Once Poly...Always Poly...?

So...I've been having this dance with the poly lifestyle.  One day I'm into it, the next I'm out.  I can't seem to make up my mind.  Either I'm going to be poly or I'm not.  I've got to admit, it's fucking confusing.  Who wouldn't feel that way?  I mean, seriously, it's the great debate between being attached to one person, or letting your love and lust satisfy itself wherever it chooses.  You're torn between having the chance at everything, and limiting yourself to something you know you love.  I guess a part of me thinks of it like food.  If all I could ever have in my life was chocolate, you can be damn certain I'd get sick of chocolate pretty quick and be craving something else.  No matter how you love it, a little bit of something different can easily reaffirm that knowledge that, yes, I have the best in the world.

My view of poly has come in several shapes and sizes.  I've done everything from looking for a long-term committed life partner to add to my family to looking only for a woman because I already have a man to completely giving it up all together.  In all honesty, I don't know what to look for in my future.  I don't know what I'll want.  What I do know is I need a strong primary relationship before I can ever stretch my wings and attempt to fly poly again.  There's just been too much going on in my life.

However, I've got to admit, I'm kind of embittered at the whole poly world right now.  I'll be honest, I think that most men are just in it for themselves.  Let's take the last "relationship" I was in, if you even want to call it that.  My boyfriend said he would only consent to me seeing this guy as long as he didn't drop me like a bad habit as soon as he had another relationship in his life.  What happened?  He did just that.  Yes, I have some bitter feelings about it.  Neither of them want to talk about it.  It's in that whole category of "it shall not be spoken of ever again."  Do you have any idea how that feels?  Can it even be explained how much something like that can trash a person's self-esteem?  I hate it!  It's like I'm not even worthy enough to count on the list of women he's been with.  I'm nothing.  Yet at the same time I'm supposed to smile and be absolutely thrilled when my boyfriend's ex's come out of the woodwork and do everything from blatant flirting to mentioning that they've had him before and they have so much better.  It's insulting.  And to think I consider some of these people my friends.  I don't know what I was thinking on that note.

I heard someone mention before that once you're poly, you're always poly.  Nothing can take the lifestyle out of you, that liberating freedom.  It's so incredibly beautiful to be able to accept your sexuality with anyone you please.  It's nice to know that you're not trapped by the confines of only having one person for the rest of your life, or as long as your relationship will last.  For a very long time I truly believed that.  I found myself gravitating towards other people and as a result of that need to stay with only one person, felt myself gravitating away from my significant other.  It was brutal and heartbreaking to have to choose.  I never wanted to have to face that situation again.

Now?  Well, I don't so much feel that way.  I'm honestly thinking I might just close down that part of my life.  The poly lifestyle has been done beautifully, but unfortunately tends to cause far too much drama.  In my life there have just been too many bitter situations of being dropped like a bad habit because the new girlfriend is jealous.  There have been too many situations of never being mentioned again because it hurts someone's feelings, even though I feel like I need the freedom to talk about it.  It's my life, after all.  I shouldn't have to deny it for anyone.  Instead, I just find myself shutting up and keeping the peace because it's not worth the drama.  I'm sick of the drama.  In truth, I think my biggest problem with the poly community is that far more of them fall under the category of "ethical slut" than truly being poly, than truly believing they can find that deep love connection in another person.  That's definitely not something I'm interested in doing ever again.

So...can you take the poly out of the girl?  At this rate, I'm starting to believe you can't take true poly out of a girl, but you can certainly take away her will and desire to act upon it.  I can honestly say if all I have for the rest of my life is my partner because I just don't want to deal with that kind of situation again.

Reinvent Thy Self

Have you ever noticed how so many people in the community sort of invent a new persona for themselves upon entering.  It's almost like they have to carve out an identity from all of the possibilities, and that is who they are.  Many of these involve a specific look at parties, munches, or wherever else they may go.  It's like they have this persona in the kink community that's somehow a representation of their kinky self.

In the kink community, I've found myself more drawn towards reinventing myself.  It's not that I get bored with my kink persona or anything like that.  It's not some measure of growth or anything like that.  I find that I choose to reinvent myself so often because it helps protect me.  It helps hide me from whatever it is in my past that I'm running away from.

I've had some rough situations in my life.  My ex, for example, was abusive.  As soon as I told him I wanted a divorce, I ran right out and got my lip pierced.  Why?  Because he hated lip piercings.  He thought they were stupid.  He was okay with the nose piercing.  He was okay with me stretching my ears.  I could even have multiple ear piercings.  He would have been okay with my nipples pierced, my bellybutton, or any of the girlie bits.  However, he hated all other facial piercings, especially the lip.  I'll be honest, it wasn't just because he hated lip piercings that I got one.  I had been considering it for quite some time and had finally decided, screw it, I'm doing it!  Part of it was rebellion, but a good deal of it was also that underlying drive to reinvent myself.  I am not his property anymore.  I am my own person, so I'm going to become the person I want to be.

I guess, well, I guess you could say that this reinvention of myself is in part a step closer to my true self.  My whole thing with Lolita fashion is very much a connection to my kinky self.  It's not that I really think I can pull the look off.  In truth, I'd have to keep my hair short and get some stunning wigs and some excellent make-up that would make my skin break out like nothing else if I really wanted to do it.  I'm really not that into it as an art, especially since being a parent kind of interferes.  It could send messed up ideas to my kids if they see their mom spending hours doing make up, putting on a wig, and wearing little girl's clothes every day.  Let's be honest, what mom has time for all of that anyway?  However, the Lolita thing really appeals to my younger self, the self that many would consider a "little".  It's all kind of a step that way.

However, I've noticed since my husband and I went our separate ways, I've become more dominant.  I've become more powerful.  I've started taking some bold strides to live the lifestyle I want to live.  I'm adopting a look that's more what I want to adopt.  I'm starting to go through my wardrobe to find what really fits me and what needs to find it's way on to someone else.  I'm starting to look at everything from the make-up I wear to the way I do my hair.  All of it's changing.  It's almost like I'm becoming someone else.  I guess it's kind of like my own version of the Witness Protection Program.  While I can't hide from the man, I can show the whole world such a different face that he's not even going to recognize me.

Since my husband and I split up, I've gotten three new piercings, colored my hair numerous colors, shaved my head (though that was out of necessity), started to develop a whole new wardrobe, and now I'm getting dreads, something my husband would have died if I ever did when we were together, and will soon be getting my first tattoo.  I have to admit, a part of me is filled with terror at the thought.  What if I hate my hair?  What if I decide I wanted to go all crazy with the Lolita wigs and everything?  Now I can't.  At least, if I want to, I'll have to cut out all the dreads, or undo them since they're easy to get out now, though I think Rose would kill me on that one!  She's the one who's putting them all in.  What if I decide I miss my virgin skin, or get older and despise the tattoo because it wasn't perfect or it somehow doesn't live up to my next necessary reinvention.  Tattoos aren't as easy to walk away from as piercings, and I've got to admit, there are days I wish I never got my piercings, because I know they'll scar if I take them out.  Of course, I know I'm just over-reacting.  More often than not I adore my piercings and the look they give.  I know I'm only hating the dreads right now because the project is on hold until tomorrow and I hate the way they look right now.  I'm kind of wishing that they were done already.  Still, I've grown quite a bit and all of that growth and change scares me, I won't lie!

Still, it's high time I reinvent myself, and I've been in the process for a while now.  I'm almost afraid to see how I'm going to come out on the other side of this.  It's going to be an interesting ride.

Non-Sexual Play in the Fetish/Kink Community

I've been thinking a lot about myself in the fetish and kink community.  A part of me completely wants to withdraw.  I will admit, as much as I love that side of my life, it's been lacking as of late.  It's hard to be kinky and a mom.  It's hard to find time for that part of my life without the children being able to wander in and question.  I'm not sure I want that in my life with my current partner.  Given that we're being sexually exclusive right now, that kind of limits things too.  If that's the case, why bother?

Last night over Thanksgiving recovery, one of our guests brought up an interesting point when detailing his rules.  Any play he engages in with anyone but his wife is non-sexual.  I'll be honest on this one.  The concept of non-sexual play isn't new to me.  It's what I've wanted for a very long time now.  However, it seems in the fetish community, at least in the community here, that's the only thing anyone wants.  It's all about sex and driven by sex.  While I'm okay with my own sexuality, I'm really not okay with having to have a sexual relationship with all of my play partners.  As much as I love the idea of who I am as a top, it's not a sexual thing for me.  I can't switch gears from being that kind of powerful, aggressive, and occasionally flat-out mean to then transition that energy into sex.  For me, it's not about sex.  It's got nothing to do with sex.  When I'm in that zone, I'm a completely different person.

The same can be said about me as a submissive.  Very rarely will I willingly allow myself to be submissive in a sexual manner.  A lot of us in the fetish and kink community have backgrounds of abuse, violence, rape, and other situations where we're not in control.  As a result, I know I'm not the only one who is very picky about who I will let top me.  I like to know that I'll be with someone I can trust.  More importantly, crossing the line into sexual play means there's yet another layer of trust to be added into the mix.  The biggest influence on that is my own psychological problems.  I don't like pushing those boundaries, so I choose to reserve that privilege to a very specific and select few.  I know some women don't have problems with that, but I do.  Therefore, sex isn't always going to be involved in my play as a submissive or bottom either.

Unfortunately, the fetish and kink community seems to have this incredible trend towards sexuality.  In many play partner relationships that I've seen, sexual play is expected to be a part of it.  It's different when it comes down to play parties and the like, but that's also public play.  Public play has a lot of very different expectations.  How can it not?  The whole environment is different.

I suppose it's in part a cross-over from the fetish community to the poly community.  Those who enjoy sharing several partners have no problems sharing sexual play partners as well.  Still, just because that's a common choice does not make it everyone's choice.  It's frustrating, but it really limits my options.

The Romantic Versus the Reality

I have to admit, much of the appeal of the whole fetish and kink community was so far grounded in something other than reality that I have to wonder what I was really thinking.  The fantasy illusion was so far from what the truth could ever be.  I had some imagined ideal that simply wasn't anything like the reality of the community, but I suppose that's how things always work.  Even after I got involved in the community, I still felt like something was missing.  My reality somehow didn't match the fantasy, didn't meet my high standards.

In my little view, anyone who called themselves dominant would exude that kind of powerful presence.  Much like the image of Dracula, he or she would be seductive and smooth.  The helpless victim would be lured into the trap where wicked, wicked things happened.  I'd never really seen it in the light that so many others have.  There was no power struggle.  There was no bowing down, no training, none of that.  It was simply that the submissive couldn't help but submit.  It was almost involuntary.  It's like everything was supposed to just magically happen.

For whatever reason, that's why I never really pictured myself as a dominant type of person.  I just couldn't exude that kind of control.  If I wanted it, I couldn't just take it, as much as I may want to.  When I was dominant, I could be vicious.  I could be mean.  It wasn't about seduction.  It was about, well, something else entirely.  It was about hurting someone, terrifying them, putting them in their place.  As much as I wanted them to enjoy it, there's something about that illusion of fear, that illusion of danger.  I don't know, it just wasn't all I had imagined.  I somehow didn't fit into my own romantic view of it all very well.

A part of me wishes I could have that romanticized view as my reality.  I have to admit, it would be nice to go to a party and have someone gladly get me a drink, stay by my side while I sat outside getting some air, in general, be there for my needs.  It would be enjoyable to tell someone to do something and actually have them respond, without question.  A part of it just seems like some element of respect.  A part of it is that whole idea that if I were seductive and enticing enough, I should be able to have anything I want, and string my hapless victim along with me.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid that reality will never come to be.  I love my boyfriend dearly, but I don't see him being my little pet in that way.  He's far too independent and definitely not won over enough by my wiles.  He's just not the right kind of personality for it, I guess.  It's not what our relationship needs.  Who knows, maybe some day I'll find what I'm looking for, but I doubt it.  Until that day, should it ever come, I'll be living my life through dreams and fantasy...

There's the Line, Buddy... You Just Crossed It...

Way back when I first got into the community I was far more naive than I am now.  I was shy, timid, and completely embarrassed by everything.  I would hide behind my boyfriend and cling to his arm because, in my mind, I hadn't come to accept that all of this was even wrong.  I was too timid to accept that all of this was actually a part of me!

Of course, that timidity made my life difficult.  I was labeled as a submissive, though I really wasn't.  I was kind of forced into that role because of the way I acted.  I didn't have the confidence to be more dominant in any capacity, so when put in the position of power, I froze.  I was afraid.  What if I did something wrong?  What if the submissive before me hated me forever because of it?  What if I just wasn't good enough?  All of my life I've fought to hide my every weakness, but standing with flogger in hand, I was weak.  I would always smile kindly and say, "No, that's quite alright.  Maybe another time."  I think that didn't help with my reputation any.  Of course, I didn't much engage in being submissive in public either, but I'm sure it was implied by the way I would hang on my boyfriend's arm and trail around after him like a lost puppy.  He would make some comment to me and I would turn red, smile a mortified little smile, and hide.  My laughter was always nervous and I always felt as though if anyone so much as looked at me, I would simply die!  It's no surprise everyone got that impression of me.

To this day people tend to get the wrong impression of me.  I carry myself with a lot more confidence now, but not everyone sees through the facade.  Actually most people see my confidence as exactly what it used to be, plastered on to cover my own weaknesses.  I would back down from any kind of social challenge, step out of the way to let others more imposing than myself pass, and had a nasty habit of looking at the floor.  I still have traces of those elements to me, so I must still carry a hint of that submissive nature.  Of course, I'm more apt to stand up for myself now.  For example, there's one man I know who will get the severe warning that if he grabs my ass one more time, I'll break every bone in his hand.  He seems to forget his place with me...not I'm in any way superior, but that I'm not a woman who would ever be submissive to him.

It was about ten years ago that I had my first real, serious experience with exactly how submissive I come off.  My boyfriend and I were out to dinner with a couple he was friends with.  They were a 24/7 kind of thing where he was the Master, she was the slave.  It was all well and good for them, I guess.  My boyfriend had suggested that he sit next to this man's wive and I sit next to him.  I didn't completely mind.  I was sitting across from him, so I could at least look at someone familiar while we were there.  We ordered our dinner and everything seemed to be going well.  That's when everything changed.

I'm not sure how it happened, but the conversation turned to me.  I timidly admitted to the lack of experience my boyfriend felt so comfortable with just blurting out to everyone.  He said that I'm a switch, but he figured I'd evolve my stand on everything over time.  The man beside me, the husband and Master, seemed to take this as an invitation to change my mind.  He and my boyfriend got into a discussion of exactly what it takes to be a dominant, and to prove his point or something, he slipped his hand in my hair at the nape of my neck, and grabbed a whole handful.  At first I just gave an annoyed little smile and told him to let go.  He said he would...eventually...  Of course, this pissed me off.  He had in no way asked permission to touch me.  I hate people pulling my hair.  He didn't even have the decency to ask my boyfriend if he cared!  Nope, just hand in hair and now refused to let go, giving a little side to side tug as though to prove that point.  My hands shot back into my hair and I began to claw and pry at his fingers to get them out of my hair.  He would let go if it meant I had to shred his fingers in the process.

As I fought he uttered words the spurred me to rage, "You might as well stop fighting, little girl.  You'll just end up hurting yourself.  I'm just trying to prove a point, that you are submissive, which means one can take control of you any time they choose."  I positively growled, bristling at this, determined to fight my way free if it meant ripping out every last strand of hair!  He and my boyfriend both laughed at my ferocity.  This whole thing was a joke to them!  Even the wife began to playfully poke fun, reminding me that it wasn't that bad, and if I'd just stop fighting him, he'd let go.  I got comments about how silly it was to fight against him, but they didn't understand.  I was trying to prove a point!

Dinner eventually in sight and as the waitress brought it over, my hair was released with a comment whispered to me about how I would have had an easier time had I simply not fought and submitted like a good little girl.  Dejected, I picked at my food, stewing in frustration, hatred, and anger over the whole thing.  I won't lie.  I hated the man.  His sudden attempt to put me in my place as met with a gut reaction to fight back so strong that I wanted to smash his face into the table in hopes of breaking that nose he looked down so well.  I was furious, not just at him, but at my boyfriend, who understood that I didn't want anyone to lay their hands on me without my express permission.  I'd felt betrayed!

The rest of the dinner went without a hitch, and we'd all had a decent time.  I'd managed to get over my mood long enough to enjoy the conversation.  The food was good.  Everyone was pretty pleasant.  A couple further attempts at domination over me were met with me being stubborn.  I believe I even threatened to bite his hand off, but I'm not certain, but he'd already made his point.  All I had left was to hope my meaning would hold some weight.

Once we got in the car I let my boyfriend have it.  I told him I was upset, that I was mad at him because he didn't so much as defend me.  He knew I didn't like other people touching me without my express permission.  He said it was just playing around and no big deal.  I saw it as a big deal, but apparently I was over-reacting.  It all ended when he said he'd talk to his friend about it so it didn't happen again and I was a pretty intolerable bitch for the rest of the night.

Since that night, there's been a line.  I no longer tolerate people crossing it.  Lay your hands on me out of turn once, you get a warning glare.  Twice wins you an actual vocal warning.  Do it a third time, and you'll find out very quickly that I don't make any threat I don't intend to follow through on.  You want to play those games with me, you'll find out the hard way, this bitch has bite...

My Peeves with the Kink Community

There's a lot of things in the kink community that I just won't tolerate.  Everyone has to have their limits somewhere, you know?  I'm not even talking the kinds of limits I put on my own body and my own scenes.  Those aside, there are just some things about the community itself that drive me crazy!

Stupidity is one of the more major ones, that unfortunately can run quite rampant.  Of course, stupidity is pretty rampant everywhere you look.  I can't count the number of times I've seen someone walk up to a conversation in progress about something or other.  They jump right in and pretend to know absolutely everything there is to know about the subject.  "Oh, sensory deprivation, I know all about that!  It's when you use stuff to totally deprive a person of any kind of sensation!  My girlfriend and I do that all the time.  It's a regular part of our scene.  And we've got all the toys to do it too."  Um...right, buddy...  You don't have a clue, do you?  Not only have you made that obvious by being way too pushy, intrusive, and taking over the conversation, but in refusing to add any kind of personal detail, descriptions, or any other obvious way to show us you've got a clue, you've proven that you don't.  If you want people to take you seriously, instead of puffing yourself out with vague concepts, try adding a few details.  People will take you more seriously.  If not, just shut the fuck up and use those flaps of flesh and cartilage on either side of your head.  You may actually learn something!  Maybe then you would be a productive part of the community, not just a product of your own stupidity.

Shameless self-promotion is another, though there are some situations where it's acceptable.  Yes, if you've made some totally awesome cuffs that you're selling that just so happen to be used in a scene, or are beautifully being modeled by that lovely woman over there, sure, brag about it!  Promote yourself!  That's just doing business, and doing good business at that.  It's the people who sit there and fluff their own ego.  I'm sure you know just the kind I'm talking about too.  Very often times these are lonely men who are simply trying to attract the attention of any woman they can con into a scene with their incredible expertise in just about everything.  Either that or it's just some person looking for an excuse to claim bragging rights.  Either way, I can bet that no one truly cares.  After all, if you really were as good as you say you are, you wouldn't need to say one word about it.  Your reputation would precede you.

Speaking of social graces, there's a distinct lacking of them in the kink community.  There are all these men and women that walk around with this puffed out attitude, like they're all that and a bag of chips, and an ego so big it makes Alaska look small.  They look down their not-so-perfect noses at everyone else that walks by and feel entitled to say things that in any other community would make you a total disgrace, if not get you shot with some of the communities around here.  Then there are those who feel that every little piece of a discussion is an opening to make some sexual comment about the person who made the mistake of opening their mouth in the first place.  Let's not forget the people who approach any pretty girl at a party practically begging to play, even though they've never even been introduced.  Seriously, people?  Stop and think before you open your mouth.

Finally, there's the Doms who seem to think that anything with breasts wants to be submissive to them, unless she comes packing some implements of serious hurt and looks like she'd kick his ass in two seconds flat.  Those women are taken seriously, but all others, not so much.  They make comments and it's always a power struggle with them for any woman in their presence.  More often than not, they have to fight out their pecking order with the men too.  It's like they have to prove that they're the top Dom and none shall be superior!  Give me a fucking break...  Seriously?  No one cares!  And even if you are the biggest and baddest of the Doms, what doe that get you?  A cookie?  It certainly doesn't get you that hot number that's with that guy over there to suddenly come racing to your superior dominance, so why bother.

Oh, wait, no...there's one more.  There's the sweet and innocent little girls that come into the community because it's so "dark" and "wrong".  They play off all the men to get the choicest one.  They play the part of the submissive so incredibly well, but when it comes down to it, they're a total fake.  Then when their lured partner tries to engage in any kind of scene, the little girl goes running away, claiming he was cruel, totally unreasonable, and everything else.  More often than not, other men blame the man these women tend to flock to, saying he snatches up all the new blood and ruins them, turning them off of the whole fetish scene.  In reality, he's just the pretty boy, or the one who appears the bad ass, so he's the logical choice, and these girls are doing a fair game of making him look far worse than he is.  Don't believe it?  Still think these men are "ruining" perfectly good submissives?  Well...maybe you should listen to the whole story and get all the details first.  Trust me, I've done it more than a few times.  While some of them truly are the scum of the earth, more often than not...they didn't do anything wrong...

To be fair, there's plenty of good people in the fetish and kink community, plenty of people that I love and think are the greatest thing since sliced bread.  I know my assessment of men is a bit harsh, but let's be honest, it's a meat market out there, and women are the most sought after, most choice cuts.  We women are lucky.  Something about our awesome feminine wiles allows us to pick and choose from the flock.  Men, sorry boys, you're not so lucky.  As a result, there are more of you that deserve the boot to the head than of us women.  Of course, I'm sure it doesn't hurt that, in my experience, there are more men in the community than there are women.

So what's the lesson to be learned here?

If you really don't know about a subject, instead of trying to talk big, shut up and listen.  Talking big about something you know nothing about only makes you look bad.  As embarrassing as it can be to be the inexperienced newbie, you'll get a lot more respect by asking a few questions.  You may even find someone who would be willing to show you the ropes (and how to properly use them!) or introduce you to a few of the people to know.

Unless you're trying to promote your business or your art, let others do the talking.  It's always more impressive when you've got someone else talking you up.  One lesson I've learned is that humility is always going to draw in more people.  If you've got some pretty girl or guy talking about this fantastic scene with you, and you're responding with, "Oh, that was nothing, really, but I'm glad you enjoyed it so much", people will wonder if you're that good without even trying, how good must you be if you put in an effort!  Or a simple response like, "That was a lot of fun, wasn't it?"  Little things like that go a long way to making you look good, and you've let someone else do all the work!  You want to be the one everyone wants to play with?  Just be that good, simple as that, and let your work (and your partners) do the talking!

And how about thinking before you speak.  Most of the people who are so notable in the community got where they are for a reason.  Yes, some of it is the aforementioned skill, built by the knowledge gained by not being afraid to ask questions, but a lot of it is also social graces.  No one wants to spend time around someone who is begging, putting their foot in their mouth, or otherwise insulting people to make themselves feel better!  And those people (who I admire, by the way!) don't feel the need to be more Dom than anyone else.  They just exude this power, intensity, and charisma.  No, they don't always have to be tactful.  Some of them can be downright blunt and rude, but they do know when to speak and when it's better just to keep their mouth shut.  They know how to talk to people, when to talk to people, and what they're talking about.

As I've said, there are a lot of people in the community that I have an overwhelming respect for.  Unfortunately, there are also those who make me want to walk away and never return again.  I've been uninvolved in the community for the better part of the past ten years, dancing in and out as it suits me, and every time my waltz back out is because of people that drive me nuts in the community, those people who cross the line with my patience and just need to grow up.

Where Did It All Begin?

I know I said in my last entry that I think Miranda only showed me I wasn't alone, that I think I always would have ended up this kind of a person, always had a draw to kink.  I mentioned that I had a fear I would have ended up denying a core part of myself if I hadn't had that experience with her.  In truth, I think if I look back, there's plenty of experiences in my life that foreshadow the person I would later become, and am still working on becoming today.

Growing up I had to deal with a lot of violence.  I'm not saying my parents beat me or any of that.  I won't lie, my mom did strike us, but I don't think it was any more than any other average kid.  It wasn't to the point where I'd say my mom beat me or anything.  It's more that we would get our asses beat when we crossed too far beyond the line, and in a way, I kind of understand.  But no, that's not the kind of violence I mean at all.  Most of the violence in my life came from other sources.

The biggest source of violence in my life was my sister.  Though I was older by a year and a half, I was definitely smaller.  I've always had a small frame and a very slight build.  I've never been overweight.  In general, I'm quite petite.  My sister, on the other hand, was taller than I was, a very heavy-set girl, and a bit on the chunky side.  When we had disagreements, it usually ended up with her attacking me.  We both did it to each other.  She threw me into a radiator and a closet door most notably.  I antagonized her into putting her foot through a bottom pane of a French door.  I can't even begin to count the times she'd hurt me, hit me, and attacked me.  I even remember a day when she actually got in trouble for hurting me.  She grabbed onto my arm and bit down so hard she drew blood.

My sister wasn't the only source of violence either.  I had a cousin that was quite the violent sort too.  Of course, he was his own special case and I'm sure I could write a book on the issues that have come from him if I sat down with a decent counselor to get help on figuring out the truth versus the fantasy in my own mind on that one.

As I got older, the kids in school didn't help.  For my first three years in Catholic school, I was apparently quite the bully.  The girl who egged me on eventually left the school, so our little band of bullies fell apart.  The other girl went on to be a popular girl and I took to crying because it was better than getting in trouble for hurting people.  Thanks to my early experiences in life, I had quite the violent temper.  Crying was a much less violent way of releasing all of that anger and frustration.  Better to cry than to have yet another trip to the principal's office for violent behavior.  Because I chose to cry, the other kids would torture and humiliate me until I couldn't control it anymore and would break down, then they'd call me a cry baby and torture me some more.  I hate to say it, but even the teachers would be in on the humiliation act, making me stand up in front of the class and announce, "I chose not to do my homework", when in reality, I didn't do it because I really didn't remember I had an assignment at all.  I would be humiliated by the teacher for every little thing I did wrong, and to this day, I still can't stand humiliation or embarrassment of any kind.  Of course, all that humiliation only gave them more reason to tease and torture me.

Being always the victim under those who were stronger, in more power, or in larger groups than I was enraged me.  I wanted to turn it all around.  I'll admit it, a part of me was pretty damn power hungry.  I had these fantasies of how I would make them all suffer for torturing me the way they did.  It was never like any of those serial killer fantasies.  It was more along the lines of putting them in their places, finding a way to humiliate, embarrass, and degrade them all to the point where they felt my pain, where they could see what it was like to be on the butt of all the cry baby jokes and all the rest.  I wanted my teachers to understand what it felt like to be forced to say something that was simply not true because it was embarrassing and gave me a power trip to make everyone see them as the fool and me as the one who was pulling all the puppet strings.  I wanted my sister and my cousin to know what it felt like to be powerless over me, not that I wanted to do to them what they had done to me, but simply make them understand what it feels like not to be in control of the situation.  I wanted the power.  I wanted the control.  I wanted to retaliate.

Of course, I never would.  I knew I never would.  I'm not a cruel person.  I'm not heartless.  Actually, I'm quite the opposite.  I'm a very sweet person.  I'm kind-hearted, and I couldn't hurt a fly, quite literally.  Yes, I actually ask other people to kill bugs in my house, or better still, just relocate them outside for me.  When I had a snake that would only take live feed, I would make someone else feed her, and I couldn't be in the room to watch.  The snake I have now thankfully eats frozen and thawed.  I'm not the kind of person who would be able to kill, even in case of need, which is why I've never gone into the military.  When I took martial arts, I found myself apologizing if I accidentally hit someone to hard, which seems kind of contradictory to the point of learning a technique for fending off and hurting other people.  In case you haven't gotten the picture yet, I'm in general a kind of goody-goody that's too nice and gets taken advantage of more often than not because I have a big heart.  I hate confrontation too, so more often than not I find that Catholic school really did rub off and I'd rather turn the other cheek than defend myself most days.  I'd rather just suffer through than actually deal with the problem because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.  I've always been that way.

Still, those urges, so contrary to anything I'd ever do, should have been a hint of what would later come in my life.  They've carried through even to now.  A part of me is absolutely delighted when someone is put in their place.  A part of me wants to be strong, powerful, in control, and not showing any weaknesss that might be exploited and used to knock me down.

Another part of me that hints at my current kink side is my love of being pampered.  I'm not talking about a manicure and pedicure kind of thing.  I'm talking about being absolutely lavished upon.  I want to be treated like a queen, to want for nothing and to be absolutely spoiled.  I've always delighted in rich fabrics, soft furs, and the feeling of cold metal draped upon my body.  I've always loved the smell of candles and new leather.  I've loved vibrant, dancing colors, sound and music, and everything else that could delight upon my senses.  It shouldn't be surprising that I still have a delight in the elements of sensation play.  For me it's a way of being completely and totally indulged on, and that playful teasing with various elements of texture, material, and temperature are all just another way of spoiling me with lots of attention, and lots of things I find lavish and delightful.  The more the setting is complete, with sight and sound and feel, the more delighted I am.

Finally, there was the good deal of shock I was met with when I was first introduced to a riding crop.  The man who threatened to smack me with it looked quite shocked when I told him it was "nothing I hadn't felt before".  I'd told him earlier that I'd known nothing about the fetish lifestyle and community, yet here I was confessing to having been hit with a riding crop.  I guess he didn't know I had spent a lot of my school life riding at an English style show stable.  Riding crops were just as much a part of the setting as the little black velvet helmets and riding breeches.  My friends and I often delighted in having sword fights with riding crops and that sort of thing, chasing each other up the hay bales.  I was caught pretty hard with one more than a couple times.  Of course, what I didn't mention is I took even more delight in cracking the other girls with the crop, just for the wonderful way they would jump and cry out at the shock of impact.  Looking back now, that probably should have been a sign, but then I didn't see it as anything more than victory in our riding crop battles.  It wasn't because I liked seeing them jump like that...though I did...it was because that signified victory, and I always win.

Taking a step back to look at my life, I really should have seen this turn coming.  It shouldn't be shocking that I ended up where I have, and as much as Miranda was my gateway into the lifestyle, I honestly think it would have been haunting me in the back of my mind regardless.  I think it was just destined to be.

That First Kinky Moment

Looking back, I still have to wonder exactly how it all started.  Aside from the obvious turn of one event leading to another, it just seems like there's something missing, if you can all understand what I mean.  You take one and add one, it's supposed to come out to two, not something strange like seven.  That's kind of how I feel about this introduction to kink in my life.

For many people I know, they found out that they were kinky due to some action of their own.  There was some vague fantasy in their head, and then they later found out people actually live those fantasies out.  For them, it was liberating.  They finally felt like they'd found their way home!  There are others who had a partner that was into something kind of light, and their interest blossomed from there.  A part of me wishes I could say the same.  Then again, if my experience were the same, perhaps I'd never have found my way to the world of kink.  Perhaps I would have remained too innocent.

My first introduction was with a friend of mine.  She and I met in seventh grade.  In truth, she was one of the very few people who would speak to me.  I'd transferred from a Catholic school (yup, Catholic school girl...) and didn't know anyone.  I'd been told by my teacher the previous year that transferring to a public school of all things...I was going to get pregnant, or worse, stabbed and killed.  I was a little skeptical of her prediction, but I wasn't exactly going in there with happy thoughts of how wonderful it would be.  My friends were an odd collection of those people who just don't fit in.  This girl was the first I met.

Her name was Miranda.  She had this golden, brown hair and plain brown eyes.  When she smiled it had this almost fake look to it, almost like there was something permanently sarcastic about her.  Even her laugh sounded sarcastic  I've got to admit, in so many ways, she was mean.  It's not that she meant to be mean, but she would joke in hurtful ways, always making someone else the subject of it all.  However, she and I got along incredibly well.  She wasn't exactly a thin girl, but she wasn't really chubby either.  I guess she was a bit on the curvy side.  She was really intelligent and witty, which I thought was great, though I often felt dumb around her.  Everything about her was playful.  I think it was the third day of school when she asked my mom if I could go over her house after school, since my mom would walk to meet me at the school every day.  It wasn't long before my mom stopped even showing up because I went home with Miranda every day.

For a while things were like normal girls hanging out.  We'd watch television.  We'd kick around on AOL, using her internet because I didn't have internet at home.  I'd never been on the internet before.  We'd go into the kitchen and make jello-o, bread, cakes, or whatever.  More often than not, they were baking disasters rather than something we actually were proud of.  Her younger sister and brother would harass us, so we'd retreat to her room and listen to Adam Sandler's comedy sketches and that sort of thing.  Those were some good times.  It was my introduction to Adam Sandler.  It was my introduction to Full House and Fresh Prince.  Hell, it was my introduction to the internet, something I take for granted so much now!

It was around October when things started to change.  More and more often we would retreat to her room.  She would lock the door behind us so her siblings couldn't get in, something I hadn't thought much about.  At first it was just talking, listening to music or comedy sketches, or other things of a normal girlie nature.  Then one day she started showing me the cool stuff she'd made, like whips and floggers.  At the time I thought they were pretty cool and was interested to see every piece she'd carefully tucked away in a box at the back of her closet under some old clothes and other random things.  I couldn't imagine why she would have something of this nature, but it was interesting nonetheless.  As the days went on her hints became stronger and stronger, and I was so clueless and innocent at the time, that I didn't pick up on any of them.  It wasn't until the day she flat out asked me to tie her to the bed and hit her with one of these things that I got it.

After that day that took up more and more of our time together.  I started staying later and later at her house, staying for dinner what seemed like every night.  Her father would give me a ride home as my mom's one contingency on going to visit was that I needed a ride home if I'd be out after dark.  My mom didn't want to be bothered with picking me up all the time.  I don't even think my mom cared to know what was going on behind closed doors at this girl's house.  That's where we spent almost all of our time too, behind closed doors.  She kept trying to come up with ways to inspire me to "torture" her, giving me ideas and suggestions.  I think she'd hoped that I would come up with a few of my own.  I never did.  She was always cautioning me that no one could know what we were doing or we'd get in trouble.  I have to admit, I didn't want to do it.  I didn't like hurting her.  It just felt wrong.  Everything about the situation felt wrong, what we were doing, what she was demanding I do, the secrecy, all of it.

The longer things went on, the more I noticed this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I just couldn't do it anymore.  There was something wrong with the whole situation.  I hated the secrecy.  I needed to talk to someone about what was going on.  I needed to tell them how incredibly wrong it was.  I needed to scream at the top of my lungs because I was so frustrated with the whole thing.  I wanted to keep my friend, but I didn't want things to be like this.  I hated myself.  I hated her.  We started to grow distant, but at the same time, we were ever closer.  It was like one of those Chinese finger traps, the more you pull apart, the more tightly you're bound together, that was us.

For her birthday that year she had a sleep over party.  There was one other girl there besides myself.  We watched the Rocky Horror Picture Show.  I have to wonder how she convinced her parents to let us watch it.  It kind of strikes me as a bit adult for a seventh grader, not that it mattered in my case.  I'd grown up watching the lips go around in circles on the record player while sitting in my parents room with my dad.  I swear, I was singing the Time Warp by the time I was old enough to know how to sing.  Still, it seemed a fitting choice given the nature of our relationship.  As we watched the movie, I kept looking over at this other girl thinking she and Miranda were so much closer than she ever was with me.  I kept wondering what their past was, if this other girl new, or if only Miranda and I shared this secret.  I knew Miranda hadn't been playing this game with both of us, as she was almost always with me, but a part of me wondered.  It was driving me crazy and I had to know, but to this day, I'd never asked.

After her birthday, everything stopped.  We went back to a normal friendship and we never had any of those kinky moments again.  I'd felt so relieved not to have that secret hanging over us, though I still wanted so badly to tell someone about it all, how wrong it felt, and how just thinking about it just turned my stomach.  I needed to escape from these experiences that were tormenting my mind.  I hated everything about that past, yet couldn't escape it.  I felt like I was somehow damaged by the experience, and our relationship was never the same.  It was like we were somehow freed from the trap and found out just how distant the two of us really were.  Nothing would ever be the same.

So many people have thought my introduction to the whole kink scene was pretty hot.  There's something about pre-teen girls going at it that seems to turn men on.  I think one of my boyfriends from my past really had it right when he told me that it was actually kind of disturbing.  I have to agree.  To a kid my age when I got started, there really was something wrong with it.  It really left a lasting scar on my psyche that will doubtful ever be repaired.  Everything about the situation was wrong.  It showed just how damaged she was, and then she turned that damage on to me.  Realizing that as an adult, I felt hurt and betrayed.  Of course, at the time, I didn't think of it that way at all.

In the months that followed, I noticed a disturbing trend in my thoughts.  Now that Miranda was just a friend together, and we were far more distant, I realized I kind of missed it.  I missed those intimate moments.  I started to want them back, but not the way they'd happened.  I wanted something different.  My situation with Miranda wasn't at all what I wanted, but it did open up the door to what I really did want.  I guess I have to thank her for that.  It took me nearly six months to realize it, but when I did, I think I was even more sickened than I was at the whole situation with Miranda.

That spring I was in the school play with a little bit part due to my own mistake of not reading the rehearsal schedule right.  As I said, I was pretty clueless and I'd never really done any kind of theater before.  More importantly, I was in the director's theater class every day and she never once questioned why I wasn't at rehearsal.  I digress.  My friends and I were sitting outside the entrance to the left wing of the stage.  I was lounging along the railing with my head in Katie's lap.  She was gently stroking my hair while we were all talking about the production, making fun of some of the cornier lines.  I don't remember why I had to get up, but I did.  It's one of those moments that, looking back, really wasn't important.  However, the rest of it, I remember with crystal clarity.  I told Katie I was getting up for whatever reason, and she said something about it being fine with this little half smile.  Her long, dark hair fell in curls around her.  Her hair was gorgeous when it was down.  I was always jealous.  She was always something to be jealous of.  She was taller than I was, a little heavy, which gave her a great shape to her body, skin as fair as ivory and speckled with pretty, delicate freckles.  Back-lit by the overhead lighting, she looked even more beautiful.  Her dark eyes seemed to sparkle just so.  As I sat up, there was this incredible urge to kiss her.

Yeah, I know, sweet, innocent, and childish.  Aww...  I'd had my first lesbian desire, isn't that cute?  And I bet you'll say that it was for some homophobic fear that I didn't do it, and that it was for that same fear that I got this knot in my stomach, turned pale, and had to have Katie catch me when my knees totally gave out.  I'd told her that I was just feeling dizzy again.  They all knew I sometimes had problems when I got up too fast where I'd feel I was about to pass out.  It was a good excuse and she never questioned it, though I had a secret fear she'd know just what flashed through my head.

What was the real thought that flashed through my head and made me so weak at the thought?  Let me tell you, it wasn't any kind of homophobia.  I'd already known I was attracted to women.  The first day of school I'd met one of my other friends, Amanda, and from the moment I saw her, I couldn't take my eyes off of her.  She had gorgeous dark brown hair that fell to her chin that was straight everywhere except for these two curls that naturally fell to frame each side of her face no matter what she did to get rid of them.  She was very much the tomboy and her every move lacked grace, but instead had this very rough and masculine confidence.  Here I was on the first day of school realizing that leaving Catholic school had made me corrupt.  Instead of being attracted to men, like all my peers, here was a girl I found positively delightful.  I'd never told her about how I felt for fear of how she'd react.  I also didn't want to ruin the friendship or somehow make her life more difficult because the school would undoubtedly know she was dating another girl, so I thought it would be best if no one ever knew.  I was certain by high school or college there would be plenty of that going on, so two years of not being normal for junior high was tolerable.

In Katie's case, yeah, I kind of felt the same way, that fear that she would be labeled, or somehow it would taint the friendship, but that wasn't what caused me real dread.  It was the image that flashed through my head, having her tied down to the bed instead of Miranda, and all the wicked things I could have done.  It was the thought that slipped in as I sat up and nearly kissed her, wondering just how much further I could have pushed it with everyone there watching.  It was the realization that I wanted everything I'd had with Miranda back, but at the same time, that wouldn't be enough.  With Miranda and I, it was strictly non-sexual.  With Katie, that wouldn't be enough.  I wanted her because she was sweet, funny, always caring, and made me laugh, yes.  I wanted that relationship factor.  I wanted her because she was a gorgeous woman, and who wouldn't want a gorgeous woman that they lusted after?  But I also wanted her because of these fantasies I didn't quite understand.

I didn't understand it back then.  Actually, I thought it was positively wrong, unhealthy, and meant I had some real psychological issues.  I blamed Miranda for putting ideas like that in my head.  I hated myself for the kind of person it meant I was.  Several times I had questioned whether this meant I had some kind of future as a serial killer or something, if I'd be picked up by the FBI and locked away like Hannibal in Silence of the Lambs.  I dreaded what my friends and family would say about me.  Everything about it was wrong.

Looking back, however, I see that all Miranda did was open the door and show me I wasn't alone.  This wasn't some new experience of something that had never crossed my mind.  I know there had been hints at it before.  While I was young at the time, I think the kink community would have still ended up a part of my life, or if it never did, I would simply spend my life denying this part of myself that surely existed, somewhere beneath the depths of it all.  As much as I hated her then for ruining my life, or so I thought at the time, I think I really need to thank her, as screwed up as that may seem.  She's really quite the life saver.

What (If Anything) Makes Me Kinky?

Many of the people who know me, and I mean REALLY know me, have doubts about me as a kinky person.  They seem to think I'm all talk and no action.  It's not surprising.  They don't exactly know my deepest, inner most self, but they're still very, very wrong.

So what if I'm not so much about pain.  I've been through enough painful experiences in my life that I'm kind of done with that whole thing.  Pain no longer brings me pleasure, but annoyance.  I'm filled with moments of "hit me with that crop one more time and I'll break it over you, which will be rather impressive as crops are designed not to break easy, and I know what kind of force THAT takes!"  Can you tell I feel strongly about the subject?

Sure, I pretend to enjoy it because whoever I'm with gets a kick out of it.  In some cases, it's just out of boredom.  I have to admit, my last experience with a violet wand left me yawning.  Yes, it stung.  Yes, the feeling was rather intense, but it didn't DO anything for me.  If anything it lead me down the road of "yes, yes...can we get this over with?"  I don't want my sexuality to turn into "Lay back and think of England" and "beige...the ceiling should be beige..."  That's not what I'm in it for.  Let me have my moment of selfishness, if you would, because everyone else in the world feels full well able to have theirs.

Yes, I like sensations, and some people consider that to be pretty tame.  It's not about the wild, kinky side of me.  It's about that whole aesthetic.  There's nothing more beautiful and luscious than silk, draped and dragged enticingly over the body.  Hot wax just trickling down the side has it's own intimate beauty, never mind the art that can be created with it.  There is a delicious nature to textures, smells, and feelings.  It's that part of me that likes to be surrounded by beauty and luxury.

Bondage is another interest of mine, but it's in no way sexual or a release of control.  In truth, I just love bondage because I find it beautiful.  There's nothing more lovely than a woman tied up with beautiful knot work and ropes in complimentary colors.  There's an art to twisting the body into position for interesting binds, through the curve of the hip, the arch of the back, whatever beautiful postures the body may take.  That being said, I've also seen some hideous bondage that simply deserves the dark of night with no other explanation for it.  It's an eyesore, but I guess some people get into that.

Of course, in saying I dislike pain and it bores me doesn't mean I don't find interest in other people's pain.  It's wonderful to see what makes people tick, and pain is one of those many sensations.  I want to see every emotion cross their face, and I want to know them so intimately that I know what to expect at any moment.  I want to know what causes them fear, pleasure, and everything else the mind can think of.  I have a violent side, I've been told, and I really like indulging in it.  It's not so much that I'll lose control and go wild and crazy on tearing someone to pieces, though I've known people who are that kind of violent.  I like hurting people.  Why?  Because it's fun...and sometimes...just sometimes...they enjoy it too.  Is that such a bad thing?  I like causing fear.  I like to intimidate.  In truth, some people like that in a woman.  Some people are turned on by pain, fear, intimidation, and all the rest.  It doesn't have to be sexual for me, or them for that matter, but sex isn't the only way to get enjoyment in life.  I think all too many people forget that kink isn't always about sex.  Actually, there are some kinky people out there who live with their kinky lifestyle and sex never mixing.

Then there's the softer side of me, the more innocent side of me, and that's the one that enjoys age play.  When first I introduced to the local scene, the man I was with stated that my regression age was about twelve.  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and make some comment about how he should keep his mouth shut when talking about subjects he clearly knows nothing about, but I didn't want to be rude.  I just smiled sweetly and told the woman who asked that I typically regress to about the age of seven, just old enough for tea parties and Victorian elegance.  Actually, at that age everything about the Victorian lifestyle appeals, so I have to wonder if it's a true regression or more accurately just "play".  What I didn't tell her then, and am admitting now is I've also had another age, I thought five but I'm thinking in attitude it's closer to three or four, that often becomes a reality for me.  I suppose I'll talk about that another time, but let's just leave it with those being completely non-sexual.

Finally, there's role playing, and for me it can get quite in depth and realistic.  I take it much farther than your average "role playing" fantasy.  There isn't the two dimensional nun and priest or pirate and wench.  I can go all out with elaborate stories, set-ups, and backgrounds.  Can you tell I play tabletop and LARP RPGs in the mundane world too?  If only I got into writing much of it.  I bet I could make a fortune.

So, that's pretty much the basics of what makes me kinky.  I'm sure I'll go more in depth on all of it at some other time.  For now, this is all you're getting.

Identifying Myself in the Kinky World

The kink world, the fetish scene, it comes with so many labels.  Labels essentially define everything about who we are, what we do, what we enjoy.  Master and slave, dominant and submissive, kinkster and fetishist, these terms all give people some understanding of who we are in the community, and who we choose to be.  Of course, sometimes these definitions aren't as clean-cut as we pretend them to be.

When I first got involved with the fetish community, I considered myself a switch, though I was easily influenced to believe I was more submissive.  I was too timid and shy.  I didn't know how to be dominant if I wanted to be.  In truth, I was afraid to take control.  What if I did something wrong?  What if I wasn't everything my partner was hoping?  Fear of failure held me back and suffocated me, so at the tender age of 18, I let myself be forced into the mold of a submissive.

For years I thought I enjoyed being submissive more, but still used the label "switch".  I wasn't comfortable with the idea of calling myself a submissive.  Something about it struck me as wrong.  It didn't help that everyone who met me mistook my shy and timid nature as submissiveness.  No one seemed to think it was just a lack of experience and only being 18 at the time.  I guess women are supposed to burst forth, knowing everything there is to know about dominance if they were at all cut out for the role.  I'm sure a healthy portion of that was wishful thinking, as my experience has lead me to believe that more men are dominant and more women tend towards submissiveness.

I allowed myself to be shoved into that submissive role to the point where I started to think I'd "grown up" and moved on from the kink community.  I didn't want that as a part of my life anymore because it just wasn't for me.  I really don't like pain.  I may be a sensation junkie, but that's pretty vanilla stuff.  I've done some bondage stuff, but in reality, I didn't find it all that appealing.  Being bound doesn't do anything for me.  I was starting to think something was wrong with me, or maybe that I was just trying too hard to fit in.

Over the years people started to point out that I was a very dominant type of personality.  I'd lost a lot of my sweet and naive nature and replaced it with confidence.  While I still don't always wear the mask of confidence, I've noticed I'm a lot more dominant than I gave myself credit for.  At that, I'm not really submissive at all!  Yes, I have my moments where being an art canvas for wax or rope is kind of fun, but you can do that without being all-out submissive.  I'm starting to once again wonder if I should really be calling myself a switch at all.

I'm finding I hate these labels.  I'm hating the idea that I have to put myself into a mold because I really don't fit.  Switch implies moments of submissiveness, but there's really nothing submissive about me.  I play the part quite well, but it's just an elaborate game of acting.  I still don't have the confidence to be dominant in many situations.  I guess I'm just feeling kind of lost.  I thought I knew exactly where I stood, but then the floor dropped out from under me.

This should be an easy question with some pretty solid answers, especially at my age, but I'm finding myself at a loss.  I really don't know where I stand anymore.  So how do I identify myself in the kink/fetish community?  I think I'm going to keep the label "switch" right now, because it's the only way to describe how I can't make up my mind.

I Don't Pay You to Come Here, I Pay You to Leave

Years ago I used to work for an escort service.  I know a lot of people seem to think that a cute little, sexy thing like me must have loved it...sex all the time...different partners, keeps life interesting, right?  I'll be honest, most of these guys, there's a reason they're paying someone.  If they were all wonderful in bed or the kind of people I would have been even remotely interested in, perhaps I would have cared.  Perhaps I would have even enjoyed it.  While I must admit, some of my clients were quite fun to be around and really interesting on top of that, the majority of business was...well...let's just say lacking.

That being said, I do think some of the experiences as an escort were things I never would have been able to do without the service.  For example, I'd never be able to say I saw the penthouse suite in the Ritz Carlton.  That was an experience I never will forget, nor one I ever want to repeat again.  Let's just say a fear of heights, an extremely tall building with a beautiful view of the city, and the constant wonder if it was me or if the building was really swaying in the wind were not a good combination.

On this particular night I just so happened to be well dressed for the occasion.  This man specifically picked me and requested (last minute, mind you) that I be dressed for dinner.  Thankfully, I was wearing a suitably appropriate black Chinese style gown that I'd worn to prom several years back, dressy, but definitely not overdone.  I was very simplistic back in those days.  I had these cute little kitten heels to go with it.  My hair was in a pretty little bun with an elegant set of hair sticks tucked fashionably in and my make-up was the most flawless it had ever been.  I suppose he chose a good night, though I always looked my best when working for the service.  It's kind of part and parcel for the job.

As my driver brought me up to the entrance of the building to drop me off, I felt this sick nervous feeling in my stomach.  Everything was gilded and beautiful.  I was forewarned this was a man with money, so I'd be visiting one of the nicer rooms, and the Ritz is kind of a classy joint, so classy I'd never so much as thought about setting foot in it before.  As I walked up to the desk I tried to put on my most professional, business-like look.  I stated that I was here to see Mr. Johnson for our dinner engagement, but the look on her face said it all.  Even though I didn't look like your average lady of the evening, she must have known.  She gave me a disgusted look over and then told her assistant to take me to the elevator.  As we stepped in I noticed the shocking amount of brass and gilding there as well.  The assistant swiped her card, punched a few numbers into the box that I wouldn't have noticed was even there had it not been open before me, and stepped out.  I was on my way.

I swear, that was the longest elevator ride of my life!  In part it's because it was a long ride, but in part because I had all of this wonder in mind.  I'd never had much care about the other clients.  They wore dollar signs, so it didn't much matter about them, but this was a high end client, obviously, and I couldn't imagine what he would be like.

As I stepped out of the elevator, he greeted me, this man out of a movie, I swear.  He was your classic Hollywood look from the '80s, not a look I was particularly attracted to, but I could understand how someone might find it attractive.  He was dressed in no more than a short, white robe.  As I entered his room he offered me a glass of wine, but I refused, stating I didn't drink.  I only accepted sealed drinks from clients, my own personal choice, I guess.  I told him I had to phone in and let them know I'd arrived and take his payment so we could start the clock.

After I'd gotten off the phone he explained how he saw it to me.  "I don't pay you to come here," he said in a smooth, confident voice.  He didn't have a dreamy voice or anything, just kind of plain and average, nothing to write home about.  "I pay you to leave.  I can have any woman I please, but the trouble is to get them to go home in the morning.  I don't want to have any of that messy attachment, which is why you're here.  I can promise you if we'd met in a bar, you'd gladly come home with me and we'd have our fun."  At this he flashed a winning smile.  "I just know you wouldn't want to leave in the morning, which is why I pay you.  By paying for your services, I know you'll leave."

It was all I could do not to laugh at this.  As much as he may have been some kind of Hollywood gorgeous, I wasn't attracted to him.  The only reason I could see women following him helplessly to bed was his money.  There are enough gold diggers out there, and that would explain why they keep coming back for more, that is, if they go for that type at all.

When all was said and done, I have to say, I wasn't impressed.  Not only was he not someone I found attractive, but he didn't impress me at all either.  He was slow and deliberate, much like an '80s porno, which worked well to suit his look, I suppose.  He was far too vanilla for me.  I kept thinking to myself, "Really?  You really think you could lure me to your room and then have me banging down your door for this?  You have no idea what a woman like me really wants, do you?"  Scenes from American Psycho were flashing through my head, you know the ones, where he's watching himself in the mirror while getting it on...though...I think that character would have been a lot more interesting.

Now, I know clients come in all varieties.  I've seen everything from kinky as the night is long to the plainest vanilla ever to be found.  I suppose there's a woman out there for all those flavors, but I've found plain vanilla to be the most common by far.  I'm wondering if it's just because they haven't been exposed or if the kinky population really is that much of a minority.  Who knows, maybe they just have an easier time getting laid and therefore have less use for escorts...or maybe it's just the reputation for escorts?  Who knows.

As I collected my things to leave he said to me, "Now do you see why I pay you to leave?  Very few women want to let that walk away.  I bet I'm the best you've ever had."

It was everything I could do to keep a straight face and tell him, in my well practiced manner, "Yes, I can see why the women always come back for more..."

Fantasy Versus Reality: Virginity

Last night a conversation was started in our household.  I'm not even sure how it started anymore, but we were talking about losing one's virginity.  Everyone's got a story, either that or they just haven't done it yet, and to date, everyone I've met seems to remember the events of that day with clarity and detail.

There's something about losing your virginity that's glorified in novels, especially romance novels.  In one book I've read, the woman gave herself to this man in a dramatically appropriate moment.  She didn't just do this once, no, but something ridiculous, like three times in one day.  Now, for men, as I understand it, going again and again isn't so much of a problem, but for women, that's an entirely different story.

Let's take, for example, my friend Rose.  She was saying that he lost her virginity and couldn't walk right for three days.  She told her family she had the flu so that questions wouldn't be asked, and who can blame her?

What about me?  I went horseback riding that day and then to the drum circle later to dance.  I could walk just fine.  I didn't have any major issues, but I don't think I could have done it two more times in the same day if I wanted to!  It just wouldn't have been happening.

Looking at fantasy, they seem to think that physical limitations of the body aren't at all applicable.  Most people in the real world list their first time as slow and gentle, at least with the women I know.  Yet reading stories you'd think that everyone's first time was rough, passionate, and just as wild as an experienced woman's sex life.  I can understand why fantasy wouldn't be as interesting to read.  After all, you look at any porn out there and sex is only gentle, soft, and slow in those porns from the 80's with the bad storyline and the cheesy soundtrack.  Perhaps for a good romance novel, something geared towards the softer appetite of your average vanilla woman, that would be intriguing, but for most people in this world, that would make for a very boring read.

Personally, if I could do it all over again, I wouldn't.  I don't want to be with a virgin in my future.  I really don't look forward to the awkwardness of being someone's first.  In reality, I'll be happy to never re-live those days again.  I just wish I understood why virginity was glorified in some unrealistic way.  I guess they've got to do something to keep life interesting.

Who Am I, and Why Am I Here?

Who am I?  Well, isn't that a complex question?  I could get into the depth of "Who is anyone really?" or the deep spiritual complexity of it all.  I could talk about my daily life, the family, and everything else of the mundane world.  I could talk about my hopes, dreams, and aspirations, but you don't really care about all that, now do you?  You really want to know about my own little underworld.

I'm a woman in my late-twenties.  I'm divorced, but not single.  I'm a mother.  I'm a Pagan.  All of that is the basic view of who I am.  That's all the surface level.  You go a little deeper and you'll see I've lived through abuse and neglect.  I've been in many difficult situations in my life.  I've got my own emotional baggage and a good deal of it (but who doesn't in this world).  I'm wildly creative, when I choose to be, and have an obsession with beauty, perhaps not by the standard American tradition, but beauty of my own choosing.  Follow that trail a little longer and it leads to my little underworld, the darker side of me.  This is the side that gets into all of the things your average person shies away from, though I think many are more interested than they care to admit.  This is the darker side of any self, the one that indulges in the erotic and has wild fantasies of things that are classified as inherently wrong in our modern society, or any society for that matter.  Some may call it fetish, some may call it kink.  Whatever it is, it's a part of who I am, a part that I choose to embrace.  That's the side I know anyone who has found their way here is interested in, and as I keep writing, that's the side you're going to meet.

As for why I'm here, why are any of us?  Why have you chosen to read this blog.  Why are you even interested yourself?  If you find those answers, you'll understand.  Kink, fetish, BDSM, it's not all about erotic fantasies.  It's a real, growing community, and it's not all about sex either.  It's one of the most misunderstood communities in the world, as far as I'm aware, and that needs to change.  There are more of us out there than many even realize, and if you've had those kinds of thoughts in your head, know that you're not alone.  There are many of us, all over the planet.  So here's my chance to open the world to my view of "the community" and share a little of my own insight.