantity. I managed one last week, but I can’t say I expect to have breathing room until October has passed.

Also video

In the mean time, I’ve also gotten into doing Periscope live feed videos, with an eye to eventually creating a youtube show. The trick is, of course the topic as I am currently just rambly, which is a topic in its own right, but I feel like I need more effort. Maybe I’ll vlog! Part of that is I finally said fuck it and put myself out there- I spent a good part of the last decade being careful “just in case” and have come to believe that while I don’t want to be stalked and harassed as much as the next person, I am never going to be vanilla-important enough to be penalized if I get recognized at my day job.

For the record, my day job is something that uses all those obnoxious high school math things I was very sure I wouldn’t need. Basically imagine me wearing a giant pair of headphones and hiding in a back cubicle somewhere slapping data into shape, not exactly the career path that gets derailed when someone sends your boss a nasty letter telling them that they employ a woman who likes certain aspects of sex. Also I’m out to my parents (my dad approves of my art as long as it makes money, I’m estranged from my mother, but she knows this exists).

So yeah, if you do Periscope, you can hear my voice and watch me flop about in hilariously low res. Also see the derp-tastic thumbnails the app captures. o_-

Love? Kink scene?

Wildcard and I are moving towards year 3 of our relationship. The official date is fuzzy, since we basically fell into bed shortly after he broke up with his ex, but held off putting a precise label on it for a while after, even if I have basically been living with him since November of 2013. We continue to be a part of the Montreal kink scene, with me running my monthly munch for four years, more or less. (Eeesh)

My love life goes as it should. It is not a D/s or M/s relationship, but it is a femdom relationship in the sense that I am a female dominant and I am in the relationship. Yeah, it’s complicated, but honestly if other people’s anecdotes are anything to go by, an explicitly power exchange dynamic isn’t really easier or more smoothly role defined.

Meanwhile the 18 to 35 meetup is one of Montreal’s more popular, long running events, filling a much needed niche and spawning other events. I won’t call them “copycat”, but they’re certainly on the same theme:  a 25-45 event, and 45+ exclusive thing. Although they are by function exclusionary, they end up creating more participation by serving one or more specific groups, sometimes accidentally- 1835 ate the flailing QueerNonBinaryLesbian bits that weren’t all supported at the time, and although there’s now a woman only munch (M.E.O.W.) I benefited from being a good space for lovely people.

Now we’re continuing to evolve as the kink scene in Montreal continues to get larger and larger. My biggest challenge for the coming months will be maintaining the great culture of the group, which is not a bad problem to have. That and at 30 I eventually need to consider phasing out of this and finding qualified volunteers to take over.

So I’m very much looking forward to what the end of the year will bring, but also the potential to hunker down and take a well needed break.

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Art is borrowed from Hannah Hamilton of Verbal Vomit.

Busting the Burglar

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It was (punish) Tuesday again, and I’ve been itching to try something. Usually, I’ve taken these preplanned interludes to practice my topping skills. They end with Wildcard in shuddering convulsions, the sign he’s taken his limit of cruel, hard hits. It’s very rewarding in its own way, the warm up, the steady pattern of ever increasing intensity and then finally the painful pulverization. He always asks to have his wrists bound and I tease my masochist when I check in, to see where he’s at, asking “more weight“, the defiant last words of the only sane man in Salem.

But it wasn’t a night for that. I could read, mostly from his desultory masturbation, that his stamina was limited. I had a long day too, and after spilling my guts at a therapist was in no mood to build a carefully accommodating psychological trap to compliment whatever implement I was going to pulverize his butt with.

I got him to put on all his clothes- he has starting in just a shirt. He didn’t know what to expect, although he knew I was taking control.

Then I ordered him to pick up his laptop and stand by the window, as if trying to escape.

While he had dressed I’d found a plastic water pistol, the safe, orange kind designed to not fool passerbys into a panic, and armed myself to defend against the “home invader”. I held him at gunpoint and berated.

He took a moment to understand, looking puzzled, but back in the day he was captain of his college improv club, and we met at a LARP, so he’s a quick study. Honestly narration comes easier than dialog- I’m impressed with myself too. I took the lead and he fed off my “reactions”, making himself into the scared thief I wanted.

I threatened to shoot him and made him put the stolen computer on the bed. Considering my prey, my talking turned from briskly intimidating to giving him glimpse of hope. By appeasing me and stripping, I made him feel he could escape the police or worse, a bullet. He was forced to accept my examination and fondling, play with himself until he was hard enough to meet my satisfaction.

I pushed him up against the wall by his throat and nudged his balls with the muzzle. I told him about my neighbours who would love to take advantage of a naked man in this bad, bad neighbourhood. I bent him over the bed and bare handed spanked him. Whenever he started to lose the least little focus, the gun was there as a reminder, pushing him into compliance. I needed to believe that I could scare him enough to make his strength stay suppressed.

In the two years since we started dating, Wildcard has put on muscle and confidence. I’m a good girlfriend and a good dom- campsite rules apply, and he’s better than when I found him- although I admit the work has been his and I’ve merely made a supportive environment for him to grow into. The change is that the man I’m dating now is not the sick, skinny and shaken person I could pin and lift and beat in a physical fight. I no longer have to worry I will steamroll him by simply expressing myself. Hence the orange plastic gun is a fig leaf, a symbol of the sincere submission and surrender he is giving, and I hold it in my hand with a great deal of joy.

I threaten him, pushing him all the way into the vestibule until he’s close enough to the smoked glass to see through the fog and pick out details on the street. He’s just a little terrified, like a roller coaster makes you think you’ll fall, he’s able to see the risk of being shoved out the door for everyone to see his nakedness, and feel like it’s real.

I talk up the risk. Through my words he knows that there is an involved, aggressive “sorority” down the street, an invention based on the female neighbours in my own past college residence, who reacted to a real, harassing flasher by rising together to prepare for battle. I’m keeping things light even as I talk about killing him, layering on the erotic with an eye to how his fetish for exposure gives me leverage.

There’s two tracks of dominance- one where there’s an angry woman blackmailing a burglar, and one where Miss Pearl knows every one of Wildcard’s buttons and just how to push them.

Bu the time the scene ends, and I give him only his shirt back, to cover himself in a clutched grip before banishing him to whatever fate awaits him on the street, he’s full of happy energy. In the vestibule, freed, he picks me up and bumps his crotch to mine, both of us giggling as he almost tipped over and dropped me on the floor. This is love.

Femdom Life: Getting What I Want

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Dear reader, tonight was Punish Tuesday, our pre-organized kinky sex night, and I just got my brains fucked out.

I also did what I have never done before. And it wasn’t something you would easily guess. No, seriously!

One hour of foreplay for me. It sounds so improbably vanilla, right? The sad truth is that life isn’t like those bdsm stories where the dominant always gets her needs met. The reality is that either sex has worked for me or it hasn’t. Now Strong could be a generous enough lover, but we had so little time as a couple that he can be considered out of the discussion.

But it is almost embarassing that I’m almost a month shy of my 30th birthday and I’ve gotten so used to compromising what I needed that for all I can beat a man purple or tease his cock for an hour, asking for turn around physical attention was a taboo fetish.

So I stripped him and he and I cuddled up on the couch. One set timer later and he went to work with my body all lips and tongue and touching

Somewhere along the way, long before I appeared on the scene, Wildcard learned to work a woman’s body, with the same studious and attentive perfectionism and passion he puts into his cooking. But instead of rendering the fat of the roast chicken he’s salted and dismembered, he’s finding little spots between my fingers to nibble and zones on the back of my thighs to stroke.

And then as everything in me opened, he liesurely fucked me while I took that delicious sensitivity into an orgasm so loud I suspect the neighbours heard it through his desperate muffling hand. Apartment life.

Afterwards, with his erection lingering and my cunt having none of the freight train he likes to pretend is his penis, I filled his ass and gave him a slippey hand job – it mus have been intense because he was practically flapping his unrestrained arms.

 

Femdom Life: My Real Sex Life and Writing

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Unfortunately the last six months have been about everything *but* my sexuality, and the blog has languished, although I still pay the hosting fees. And Jesus, being popular is NOT cheap. i might just put out a tip jar or something.

I’m not out of kink. I keep up with the monthly 18 to 35 meetups I host (Montreal folks, take note), and there have been exploits, but my sexuality has not been the point of my artistic focus. I moved house. I did a lot of therapy, once every two weeks, to deal with my serious abuse survivor issues. I took on a very social project and every scrap of my creative energy is feeding that. Meanwhile my job promoted me to something more challenging (and FUN) but it’s extra time and attention. and Wildcard’s sexuality decided to hide under the bed.

This is not to say that I didn’t get up to hijinks. A nice young man has claw marks. Another one has been toyed with at a couple of play parties. My aim with various hitty things has improved. But I haven’t really felt the passion there- and I’ve been dealing with personal relationship things that I wanted to not violate someone’s privacy over.

Nobody wants to be humiliated by having the world know them as Mr. Emotionally Flappy. But here’s the thing…

My partner was having trouble mustering enthusiastic consent, and still does. I don’t pressure people into shit they are not 100% on board with. I deserve better than that, even leaving aside the serious ethical impact, you don’t get to fuck Pearl just to please her so she won’t leave you. It takes its toll on the ego – loving someone intensely, but being dominant and thus discovering that vulnerability is the one thing they can’t bring into their sexuality. We are working on this because it is important to me. And it’s important to him- it sucks to want to get close to someone and feel you don’t measure up to what they want. Like the core you will be wanting.

It’s also psychologically relevant to me because I admit I have trust issues. When a significant amount of people have let you down in a fundamental way that damaged you (child abuse, etc…) it hardens you.

So add a medication that kicked the crap out of my libido and though I’ve made stabs at it, I suspect you can tell my heart wasn’t there the last little while.

But, on the other hand, I wanted to take the time to note I’ve gotten some lovely fan mail. When I started this blog it was about evangelically trying to get the word out, providing some sort of voice for people like me.

It’s gotten better. It really has. Since I started writing I built a thriving real life community, published a moderately successful book and got out of an abusive relationship (in not particular order). I loved again, lost and love now.

So I’m going to go back to writing here a bit more, but no promises that it won’t be embarrassingly navel gazey or contain more updates on personal growth and less hot sexxx.