Exploding out of the closet- exploring my life, 17-19

I was reading Calico's older blog about coming out into the scene, and figuring out who you are, and what you're into, along with thinking about if kink is a sexual orientation or not. I get asked that a lot at work.

I knew I was kinky pretty much all along. I tied my hands behind my back when I slept with my blanky cause it made me feel safe. When I masturbated, I didn't really start to get off until I started gagging myself (with that same blanky) or using some sort of clamps on my nipples, or my labia. I liked pain- sharp, intense pain, when I was about to cum, and no other time, mind- without it I really could not orgasm. And believe me, I tried!

I thought maybe that quirk was just because it was me on my own, and with someone else I wouldn't need it... but it was only a matter of months til I asked my first lover to spank me, something he couldn't do without laughing, which really hurt me emotionally. He and I used biting, instead, as a way for me to get off, and to this day it's one of my favourite things. With other lovers, I made sure the kink aspect was there- my girlfriend during this time switched with me (and is now in a Master/slave relationship, and has been for a looooong time), and it was something I definitely kept as part of whatever dynamic I was in.

However, even though I was carving out that niche for myself, I flipped back and forth between thinking that my being kinky was ok, and feeling really scared about it, wondering if it was merely a way for me to force someone else into harming me instead of me cutting. I know I used to talk excitingly about kink and poly to my parents, who were polite enough to me about it but were pretty concerned, both for me and my impulsiveness, but also how that affected the people I was dating at the time. I think I expected them to take my being kinky and poly with the same grace as being bisexual... but I didn't really explain what that all meant until much, much later. My parents, to be fair, were more concerned with the fact I was meeting strangers from the internet, not what I was meeting them for- something not very common at the time. I was, again, lucky that my experiences meeting people from the internet were really, really good. I think I implemented more care in how I conducted these things than I told them... I suspect that I needed them to worry about me to feel sure they cared (we had a fucked up relationship til pretty recently).

I didn't think that there was something wrong with kink- more that there was something wrong with *me*, and the kink was a way of processing that. My gay friends at the time really looked down on that aspect of me, and I learned to keep quiet about it. I definitely did engage in dangerous behaviours- my poor decision to have a play date without a safecall was one, and one that was traumatic, and not repeated. I really got in touch with consequences, and the fact that not everyone in this scene was in it for healthy reasons.

I also tried hooking a couple of times when I was 18. I met people online and did it that way. It was stupid, impulsive, and dangerous- I was very lucky I had decent guys and no problems with the cops. That's what I was worried about, more often than not- the police. I figured if a john freaked out I would beat the hell out of him, but that the police were more of a concern. You know? I still feel that way.

All that said, it was coming out to the scene in Boston and volunteering at events that led me into a kink situation that was safe and that let me grow a great deal. I had done some kink stuff online, here and there- from 17-19 I had a Dom/sub relationship with a Scot that was pretty good for me overall (he really did stop me from cutting)- but not very much in person. And actually, there was a part of me that was nervous I was just doing it for attention, as I had done other things prior. I wondered if I would ever settle down, if I would ever find something that would stop my restlessness.

I did, in service submission. I was incredibly lucky, at 19, to meet a poly household that welcomed me in as an occasional serve submissive, and I watched and learned. I had always struggled with meditation, visualization, etc, because I struggled to stay still for any length of time. But within service, I found peace. And in this household, I realized that you could be kinky, and poly, and queer, and it didn't *have* to be dramatic or difficult.

Still waiting for that to work out, though. But hey... I know I do it to myself. I still, now, after 6 years, struggle to slow down.

Anyway. Sidetracked.

It's interesting, looking over my old blogs, from 2003, when I was 19. I was just taking a few tentative steps as a Domme, and it was a struggle, let me tell you- I had never been too into pain, other than that particular sharp kind, so causing someone else that pain seemed... weird. But I loved this guy- very, very intensely. Obsessively, I later realized, and codependently- but it didn't seem like that at the time.

They don't tell you that polyamory means you can be codependent on multiple people! At once! Yay!

Still, I was struggling then as a Domme with some of the same things I struggle with now:

"the reason i felt so comfortable Topping (my pothead, California poet-submissive) was because he constantly gave me feedback about me being in charge... he certainly wasn't a well-behaved boy all the time either, but he would constantly validate my position.
i understand what it was (this other guy, my geeky, kinky friend) was trying to do, by pulling my hair in the club and trying to get me to fight him... but it really upset me. here i am just starting out as a Top, not really sure, anxious... and then he humiliates me in front of people we both know. it didn't get him what he wanted... i just let him do it."

Now, at the time, I thought what I was struggling with was feeling like the Domme. Now, with some confidence under my sleeve, I realize that I'm just not the sort who wants to fight and wrestle a submissive into that state most of the time. I want them to know themselves. I want them to admit what they want and take it. Sort of like my issue with "forced" bi or "forced" femininity- if you want to suck cock, or dress like a woman, just go for it! I'm happy to help, but I'm not going to make you, and thus free you of the responsibility of asking for what you want. It's one of the things that made me disinclined to ply with H, actually- I bear scars from our play, and I'm not into taming a wild beast. I guess the way to put it- I prefer discipline to punishment. Proactive Domming instead of reactive. At the time, I thought that withdrawal and frustration was me sucking at being a Mistress. Now, I just know that's not what floats my boat.

Anyway. How does this link to Calico's blog?

I guess I wanted to re explore my coming out, around 18 years old. Where I was at. Where my head was at. It's interesting to me what was the same, and what was different. I, as an 18 year old, did not look at my body and think beautiful, but rather fat and ugly... and the Scot was truly one of the people who helped me turn that viewpoint around, as did my poly household and the pothead poet. I still thought all these people were exceptions... and actually, I would say I was still stunned that people thought I was sexy until I moved to the UK and started doing sex work. It's really only been recently that I've looked in the mirror and been pretty pleased with myself and my appearance.

The part of Calico's blog that inspired me to relook this part of my past was this, which was her closing statement:

"You learn to turn the childhood ban on “no” around. You love your “no” utterly, foolishly, rather like your parents must have loved that child. And that gives you back your “yes,” the option of asking for things for yourself.

“If you’re _____ you’ll know.” Fill in the the blank: gay, straight, submissive, dominant, even in love. But it’s not a matter of always knowing your place, and selfishly wanting to annex someone else’s territory. You’ve never known your place, if you have even one.

Now that you can ask, what do you ask, anyway? At what point are you grown up enough to know?"

Are you ever? I still don't know. I change, I shift, I grow into things I never would have imagined or dreamed possible.

But upwards. Always upwards.


Ok. Roll Call!

You laugh, but I feel, sometimes, like I need to update this as much for my own benefit as to explain these nicknames to you all. As per usual- Victorian ailments take preference.

Here we go then...

The Usual Suspects:

Mononucleosis, or "Mo"- my California-livin' statistically significant other and boyfriend
Syphilis, or "Syph"- probably my closest friend in London- my sensible friend, more often than not
Tuberculosis, or "TB"- was, originally, taken by Sh, but now used to refer to my young dandy-in-training

Shingles, or "Sh"- my client-cum-lover-turned-ex... tentively attempting friendship
Gout, or "G"- a theatrical Dom play partner I met in London- gives me hope I could submit to someone again
Influenza, or "Flu"- a friend of mine who shares my love of sugar in all forms

People I don't mention often:

Cholera, or "C"- my Canadian ex girlfriend, who I'm still in contact with (and miss dreadfully)

Hysteria, or "H"- the girl I was playing with, a bottom- we broke up a few weeks before I left London

E.Coli, or "E"- my fiance in London who hates me blogging about him ;)

I'll be doing a post tonight that covers a lot of ground around people I doubt I'll blog about again, so I'll just use letters... but, this is the list, to help you keep up.


macho macho man

The question “what is feminism” was brought up on one of the forums I’m on, a kinky one, and it led me to think a lot about my position on feminism, but more my thoughts on men and masculine identity, something I rarely think about as a femme.
I would say I identify as a feminist. How can I not, being a woman who would prefer to live her life without worrying that her sex or gender will cause her to be at risk for harm? Knowing that my sexuality and desirability is both what often determines my worth and also my level of safety? Taking into account that within my preferred feminism multiple genders are acknowledged, not just the gender binary, and that we also acknowledge the cruel joke patriarchy has played on men, I would say yes, I am a feminist.
“If women are trapped by the whore/Madonna complex, men are equally trapped by the warrior/minstrel complex.”
I suspect the above is why I identify with and enjoy the energy of dandies. Men who are pretty to look at, bitingly intelligent and often overconfident have just enough fight to them to be interesting, but also are in touch with the arts of seduction that, as a woman, I want to be swept up in. It’s a difficult dichotomy to get right, the warrior/minstrel- I know for myself I like a man that makes me feel protected in my vulnerability, but also allows me to feel independent, a man who will both make me feel sexually desirable and yet not make sex into a big deal. Is there, actually, a balance to be struck that gets it right? I actually doubt it. I suppose that’s why I go with minstrels with a bit of warrior in them, just as they are attracted to the whore with the Madonna’s heart in me, a weird mix of opposing traits.
“I guess maybe that’s one of the secrets of manhood that no man tells if he can help it. Every man’s armor is borrowed and ten sizes too big, and beneath it, he’s naked and insecure and hoping you won’t see.”
Again, here I realize how I have treated men and punished them for this dichotomy. I have left men because they were clingy, almost too vulnerable and needy… but Ii have also left men because I felt they never let me in, they were too shielded. Is there a middle ground that is appropriate, acceptable, even desirable? That would take some reflection.
I know that in the past couple of months I have been reflecting a lot on male behavior and gendering as it pertains to emotions and communication. Most of the men I’ve known don’t talk about their feelings much, especially not with other men, and view such intimacies as a weakness. I know that I have generally felt panicked and concerned because of this- part of me wants to believe that men are reticent about their emotional states, only uncovering what they think you need to know, and therefore they’ll tell you if there’s an issue, and if they don’t, there’s no problem. But part of me knows better. A lot of men WANT to be that way, for sure, but end up stifling a lot of their thoughts because they don’t think they can share unless they’ve already got the answer. They don’t tend to emotionally process the way women do.
In a lot of ways, I feel sorry for men, and this sort of masculinity. I know how hard it is to pretend something doesn’t hurt when it does, or to blow something off that’s important to me. I can’t imagine doing that every day, and I think it’s no real surprise that TB and Sh, two men who did let me have a glimpse into their rawness, gave me such a feeling of connection and love. While I don’t doubt that Syph or G care for me in some way, those walls are still definitely constructed, and why not? They’re there for safety and protection, only to be breached by those they trust, and we’re not there yet, I don’t know them well enough.
Men who have moved beyond that barrier system tend to be unable to accept their need for emotional validation but just don’t have the walls up to prevent someone like me breaching them anyway. Sh, for example, certainly struggled with wanting that protection, needing that shield to feel normal, but yet desperate to be without it on some level. He wanted to be understood and vulnerable but not raw or exposed… like healing skin, under a band aid, sometimes you have to expose it to the elements in order for it to heal properly. It’s a hard balance to figure out generally, never mind if you add the layer of being a man. I know G drives me crazy with his being busy and radio silence in these weeks I’ve been away, and how hard it is to get in touch with him, but when I put it into the context of male gendered behavior it begins to make some sort of sense- it has taken til now to realize how little he’s told me about himself, really.
Furthermore, this isn’t a British trait, though I think Brits are more gender neutral when it comes to the expectation to hide or disguise your emotional state. I’ve known several men over here in California who struggle to express themselves and their emotional health, though I will add, generally in the geek community. And everywhere I’ve had clients who I think struggle in that way… but they come to me as a refuge, as a place they can be emotional and honest and not worry about judgment. I think this is one huge reason I see my work as so important- I think we need to stop teaching men that emotions are weakness and start teaching them that being true to themselves and their process is a strength.
(quotes from "Self Made Man" by Norah Vincent, which I thought was an interesting story of her exploration of masculinity, but certainly not the be-all end-all of gender theory.)

fine and dandy

I am a sucker, a true sucker, for snazzily dressed men with vintage taste. And I'm obviously not the only one noticing this trend. Modern dandies are my favourite- a step up from the mere metrosexual, these are guys who have multiple products in their bathroom, sure, but they also wax their moustaches and have that rakish charm and pure nerve that only dandies can really master. They have grace, not just physically but also of character, and can choose to implement it (or not) for maximum effect. They're sort of like male drag kings, in a way, which might also explain why I'm a sucker for that delicious blending of traits. And, may I add, I definitely aspire in my work and demeanor to be a quaintrelle or, very hopefully, a demimonde, possible counterparts to the male dandy. Actually, this has a lot to do with my thoughts on female to femme, and it's within this context that I've begun to blossom.

Dandies were, of course, generally known as the vulgar side of the fashionable set- more often than not, they were poor but struggling to maintain that wealthy exterior, often with friends in the sex industry that understood and relished their filth and helped them replenish their plumage. I love stories about men who had one set of underwear but 7 extravagant coats, because, well, no one was going to be judging them on their underthings day to day, were they?

While the stuck-upedness that often followed these men around isn't so much to my liking, I find that I am irresistibly attracted to this type. They're almost always theatrical in one way or another, and while they have varying levels of confidence, they tend to be in the spotlight, the planet around which their world orbits. Arrogant? Sure, but they look good while doing it, and delicately placed arrogance can be a welcome respite from the apologetic shamefacedness of so many other men. Also, their sense of style! Give me a pretty boy in an ascot or a nice tie over pretty much any other type.

I like what Sebastian Horsley says about dandyism:

"Being a dandy is a condition rather than a profession. It is a defiance against suffering and a celebration of life. It is not fashion; it is not wealth; it is not learning; it is not beauty. It is a shield and a sword and a crown — all pulled out of the dressing up box in the attic of the imagination. Dandyism is a lie which reveals the truth, and the truth is that we are what we pretend to be.

The only way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in a perpetual orgy of absurdity.

When I hear thunder, I take a bow.

When I hear rain, I assume it is applause.

And so like the sun, I shine, having no alternative."

I was reflecting on this, and how to impart this delightful type to men who might be persuaded that way but don't yet have a context, when I came across this video of Christopher Walken of all people.

That's it, perfectly. Just wicked, but lovely. Slightly mad, potentially dangerous, but what a ride he'd take you on. Delicious.

(on a completely different train of thought- the term "fine and dandy" has such an interesting history! The term was apparently originally used in the musical Wizard of Oz in 1903, but then came into the vernacular via the Fine and Dandy Club, something dreamed up by a salesman named Albert Teetsel in the 1920's to encourage a happiness of spirit amongst club members. He said "The psychological effect of the words 'Fine and Dandy' or 'I'm Fine and Dandy, How are You?' is to impress the party spoken to with the enthusiasm and cheerful outlook of the speaker". The beginnings of pronoia..?)


oh, and also

I was just at Cirque X giving out spankings this weekend, partying with the St James Infirmary crew (who gave me a lovely shirt I'm wearing now, that says "Outlaw Poverty, Not Prostitutes"). Their site says "We grossed just over $15,700 with a net of $13,200 in unrestricted funds!! What a huge success this is. Thanks to those of you who donated and if you still want to donate it is not too late! Because we are in jeopardy of losing much of our funding from the upcoming State/City budget cuts, so any help you can give us right now is greatly appreciated." Please, if you can, give- time as well as money.

And with the whole Craigslist issue, I also want to draw people's attention to "I am a sex worker", a psa that made me smile and will make you rethink what your beliefs are.

apathy in the UK (and US)


Where do I start, really?

Should I start with the Craigslist debacle?

Or the fact that the UK just fucking elected not one but two BNP dickwads to seats in the European Parliament?

Nah. I mean, both of those are good issues, and I'll get into them both, but let's start with the fact I've left London and am now back in California. So, to tie this in, I'm leaving an area where I would be pissed off about the BNP and Brits not voting, and am instead in the Land of the Hidden Ho, where people seem to think that prevents girls from advertising on Craigslist will magically lead to a safer situation for them. How, I'm not sure. Pixie dust, I guess.

So neither place is particularly pleasing to me right now, and I've had a headache for almost a week, so I'm cranky anyway. So fine, Internet. Let's do this thing.

First, since it's slightly less close to home but still pisses me off, the BNP. Basically, the racist, homophobic, rape-positive nazis. Oh, wait! Sorry, just got a memo- they're not racist, or sexist, or anything like that! They just support the rights of "Indigenous Caucasians", and think that "Rape is like force-feeding a woman chocolate". Oh, yeah, and "AIDS is “a friendly disease because blacks, drug users and gays have it".

That's all. Friendly sorts. Hell, you can follow them on Twitter. They just want to help out the poor, working class white people who are being pushed aside by those nasty immigrants, stealing their jobs. Sound familiar?

Now, you might ask, especially in a country like Britain, who fought hard against the Nazis and who still bear the scars from their sacrifices, and ESPECIALLY after D-Day, how the fuck the BNP got even one seat in the European Parliment. And here they are with two.

I'm betting you that the same depressing and frustrating thing happened in Britain as happened here, with Bush. Extremists come out to vote, in droves, while those looking for the grey area or the left just shrugged and said "meh, voting doesn't do anything anyway". And thus we shift further, culturally, to the right, often simply because the right can stand together, while the left squabbles over the semantics. Bah.

Then, let's turn attention to Craigslist, who, in a poorly-considered attempt to supposedly make women safer, has decided that Craigslist ispartially (possibly mostly) responsible for the murders of several women who used the site. Never mind that women (and men) have been killed from off the site from multiple areas- casual encounters, for example, or even other services, not just sex work. Nope, sex workers are singled out to be "protected" by forcing these women elsewhere.

Now, I'll tell you a little story. I advertised on Craigslist for a long time, as an erotic masseuse and as a Dominatrix. I advertised on there and met a sugar daddy or two as well. We're talking years, here, people. Never mind the ads for casual play, or for dates, along with various odd jobs. But, for the sake of argument, lets focus on the sex work.

I advertised on Craigslist because it was free, it allowed me to post photos, and it also allowed me to reach a wide audience. Everyone knew of Craigslist as a place to find all sorts of erotic adventures, sex work being one of them. Granted, it was always a challenge- you had to use euphemisms all the time like "hand relief" and "tribute"... I recall "300 roses" being used, for example, to refer to pricing. Not only did you have to worry about being clear enough for your clients, who might think that tribute, say, was optional, but you also had to worry every step of the way that the person you were speaking to was a cop attempting to catch you out. Why didn't I advertise on Eros Guide, or the back of the paper? Well, both of those could increase the risk of getting caught out by the cops, for starters, and also I did this work part time and didn't want to spend $150 a month to advertise (well, ok, $50 if you were "just BDSM", but still).

So who will be affected by this? Students who're trying to make a little money on the side to help pay for school. Single moms. Whores who are one step away from being streetwalkers, who used the web to filter their clients a bit. With having to decide to take the plunge to advertise, which may or may not provide you with work, we have less ability to be picky about the work we do, which ALWAYS puts us in a bad situation. And me, of course. It definitely affects me. I don't work here in the US, because I'm scared to, which means I live on the dole (otherwise, no health care... no other jobs to take anyway), don't pay taxes, and don't put money back into the community. Excellent job, US of A! Thank god you're protecting my safety!

I have a headache. And I want to just shake both the US and the UK and yell "WTF are you THINKING??"

But I'm tired.

And that's exactly the problem.

a rather weighty issue

When I'm with a new client, or a new lover, or if I'm just having a self-concious sort of day, I get a bit nervous stripping down. I make sure my panties are smoothed over my belly in a way that disguises the way it curves to my pubic hair. I am pleased and flattered when I see how hard they are, or how wet, and their enjoyment of my flesh in turn gets me turned on.

It likely doesn't help my insecurity that most of the people I play with are average to slender, and incredibly hot in that they-turn-heads-when-they-walk-down-the-street sort of way. I sleep with arm candy, and it still comes to a surprise to me when they want me, though I of course disguise that with arrogance because there's nothing as trite as the girl who doesn't like her body. Anyway, I wouldn't say I don't like it- I do, we go through a lot together, it and I, and I have few complaints- I think I feel uncertain of it, more, unsure that it's up to par. But the fact that, time and time again, I can flirt hard with someone I like and they flirt back really empowers and invigorates me. That's possibly one of the things I like best about the UK. The dandies and riot grrls I like are within reach in a way they feel unattainable in the States. There, I'm just fat- here, I'm luscious.

I was reading Girl with a One Track Mind, and she said something I really liked:

"And likewise, I hope, one day, to meet someone who wants me just the way I am – a clumsy, awkward, dork – and, who, when he knows I am hungry, will offer, “Sushi or my cock, darling?” and take pleasure from me enjoying either."

I can only point, and nod my agreement. And I have to say, while sex work in the States sometimes was amazing and sometimes made me feel really shit about myself (like the calls I'd get about being a fat cow and how could I expect to work looking like I did... gee, thanks) working here in the UK is really where I've come into my own. I feel sexy in a way I never felt sure of before. I feel comfortable in my skin. And while I still go into the habit of adjusting my panties to hide my belly a bit, I no longer shy away from the mirror. Remind me, again, why this is degrading..?



Sex. When we're taught about sex, in school, we're taught all the medically filthy things it can be, and taught about the heteronormative sexual act of penile-vaginal intercourse as if it's the be-all end-all of sexual expression. And I keep hearing this idea like it's so freakin' important. Like the money shot.

"You don't touch me, you don't let me touch you", he says, and why? Because my hands didn't stray below the belt. Making out, hard, against a wall, my hands on his throat, that is sex for me, that is more intimate and special than fingers in my cunt. But how like a man to expect that because genitals weren't involved it wasn't sex enough (apologies to G and Syph and other men in the world for whom I know this isn't the case, but it seems a common misconception).

And to expect that if you're turned on you MUST have release or it's all pointless. Or that if you're turned on it's MY responsibility to get you off, without you saying or doing anything to ask for what you want. You know what that is? Work. Except without pay.

Guess what? I'm going to blow you all away. One moment.

Anything we do sexually, I will very likely wank about later that day. Whether I have an orgasm or not, then, matters a bit less, or what sort of orgasm, or how intense, because guess what? I have my Hitachi. I don't need you to get me off to enjoy the play we do together.

Wait, let me make sure y'all got that:

****I don't need you to get me off to enjoy the play we do together.****

Granted, with that said, I do want to get off sometimes... but it's not "sex" that will do that for me, really. There's more to sex than sex, I say.

Having a penis or a hand in my cunt isn't overly sexual for me, anymore. Neither is someones tongue against my clit. These things are mundane, boring intimacies offered up at an hourly rate. That's just an act, devoid of sensuality unless the person doing it and I have a chemistry. What makes it a turn on is the little intimacies around it- the hand on my throat, the reddened ass, the squirting, the welts on his skin or the bruises on mine. The things that are special to my lovers, things only for them.

You know what's crazy? Often my clients don't care about ejaculating. And those who do prefer a hand job to anything else. In a way that excites me, because it suggests an understanding that other ways of getting off are just as good, and you don't have to stick things with your genitalia because it's there. Being in the queer scene, too, has taught me from very early that sex is a lot more about intention than it is about squidgy bits.

This rant comes about as I spent last night at this party called Walpurgis Night, done by the Last Tuesday Society. It was amazing, loads of lovely dressed up folks, fantastic music that worked me up and got me going, little projects to do that kept my mind active and perky and just a milieu that was really playful and exciting. I had an amazing time, it was a great night out with E really. It felt like I had arrived. It was the sort of place I always wished I went to growing up, and now I'm there and it feels amazing. Going to a similar feeling event tonight- steampunkishly delicious White Mischief, which I'm very excited about and planned my flight around so I could go!

Anyway, about last night, I just got caught up in the energy and got, well, feisty. It helps that I had recent playtime with G and I still bear the bruises from as-yet-unnamed boy (who I think will have to be the new, improved TB for multiple reasons, so there you go). I also had a lovely goodbye session with my favourite client, which was nice and chill, so when I went out I had a good energy base to feel playful and sexy.

Thing is, while I'm perfectly happy to go out, make out, do a little impromptu breath play and go home to snuggle in that energy, E felt like I was being a tease. I hate feeling like I have to not only put out but initiate that when I just want to fool around. When we were teens, fooling around was good enough for months, even years. What happened to that fascination with sensation and tantalizing yourself? When did that become not enough? In the world of safer sex, I've learned to eroticize a lot of things that don't involve fluid exchange. Is that rare?

It suggests a problem with sexuality in general and people's expectations from it. And actually, one main person I should thank for that different understanding is Syph, since our play was erotic in a different way from that, in a more intriguing way, and in a way I hadn't done before. So thanks for introducing me to that idea again. :)

I don't know. It reminds me of the button I saw- "I'm not a tease- teases make promises they don't keep. I'm a flirt- I make no promises at all!" That pretty much sums it up. I love flirting, and the people I can flirt with safely without pressure for it to be more are the people I end up pouncing for play, because I feel like I can be comfortable. Maybe that's unfair, but hey, I'm still learning the weirdness of boundaries when you play for pay too.


bright side

With the stress and confusion going on in my life, it's important to clarify that some things ARE going well, and that, in spite of the ups and downs, I am genuinely happy, or at least content, most of the time.

I consider myself quite lucky in some, even many respects. When I needed a place to stay before my stint catsitting, help was there for me both from my favourite client and Syph (who took time off an incredibly hectic schedule to help me). That was a huge stressor for me, and having it now relieved is, well, relieving in every sense. I feel like I can take a deep breath again. E was very helpful with getting the majority of my things to Essex at his new pub, where I have a room I can decorate and take refuge in. The as-yet unnamed boy and I got to play DDR and racing games, eat ice cream in Leicester Square and come back to the flat for toe-curling play. I got my overnight scene with G, complete with feline frolicks and some nice bruising (no tears yet, though he promises we'll keep trying... what'm I in for?) Flu has been lovely as well, popping by and keeping me company in the wee hours and keeping me motivated and not desperate. Mo's picking me up from the airport, even, so when I go back I'm delivered straight into the arms of someone I care about.

As for going out, I've been lucky there too. Syph and I went to TG last night, which was absolutely amazing. I've slagged off TG in the past as too stand-and-model S/m, and it is, but when that's why you're going that can be hella rad. And it was last night! So many gorgeous outfits and even more gorgeous people, including this sexy Polish boy that I keep running into, making out with, and never following up with. Which is kind of what makes it fun, really- there's that possibility, but it's drawn out now over maybe a year? and I only see him at parties. I met a lovely bespectacled girl in latex and a hot French boy... even got their details. It may've been the friendliest TG I've been to yet, and I loved it.

I got to check out the place I'm catsitting and it's lovely. The woman I'm doing it for is fantastic, really fun and interesting and I hope to get to know her better upon my return. And the cats! 3 fuzzy darlings that make me happy, as I miss being around kitties.

I'm stressed because I'm leaving, and whenever I leave the UK I don't want to leave regretting I didn't do this or that. I know that Syph and E will be there when I get back, in some capacity... I hope G will be, and as-yet-unnamed boy, but trying to take our interactions at face value and not get too invested, just in case. I keep telling myself that when I get back things will be more solid and I'll be able to take more time. I'm trying not to rush- Syph's made me aware of how quickly the passions in my life flare and fade, and that I need to slow down, something I think I'll find easier when I get back.

Deep breaths, and looking at the bright side. I'm not alone in the world, even though I may feel lonely sometimes. I'm loved, even if I'm not getting the sex I crave recreationally. And I'm cared for. Definitely. And I will sleep, cradled in that knowledge, which is comforting, always.


she's lost control again

Sometimes, I'm afraid people see behind the veneer. The pretty sugarcoating that I liberally paint across my surface, that makes me look so lovely from a distance, in the window, if you don't look too close. I'm a wax fruit, tempting but faked, constructed to make you desire me.

I don't know, always, where the line is between what's truly Kitty, who *I* actually am, and this persona that I maintain. I maintain it, in variations, for my family, my friends, and my lovers, as much as my clients if not more so. I have more to lose when those close to me see beneath the surface. Something a client does may strike a nerve, sure, might shatter the surface, but if they don't like what they see, they just won't book again and that will be that.

But the problem is, I'm terrible at maintaining that put-togetherness. Anyone who knows me knows I'm generally a person-shaped mass of stress, sadness, idealism and uncertainty. I love hard, and fast, and too much, and I cry with as much passion as I kiss, and about as often. My emotions tumble over each other, not altogether random but not controlled, either. I put myself under a lot of pressure to try to maintain adult behaviour, and scold myself soundly when that breaks down. But it always breaks. Part of me is glad, even, that it happens, because then the stress of pretending is over. Exposed as a broken human, I feel less worried about what will happen if I fall apart, which leads to me falling apart less often.

I don't live a normal life. In many ways, I never have. My parents are Pagan, so I wasn't brought up with the potential squeamishness of organized patriarchial religion. I've never had to really come out of a closet with them, because the closet never really felt closed. I didn't really go to high school, and I've only held a 9-5 job for about a month and a half. My friends have been geeks, Goths, genderfuckers and sexual deviants of every type. I didn't go to the standard prom/school dance, I went to the big queer prom at the town hall, and danced dirty with gay boys. My report card almost always said that I was gifted, if only I applied myself.

I'm still working out what my gift is, and how to apply myself to it. I'd like to think that sex work, and the various intimacies and people skills contained within, is just that venue, but sometimes I wonder if I'm meant for something more mundane, and I'm just being spoiled. Maybe I'm crazy in thinking I can make a difference. Maybe I need to buckle down and be just another in the crowd. Could I even do that? I don't know.

It may sound terribly pretentious to say, but I'm envious of those who are mostly content within the day to day. I can appreciate the simplicity, sometimes... a sunny park picnic here, a quiet walk at night after the rain's fallen there. But generally I want whimsy, sparkle, extravegance. I want to dress up and be whirled away to parties in black cabs with stunning escorts. I want to sit in cocktail bars reading forgotten novellas from forgotten times. I want to explore overgrown graveyards and abandoned buildings. I want the wild unknown and the terribly glamourous.