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Archive for October, 2017

As I have stated here in the past, I am a switch. This means many things to many people, but for me it means I can play both the traditional binary D/s or top/bottom roles, and enjoy them both. If anything, I tend to be more comfortable in the submissive role, and get a ton out of it, particularly with male dominants. And this, as I have discussed ad nauseam in this space, can be problematic in all kinds of ways.

It’s been a long time since I’ve found those desires problematic for myself in particular; I’m pretty well settled on the fact that being dominated by a (right) man in particular ways is one of the most loving and fulfilling ways I experience sex, and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable with my identity or doubt my power or agency as a woman. But I do notice this one annoying thing:

Where the hell is all the good porn at?

My longtime girlfriend and I were discussing the magnificant John Preston (RIP) the other night, as I had just recently finished I Once Had A Master (which I’d started years ago) and gone on to the gay leather classic, Mr. Benson. We were sharing our undying love for gay leather porn, how unapologetic it is, how raw, how rich in enthusiastic consent and unabashed, rough desire. Preston’s work paints a generation of gay life that literally no longer exists: the magnificent black knights of Folsom Street and Christopher Street, the Mine Shaft, the sex clubs that saw the wildest nights of an era passed by gruff men in boots and harnesses, worshipping and fisting and pissing on and fucking each other in acts of such profound intimacy and freedom that the earmarks of their slavery were worn as marks of pride. All of it wiped out, vaguely reflected today in a leather culture that is straighter, narrower, smaller.

And we realized together that the thing we both so love about this stuff is the ease of it all: the removal of the need to describe every negotiation in painstaking detail, the way the straightforward maleness of it all takes questions of patriarchy out of the power dynamics, the way two characters in this world can come together and be absolutely clear that they both want to be there, more than they want anything else in the world.

Which is not to say that Preston’s characters never experience self-doubt. Hell, the hottest and sweetest stories always involve someone feeling unsure, scared that they’ll scare the bottom away, or that they won’t be good enough, or any of a number of poignant human moments that make the encounters that much more real.

But rarely in gay leather porn do you find, say, an elaborately constructed fantasy in which the submissive must be captured, groomed, and “tamed” (read: raped) in order to become a “true slave.” Or stories in which a dominant man is the way he is because of his abuse history and must ultimately be “saved” by the submissive. Or in which the dominant likes beating up and treating submissives badly because he has some other axe to grind – or worse, because the author does.

My girlfriend points out that much writing about and for submissive women who like dominant men – Anne Rice’s extremely silly Beauty books come to mind – has built into it a component of nonconsent because women feel they need some excuse to surrender. And I get this, I do: it’s really hard to deliberately give over power to a man in a society that still demads that we do so in every other way, which simultaneously telling us that we must under no circumstances do that. When it comes to stroke fiction, it’s not surprising to me that many women need an “out” in order to safely explore their desires.

But my gods, is it exhausting. Also, to me at least, super not-hot. I would much rather read a negotiation, complete with nervousness and all the little things a dominant can do to make a negotiation hotter, than read a story in which the scene happens because of kidnapping, abuse, rape, or Stockholm syndrome.

Still more than that, though, I’d like to read a scene like some of the ones in Preston’s work, where two people see each other across the bar and then the dominant tests to see if the sub is what he wants that night. Those squeezes and looks, orders and countermands, the dance of seduction – it’s hot, and it’s a lost art, sacrificed to rape culture. And that fucking sucks.

If anyone knows of any male dom / female sub porn that actually makes this work in a way that is both pantsfeelings-inducing and clearly consensual, please send it my way. Until then, I’ll be in the bathtub with Mr. Benson.

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Hello, everyone. Miss me?

It’s been…more than five years since my last confession – uh, post – and it’s been a crazy ride. I’m thrilled to see that people are still regularly visiting my blog: mostly to read about strap-on sex or see if I’m really a dominatrix offering services, which, shocker, I’m still not (anymore). But it’s nice to know that my writing is still getting around, a bit.

I decided I needed to re-open this space, as it were, because I need a place to write about kinky sex again where my Aunt Gladys can’t see it. Things have changed an awful lot in the last five years: the discourse is completely shifted, the blogosphere is all-but dead, an orange monstrousity is president, and the space for talking about these things seems to exist in a different plane than before. Not to mention that I’ve gone through some searing life changes, relationship shifts, and other things that might make a kinky lady like me bank the coals for a few years. But recently, I’ve had a bit of a reawakening.

Nonetheless, as someone who writes more publicly, works in social media, and now has extended family paying attention to what I do on the Internets, I feel the need to relegate this type of thing to a more private place. Like here, under a lovely Aughties-type blog pseudonym. So, here we are.

Which raises another question: why? Why, even now, do I feel the need to keep these types of thoughts, fantasies, stories, revelations separate from the rest of my writing life? I write honestly and openly in other places; I’ve always been out about who I am and whom I love, because doing otherwise feels disingenuous and even dangerous.

Well, in the first place: getting older has finally taught me (took long enough!) that sometimes, there are other people to protect. I may be totally comfortable with who I am and what I do, but my partner’s parents might not be – and in real life, I don’t feel any need to tell them this stuff, either. While I’ve always tried to operate from the persepctive of giving others permission to be who they are by fully and unapologetically being who I am, I also recognize that sometimes, harm can be done for which the reward isn’t high enough.

I sense a longer piece coming about being out and what that means, but not tonight.

Tonight, I just want to say I’m back. Hi.

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