Apr 282011
 

“My sexuality bleeds into just about every crack and crevice of my life. Conversations with me are always littered with dirty sexual sentiments to jest and tease. My performance art has almost always burdened itself with dark and sexual contemplative subject matter. This will be my 3rd year directing several performance art pieces for the Seattle Erotic Arts Festival. I really can’t think of a better way to play with life, to poke at it. Exploring hidden vulnerability by laying it all on the line, has proven to be a most noteworthy personal growing experience for me.

As a mother in this life I try very hard not to make the same mistakes as my parents did. The woman inside of me has listened to experience very hard and sought the necessary teachers in life to learn how to make better choices and provide more abundant opportunities for both myself and my children. My life now flourishes with love, balance and possibilities. When I want something I work my ass off to get it. It seems to me successful people fail more often but they succeed because they simply keep trying until they do succeed. Imagine if we gave up after the first failed sexual attempt to orgasm. Well, most of us in fact do keep on trying and trying and trying……

Internally, I am still plagued by my past. Memories of abusive sexual experiences that have bruised my soul are almost impossible to ever erase. I work very hard to live in the present, trying to heal but not dwell on the past. Life has gifted me with an amazing partner who has shown me a new heightened level of compassion and care. We have an open relationship, which requires a wealth of trust and communication to keep it in balance. Poly can sometimes feel very unsafe to me because it has potential to induce very intense sexual emotions with multiple partners. It’s hard enough just to trust one person let alone two or three. Sometimes these intense experiences will trigger an anxiety attack for me.  I am still learning how to trust and communicate with both myself and my partners during these trying episodes. By making clear and positive choices when feelings are rough and intense, I am now coming to realize a sense of personal balance, fulfillment and worth. I am still scared and even want to run away at times but I am continuing to trust and invite in new sexual experiences.

I am continually choosing to give in to my sexuality, allowing myself to swim in the juices of erotic pleasure. Hell, what can I say? I really like sex! I love to bathe in the complication of my sexuality, publically even. I suppose that’s one of the reasons why I perform. It’s my way of saying “you’re not alone, there is life after abuse”. I kinda like my scars and battle wounds. Enriching my life and experience by embracing all the fucked up things that have happened to me is a kind of personal reconciliation.”

 Posted by at 7:51 pm
Apr 282011
 

“I work within parameters. I function within them.

My Master tells me. He tells me. I do.

But there is room for embellishments. There is an art to this brand of sex.

Or at least I tell myself so. He says, “Go this way!” I go that way as gracefully as possible. Sometimes I have no grace and the fucking is through tears and sweat and saliva and animal grade lubricant…

But His fingers wander ‘round my neck and I know He loves me.

I know He loves me when He pushes His cock into my ass.

I know He loves me when He whacks my pussy after my makeup has already been washed away by my tears. He whacks it again.

I know He loves me when He carefully aligns the layers of rope up my arms, behind my back, thrusting my chest out.

I know He loves me when he takes me out to urinate under the avocado tree, on a leash, like a dog.

I know He loves me when He hits the snooze button for me, when He draws my bath, when He administers my enemas, when He teaches me new cooking methods, welding.

Life, outside, and inside, and sex have melded into one. Sex is life with Him and life is sex. Everything I do is sexual and everything I do is for love.”

 Posted by at 7:51 pm
Apr 282011
 

“What good is there to say about sex? The whole topic is a one disaster after the next.

I make one exception. If you add party drugs into the mix, and you’re at the world’s greatest party (say, Burning Man), and you want to fuck someone, it can be fun. I’ll give you that.  But the drugs come first; they are primary. It’s probably better to fuck someone you don’t know, even though the sex might be hotter if you fuck someone you’re in love with. No one judges you much for who you fuck at Burning Man, and no one has to know either. It can be a cute-as-get-out 31-year old Greek demon from Los Angeles, and your campmates can meet the gentleman who escorted the princess home from across the playa. You can get some laughs out of that. But don’t be surprised when the little Mafioso is gone, forever, in the morning, no matter how hard he had to work to get you.

That’s the problem with sex. Men will do anything to get it, and as soon as we give it to them, we make ourselves vulnerable. Let me put that more personally. Some men would go to some deal of trouble to fuck me, and if they get through to me, I’m vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable. I want to be loved for who I am, and having sex with someone—especially if I really like him—just makes that impossible. He’s going to abandon me eventually, and with that I’m dragged into all the accompanying and highly disruptive drama.

Give me a reason. Just give me a reason.

Then there’s the whole status thing. Am I fucking someone who’s in my league? What league am I in anyway? I make a middle class salary at a regular job that I might lose at anytime, things being the way they are. I have experienced too little stability in my life, and less than enough reassurance. I have more assets than debt, but it’s a bit of a wash in the long run, when I understand that I won’t have enough money to retire. I have self doubts and insecurities. I have issues. Anyone who gets close to me will soon enough see me for what I am—a scared and desperate little girl, who soon enough will be an old woman.

No one wants to experience that. Even I doubt it’s worth it. I think about suicide enough to know how difficult it is to live with me. No one is going to stick around. He’ll leave. And so will that guy and that guy too. They will all leave me, and I will say it’s on me: I am the agent.

So I don’t flirt. I don’t dare dream about finding someone to love. I don’t think about sex. If I need an orgasm, I give myself one. If someone comes on to me, I deflect it. I’m unavailable. I’m sex negative.

I think about what I might be missing. Then I think about the consequences. The answer remains no.

Just a few weeks ago, a married man—let’s call him John—propositioned me. John and his wife are in an open relationship. We were at a party in the countryside near a river. He asked me if I wanted to go with him down to the river. I said yes, and I knew where it was going. I had sensed his interest in a previous encounter. To be congenial and to get it over with, I went with him down to the river. It was dark and you could hear the water rushing. I said, “It seems like you want to get next to me.”

He was standing very close. He said, “I have been thinking it would be fun to kiss you.”

Then I had to explain that I am sex negative, and that in any case I don’t mess around with married men, no matter what agreement they may have with their wives. I’m old fashioned that way, I explained. What’s in it for me?

He was cool about it but I could tell I bruised his ego. I tried to soften the blow by asking about his life and engaging in small talk. Then we went back to the campfire and my friend Paul asked me if I’d gone down to the river with John. I told him, “Yes, I went to the river with him, but I said ‘no.’” “It’s none of my business,” said Paul. “I’m telling you anyway,” I replied.

I explained to Paul my philosophy about being sex negative, and he said I was missing out. I said, “It’s harder than I thought it would be, but it’s possible.”

So I don’t have anything good to say about sex—unless you inject party drugs into the story. For that I might make an exception. But really, I just want to be high. Any sexual encounter is secondary or tertiary, or just plain irrelevant. Even then I’m typically sorry, eventually, if I participated in sex. I can blame it on the drugs, not that it matters or that blame is useful. I don’t use drugs very often anymore. I save them for special occasions. That’s because my ex-therapist called me a drug addict; that’s why she’s my ex-therapist. But even someone like me needs to feel joy once in a while. Otherwise some night I’ll take too many sedatives, on purpose by accident, and never wake up. In that case I don’t want to think about the most recent man I had sex with, or any of the men before that. It’s too painful. I want to see a bright spot of light between my eyebrows glowing white as I fall asleep. As I fade, so should all the consequences of making myself vulnerable, and all that I have failed.”

 Posted by at 7:51 pm
Apr 272011
 

Fist before fistingMy date with Harold was a fuck fest. I like it when we get in that mood, pushing each other’s boundaries in such nice ways. This time it was fisting, both anal and vaginal, along with some prostate milking and rough sex. Oh yeah, and I really put the “cock” in cock and ball torture. Ah, good times…

I’ve been very emotional and anxious lately, leaving me feeling isolated. It takes something more to cut through my walls. Edge play, like what we just did, is a fucking can opener – opens me up so I can feel the love again. Of course my sexual boundaries are a moving target, but so far I haven’t run out of things to explore.

I’d had every intention of fucking Harold with my strap-on. I love our anal play. I adore feeling like a boi with my hard cock. Fucking like that is exquisite. I can feel his cunt. He can feel me spurt inside him when I come. Strap-on sex is an amazingly wonderful thing. But we didn’t do that. It never seemed like the right thing.

Oral sex plus fingersI did get most of my hand in Harold’s ass though. I wanted to stimulate his prostate. We’ve done some of that before, but Harold wanted to take me on a tour and I’m eternally curious. I took off my rings and lubed up. I inserted one finger and curved it toward his cock, slowly stroking a spot that feels a little different. That had good effect so I added another finger. At the same time I began to stroke his cock. Jism started to ooze out. It was really amazing – ejaculation without orgasm. I gather that it feels good. I totally felt powerful, like I was stealing his come. After I had gotten it all, I put the rest of my fingers into his ass. I got thumb and fingers in up to the knuckles before we hit the place where he would start tearing. Harold needs to do more stretching. I think I would like to actually get my whole hand inside of him.

I wanted to rub Harold’s back after that. We didn’t have any oil of lotion, so I used lube. Because I happened to use my whole body during parts of the massage, we both ended up covered in lube. We were in the cabin with a hot fire burning so soon we were covered in lube and drenched in sweat. I lost about 2 pounds in a single day!

The massage led to Harold going down on me. Always beautiful and wonderful! He’s perfected this way of licking my clitoris while putting two fingers inside my cunt and pressing against my g-spot. Sometimes he’ll take his other hand and pinch a nipple. It makes me orgasm instantly almost every time. This time, after I came, he slathered a ton of lube all over his hand and started inserting more fingers. I used a vibrator on my clit and every time I came he pushed his hand further in. Harold has long hands. He managed to get his hand in nearly to the wrist! It’s a very weird feeling, being so full. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it’s super erotic and intense. I came hard when he took his hand out.

Beautiful cockThen Harold was in a mood to be pushed past his comfort zone. He very nicely asked for cock attention, so I started sucking. I tied up his balls and gave them attention as well. When he was begging, I started slapping his cock pretty hard. I left blood blisters. Harold doesn’t normally like me to do anything painful to his cock, but this seemed to be what he needed because he asked for something more. I used a flogger on his inner thighs, cock, and balls – stopping only when his scrotum started to bleed. It sounds intense (and it was) but the whole thing was done in a context of love and connection to each other. It’s a gift that we give each other.

After all of that, we fucked like crazy, in a variety of positions. By then we were drenched in sweat and sticky everywhere with lube, but we had managed to strip away all of the built up crap and difficulties and simply be intimate together. It’s incredible to just fuck without thinking about anything but the moment. It can be so hard for me to let go. Sometimes rough sex is the key that opens all of those doors to let me soar. Sometimes sex really does make it all better.

Apr 272011
 

“Sex has been a big focus in my life because for a long time I felt bad at it. But I wanted it. I felt like the girl with her face pressed to the window who can see all the other kids playing at the birthday party.

My parents were not comfortable with their sexuality. The kids at my elementary school explained the “facts of life” to me. My father was alienated from touch—he couldn’t hug. He would crush you. When he approached my mom to stroke her arm, it seemed slimy. She’d flinch away and say, “Oh, Kenneth.” He played it up, for a joke, but now I see he was full of shame.

My mother was pretty physical with me and my brothers when we were young, less so later. She described herself as “not a hugger.”  I asked her at one point how she felt about sex—urged to by my therapist; I don’t think I would have had the courage otherwise. A long pause on the phone, and then she said, “Well, you have to have a sense of humor.” Which is true, I think, but so far from where I was then that I couldn’t even parse it. (And my parents have their own story—it goes back and back.)

I became a teenager during the pre-AIDS ’70s, when sex was everywhere, seen simply as goodness. And as cool. I wanted to be cool. I read a lot of D.H. Lawrence, especially Lady Chatterley’s Lover; Germaine Greer’s The Female Eunuch; and Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land. Drunk, I finished off my virginity at 15 on a grassy lawn on a May night, to get it over with. I didn’t have an orgasm with another human being in the room till I was 28.

That’s where I started. I think it helps in a way, to start from next to nothing. I created my sexuality myself, from bare earth—from lust, which I had a lot of, and from reading. For Yourself, a book by Lonnie Barbach, saved my life. It teaches women how to have orgasms, first alone and then with a partner. I got my partner John to work through the exercises with me. I’d broken up my previous relationship over not having orgasms with the guy—and I let him take the blame for it, when somewhere inside (though I didn’t want to know this) I knew it was me.

It was hard to ask for help. When John said, “Sure!” I was shocked. And happy. (And scared, of course.) I had felt so broken, for so long.

Exploring kink came later. I’m a switch, though being a sadist and a domme feels safer to me for the simplest of reasons—because I drive then, and I trust me. I don’t necessarily trust you. But for me, nothing came from the intellect, though the reading part may make it sound like it. My drive and my search came from below—hunger for something I could name but didn’t understand in my body. I stumbled into everything, and slowly. I had to tear down my act to myself that I was sexually knowledgeable and cool, and my act for my partners, who never asked for it, and be honest with myself. A practice I’m not always good at, though I hope I’m getting better.

And here I am. I don’t have a shingle out, but in a way I’m a sexual healer, in the realm where sexuality meets the emotions and spirit. I can do that because I walked that path myself. With armfuls of help from partners, therapy, and books, I healed myself.

I’m still charting my sexuality. Some realms still belong only to the dragons. But I have found really good sex—sex where I lose my boundary and become part of the other person and the universe. I found romantic love, one of the things I longed for most. And, not looking for it, I found bliss. For me, the way to the spirit is through the body, and the best way to see the face of the universe naked is sex and BDSM with someone I love.”

 Posted by at 7:51 pm
Apr 252011
 

Evoë at Buena Vista Park in San FranciscoOur trip to San Francisco is coming to an end. We’re on the plane back to Seattle now and I’m thinking about what a good time we had. Harold’s sons are amazing people. I’m glad that we got a chance to visit them and see how well they are doing in their different ways.

We spent the most amount of time with Ned and his partner, Maggie (a.k.a. Miss Maggie Mayhem). They also do a lot of work around sex, so we spent a lot of time comparing notes. Maggie is brilliant and really knows her stuff. She’s been a great resource for me. Together, Ned and Maggie are an unstoppable team. I can’t wait to see what they tackle next.

But hanging with family and talking about sex and the sex industry woke up some things in me I didn’t know were there. I spend a lot of time talking about how I want to normalize sex and how I really appreciate good porn, but it somehow goes out the window around family. It’s not intentional. I don’t want any artificial double Ned and Maggie get closestandards, so I have to look at my shit and ask questions where necessary. Since I’m working outside the box, I have to take my brain with me when figuring out how to interact with family members around sex.

For example, I recently looked up Ned’s movies and I was disturbed by the content. No, the content was actually fine, as long as it was someone else. I was worried that Ned was trying to work out some hurt that we didn’t know about. Or something, I’m not sure. He is not my child, but he is my partner’s child and I suddenly started thinking about my children making porn. I have a knee-jerk reaction that I don’t want my children involved in the sex industry in any way. I have to stop and unpack that hypocrisy. Why not? Isn’t porn great? Don’t I want to make good porn? Isn’t every porn star someone’s child? Wouldn’t I be proud of my kids for doing anything that they were good at and they loved? I’m proud of Ned.

Maggie and Ned in loveI had a chance to talk to Ned about it while we were visiting. He was great about answering all of my questions, even when I felt awkward and embarrassed for being so biased. It only took a few minutes for him to allay my fears. He wasn’t forced into doing anything, but he just played the roles that were given to him. He’s having fun.

As I mentioned before, Ned and Maggie decorate in sex toys, computer parts, condoms, books, and souvenirs from their work. I felt totally comfortable about that, but I had moments of wondering where boundaries ought to be. Harold and I tried to be quiet when making love, but that was more good guest behavior than the kids being in the other room. I took a few pictures of Ned and Maggie while they were topless, but I was working as an artist trying to capture a moment. They are sexy people who project a sexy image, but my relationship to them is not sexual.

Maggie schooling NedI grew up with sexual abuse so I’m very conscious of wanting to protect my children. There are lots of rules and boundaries that make that fairly easy. The trouble I have is that many of those rules make sex seem shameful and secretive, I want for people to be more open and honest and that means with their children as well, in a manner that is appropriate. It is this appropriateness that I am struggling to define.

It comes down to this: Ned and Maggie, and in fact all of our children, get to be the very sexual beings that they are. I will not interfere. I will even support their decisions on gender, orientation, kinky inclinations or vanilla leanings, relationships, and expression of sexuality – as long as they are happy and healthy. While there is a huge difference between adult and underage children, I trust them all to make choices that are good for them. I don’t want to ever inflict my sexuality or judgment on them. I assume that means making sure that I’m not giving them too much information about my sexuality as well. Even the adult children may not want to know what we’re up to in any detail.

The beautiful Miss Maggie MayhemI’m going to have to keep questioning my assumptions. If I am really serious about changing the world, I need to catch myself in these ingrained social mores.  Anything worth changing the world for is good enough for my children.

Thank you Ned and thank you Maggie for a lovely time, gracious hosting, sweet pets, being incredible people, and the space for me to figure this stuff out. It’s been fun!

Apr 232011
 

Evoë in bedI’m in pervy heaven. Harold and I are in the San Francisco Bay area, having a great time visiting with his sons. We’re staying with Ned and Maggie who are both kinky sex-positive activists and performers. It’s awesome! I’ve never stayed in a guest room decorated in floggers and condoms before. And the conversations rocks! It’s a great vacation, but it’s also giving me lots to think about.

When we arrived last night, we took the BART from the airport into town. It took around 45 minutes, which gave me lots of time to gaze at Harold lovingly, then blush and look away when he met my eyes. I don’t know what’s gotten into me! It’s like we’re 15 and newly in love. He actually bent down and kissed the back of my hand. I’m twitter-pated.

We had dinner at the most amazing Ethiopian restaurant in Oakland. I love that you use the spongy flat bread (called injera) to scoop up your food. It tasted so good. And it’s so much fun! We also drank Guest room wallsenough honey wine to be tipsy. It’s a lovely place to be. We sat and talked until after midnight. I am rarely up past midnight, but that didn’t stop Harold and me from making love after we went to bed. The lure of his skin rubbing against mine was too great. I couldn’t resist. Plus I shaved my legs and that felt fabulous across flannel. I’m a sensualist.

I don’t know what my excuse is for waking up horny this morning. I was awake at 6:30 and couldn’t fall back asleep. And there are all of these sex toys on the wall. I was jittery and needed calming. All these reasons are true, but mostly I am relishing this time to be close to Harold without all the needs of everyday life interfering. I’m hungry for that intense intimacy. I adore that we can fuck without thought.

Hip dykeIt’s not all fucking though. Today I am sporting a new look that Maggie tells me is “hip dyke.” Cool. I feel totally different. I hold myself differently, move differently, and present myself to other people differently. Harold and I walked to the farmer’s market, where hip gay boys courted me – a kind of non-sexual come-on or recognition of kindred souls. I like this. Of course, if I’m a hip dyke, Harold comes off as an old fag. Queers on vacation!

Then we were off to a brunch with some of Ned and Maggie’s friends. It’s great to meet like-minded people, but maybe a little awkward to be cautiously treated like the cool, but sexually unaware parents. No, it wasn’t that bad, especially when I mentioned what I do for a living. It ended up being fun.

Now I’m taking some down time, resting up for whatever the city has in store for me this evening. I have a feeling it’s something big.

Apr 222011
 

Blog post on a barf bagI’m in the air over Oregon and feeling lost. This week has been rough as far as dealing with memories of childhood sex abuse. I feel raw. I just plain hurt. I’m breaking apart. If ever I needed to be topped and taken, it’s now.

That might seem like an odd urge, to cope with abuse with pain and submission, so let me walk it through. The emotional pain I feel right now is stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat. I need someone I trust to gather me up and let me break. Hurt me so I can let it all out – scream, cry, hate, love…

It’s complicated. I need someone else to take charge so I can let it go. I need sensation so I can remember how to feel. But I can’t just be broken down. I must be put back together, better than before. I want approval – be a good little sex slave, please my master. It’s important.

A part of me is appalled at how I long to give myself over. I’m afraid I’m selling myself out. I’m struggling to free myself of abuse. Why look for more? I’m not talking about abuse though. I want a loving exchange, a sacrifice of my pain. I need to be cleansed, by fire and sword, sweat and tears. I hurt, but I can’t cry. Make me cry out.

I want a beating. Blood, bruises, welts, and scratches will free me. Then love me Fold me in your arms. Rock me while the tears flow. Take my sacrifice of pain. In it’s wake I will feel clean and new. Whole again.

Apr 212011
 

Chained cock, tied balls

A spring day in the Pacific NW is all it takes to have us doing some kinky play outdoors. It’s too cold to stay out for long, but we got a couple of great pictures. The restraints were a gift and we’re still trying to figure out how to best use them. I think Harold looks fetching in them. We’re doing some cock and ball torture plus a little light ass paddling. I’m into chain right now. It looks fucking awesome and my wrists are still bruised from last week’s photo shoot. I want to do more. Additionally, I’d love to put an actual hook through the end of Harold’s cock. I’ll have to settle for biting his balls! I love him so much!!!

Evoë with the paddle

Biting his balls

Apr 202011
 

Evoë giving headThe feel of a cock sliding in and out of my mouth is something I crave. Blow jobs are a great pleasure for me. I spent the afternoon bringing Harold to the brink of orgasm over and over using my mouth. My whole body gets involved in a good round of fellatio. My hands stroke, grasp, squeeze, and tease. I sometimes stop long enough to rub his cock against my ass, cunt, and breasts. My teeth might scrape along the shaft of his dick. I have been known to bite, especially my jaws applying pressure to his balls.

But it’s not all rough or wild. I love simply sucking a cock into my mouth as far as it will go. I pause there for a moment, then slowly pull away, pressing the cock to the roof of my mouth with my tongue. I like to flick my tongue across the most sensitive area before I plunge back down again. I can take it slow, cherishing the sensations and intense connection, or I can pump up and down with a passion, fucking his cock with my mouth. I like to alternate so he doesn’t come too quickly.

Blow job queenThere’s so much that I enjoy about oral sex. It turns me on. I get all wet. My mouth gets wetter, as though I am salivating – or maybe my mouth is turned on. I like burying my nose in his crotch like a good little animal. I like the way it tastes, but I hardly ever swallow semen because I end up so turned on that I just want to be fucked hard. Today was fabulous because after Harold fucked me, he went down on me, even with all of his jism leaking out of me! No matter how many times we do that, it feels deliciously dirty.

Blow jobs make me feel powerful. I like calling the shots and controlling orgasm. I suppose that I’m good at it because my boys seem to really enjoy it, but that’s not the important part. What matters is my passion, that I love to give (and take) in this most fabulous of ways. I love it! So you can be the prom queen or a drag queen – I wanna be your blow job queen.