kink and its absence

It’s become incredibly hard for me to blog about my kink and sex lives as of late, mostly because my non kinky obligations have become somewhat overwhelming. It’s hard to find a moment for myself, let alone time to get into the kind of trouble that’s interesting to write about.

It’s a funny state, in a way. I’m a fairly sexual creature who doesn’t have the time to feed her sexual nature… Well… In ways that don’t involve one on one quality time with my fingers and and a vibrator.

Spending that much time in the more mundane parts of my life makes me realize just how much discrepancy there is betweeen my two halves.

My dear friend T put it brilliantly. When she goes to work, she puts on Clark Kent. She disappears into a completely unassuming persona. I do something similar. Now, granted, even my Clark Kent side is still me… It’s just sifted through a specific filter. Part of me wonders; if I stay in this role for long, will my other half disappear? Will it leap out and bite me at an inopportume moment?

I guess I’m now faced with an interesting challenge: finding enough of a balance between all the various facets of my being when one side of my Clark Kent side is disproportionately engaged, and not by choice.

I imagine that there are billions of others who deal with variations on this problem?

How do you find balance?

I’m trying to focus on the little things for now. My brilliant ideas for classes, sadly, need to be
put on hold until I have time to devote to developing them.

I guess I do have things to keep my other half hoping, if not going.

I’m setting aside time on March 8, to participate in Kinkforall, which is an unconference that is being by the wonderful Eileen and Maymay.

But beyond that, I’m mostly looking to the distant-ish future.

I’ve already marked my vacation days for DO and LR summer camp. Still need to figure out expenses for Shibaricon, and if I can afford the trip.

And for now, I just hope that I can find what small thrills I can to tide my other half over until she can come out to play again.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Breaking Narratives and Crossing Vanilla

Hello, vanilla world, how are you? It’s been a while. I found myself thinking, sipping a vodka tonic at the bar.

I was at a trendy hipster bar on Bowery. It was underlit and over loud. My companions were people I had met at a more subdued function that evening.

They seemed nice enough and invited me along. I decided to try my hand at diversifying, putting some eggs in other non kinky baskets and such.

I’ve become so used to dealing with kink and poly folk, this little excursion was a step put of my social comfort level.

Part of me felt like I was on some sociological expedition: here we observe the vanillas in their natural habitat…

Nothing I said felt natural. I wanted to feel a part of my surroundings but… Couldn’t. This only added to the feeilings I’ve been fighting these last few weeks of otherness and isolation. Part of me wondered if I’d ever feel comfortable outside my safe, kinky little bubble.

And then I stopped myself. At that moment I realized I had relegated myself to the fringes. No one was doing anything intentional to make me feel out of place. No one was forcing me to stay in that bar.

I was manufacturing my own isolation.

I’ve had this narrative trope in
my head for years, and never thought twice about it.

But since talking with JP about the human need for narrative, I’ve become acutely aware of the stories I’ve woven into my reality. And I wonder how many of them I can change. Many of them need to change.

We all think in narrative, because we humans are linear creatures.

These narratives help us make sense of the world around us, but they can also set us up for some dangerous habits. It’s all too easy to fall into narrative tropes -to cast ourselves as certain characters, convince ourselves of certain story lines, and filter information accordingly.

“I guess I’m always going to be this way.”

“I will never have X in my life.”

“I can change this person.”

We tell ourselves these fictions all the time, because we see these dynamics in stories. Besides, living out these parts is more romantic than getting to the heart of the matter and dealing with the root cause of an issue.

There’s a certain glamour in feeling emotional pain and reveling in one’s own isolation.

Having recently stepped away from a fairly intense relationship, I’ve caught myself falling prey to this on many occasions. It is often accompanied by the need for external validation. To heal, it is imperitive that everyone else around me sees how strong and sacrificing I am for nursing my heart back to health. This is not an uncommon role for people to play post breakup, and there will always be some degree of genuine hurt that ignites these impulses.

But after a while, it becomes necessary to part ways with those comforting tropes, accept what truths and lessons you can, and try again.

As I stood in that bar that night, drinking vodka tonics, I got to thinking. I was feeling so completly alien from my surroundings because there’s some part of me that enjoys playing the outcast. It’s not without a certain, snobbish appeal. After all, I hold this super special secret life, because I am kinky and go to play parties and conventions, (though sadly work is preventing me from going to DO next weekend)

But does that really make me any better than these people? Any more interesting? I have no way of knowing what lives beneath these people. I am walking proof that no book can me judged by its cover.

I think I fused the two posts worth of topics together. Sorry dear readers.

Oh great. There’s another narrative trope: the apologetic blogger in need of audience validation. Something tells me I’ve got a long way to go.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

All Kink and No Play Makes Sascha… Who Knows?

You know you’re in wonky headspace when you turn down an opportunity to play with Lolita. It was at a play party Friday night, right after she and Boymeat taught their co-topping class for TES-TNG. It was a fantastic class, and I’m glad I worked up the energy to go. I hadn’t planned on staying too late, since I knew I was feeling off. The week had left me drained. Too much stress from too many sides. I was not in a mindset where play would have been a good idea.

Knowing Lolita’s level of skill and the caliber of people she usually plays with, I was totally flattered that she asked me in the first place, even as I politely declined.

We got to chatting. She told me that she’d really liked my interviews with Gray about our humiliation class (she’d been hesitant too bring it up in light of recent events) and said she thought I made a great presenter. Just hearing her endorsement made my spine a bit straighter, and I spent a good 20 minutes telling her about some of the ideas I had for classes. Before I realized it, the funk had lifted, and I left the party feeling as light and satisfied as if I had played that night.

The next day, I spent the evening with JPR of thecontrolenthusiast.com. He and I have never played, but we seem to get into the habit of having long, intellectual conversations about kink, life, and relationships. I totally lust for that man’s brain. We ate dinner at a fusion place somewhere downtown, and he acted as a sounding board as I tried to start mapping out a new idea I had for a class.

I came to life for the first time all week. It felt right. The very thought of putting a class together seemed to replenish much of the energy I’d lost over the course of the week.

Yet another confirmation that, yes. Not only am I cut out to teach, but I’m doing it for what I feel are the right reasons. Since I know so many talented presenters, a small part of me wondered if I wanted to so this to earn my place at the “cool kids” table and feed my inner attention whore… Well, who are we kidding? I’m still an attention whore.

But that impulse is secondary, maybe tertiary to the fact that I want to do this because it combines two of my passions and lights a spark behind my eyes just thinking about it.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]