To Have Without Holding
Marge Piercy

Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.

It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.

It hurts to thwart the reflexes
of grab, of clutch; to love and let
go again and again. It pesters to remember
the lover who is not in the bed,
to hold back what is owed to the work
that gutters like a candle in a cave
without air, to love consciously,
conscientiously, concretely, constructively.

I can't do it, you say it's killing
me, but you thrive, you glow
on the street like a neon raspberry,
You float and sail, a helium balloon
bright bachelor's button blue and bobbing
on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
as we make and unmake in passionate
diastole and systole the rhythm
of our unbound bonding, to have
and not to hold, to love
with minimized malice, hunger
and anger moment by moment balanced.

***************************

I love this poem. It completely captures my experience of open relationships, why I love them and why I struggle with them, and how I don't think I could have it any other way. I do thrive. I do glow. Coming home to my girlfriend, who fed me, drew me a bath and washed my back and hair, and later snuggling down with my boyfriend... and then seeing TB tomorrow? I feel so loved, surrounded by love, like a giant feather comforter that warms my soul and my heart. I am truly blessed.

This poem reminds me that loving like this, letting my heart guide me, can get me hurt. It can go badly. But even then, I'd rather love fully and without fear than to hide it all away, to never give of myself. "To love and let go, again and again"- this is the lesson for me, how to give it my all and not be attached to the result. This is linked to yesterday's blog wherein I quote Gosford Park about love. Even when it hurts, it's beautiful.

Bedtime for me now, for sure- I need to catch up on many nights of 4-6 hours of sleep!

"In the spirit of community and BDSM as a lifestyle, Acworth wants to transform the armory's top floor into a series of Victorian/Georgian-inspired rooms where couples will live and fuck on camera 24-7. Participants will be given hierarchical positions — from maid to master of the house — and live according to the rules of domination and submission. Acworth's already started designing the grand dining room, inspired by the sets in Remains of the Day, including candelabras, elaborate draperies, and, of course, a long, long table. "I consider it the pinnacle of where everything comes together," he says." -from the Guardian's article about Kink.com

It's like my prayers have been answered.

I masturbate in the near-dark. This is partially because it helps me to focus on the task, dare I say it, at hand, but also because when I masturbate I am flooded with shame.

I'm not the sort of girl who was brought up in a culture of shame. I was brought up to explore my kinks freely, and to figure out if and how I could play with them consensually and safely. I'm out as everything- kinky, poly, trysexual, a sex worker- but this part of myself, this shadow self... that I keep hidden. Even as I write this blog I worry about what my readers would think of me if you knew what I wank off to, what actually gets me to shudder and my pussy to flood with cum.

It's nothing as simple as rape fantasies for me, kids. I mean, I like them, don't get me wrong, but they're no longer... enough. I hesitate to say that, as I don't believe you have a need to go further and darker when you play with these things in general. I don't believe rape fantasies are a gateway drug to other noncon... but, for me, it does take something pretty taboo, something that makes me flush in the face as my cunt gushes.

I'm so far into the kink thing, I sometimes get off on impregnation smut. Between heterosexuals. I feel like I have a problem, and then I wonder about the sort of girl I am that having vanilla, missionary position sex seems like the ultimate taboo...

I read a lot of the stories from the Kristen Archives. When I read these stories, I get wet. I've tried wanking to more intellectual smut, like stuff compiled by Alison Tyler or Carol Queen, but what I really get off on is those cheap books with weird cartoony covers in the smut shop, the ones with terrible grammar and spelling and where the pages fall out if you read them one handed. I get off on de Sade, who isn't known for his... erm... smart sexy reading. I read stuff that is illegal for me to own if it was on video, for various reasons. Which is why, when the orgasm has come and gone, and I'm lying on the bed spent, I delete the web history, I hide the books again, and then I relax.

I don't know if I could look someone in the face if they knew what I do in private.

"What gift do you think a good servant has that separates them from the others? It's the gift of anticipation. And I'm a good servant. I'm better than good. I'm the best. I'm the perfect servant. I know when they'll be hungry and the food is ready. I know when they'll be tired and the bed is turned down. I know it before they know it themselves." -Gosford Park

I harbor, among my darker secrets, a desire for a ladies valet. Not a maid, really- I see this person in a suit, helping me with my jewelry, organizing my travel plans, assisting with my packing, perhaps assigning jobs to a maid or a cook. Like a personal assistant, but also more intimate. One day I hope to have this person in my household- it's a type of D/s I find very fulfilling and desirable, unlike the 24/7 lifestyle. There's something calm and controlled about service. There's something so beautiful to me when I see a perfectly presented submissive, back arched, hands outstretched. There's incredible energy with service too, and a way for the Dominant to feel taken care of, which has been important to me as someone into some edgy shit. I love the aesthetics- human candelabras and tables, straight backed maids serving tea prettily and daintily, graceful men taking your coat and hat and whisking them away. I love having a bath run for me, or my feet massaged by firm hands. The dynamic just... works for me, in a way that's kind of vanilla and kind of not.

"There's a scene in the movie Exit to Eden where a submissive boy gives Rosie O'Donnell a come-spank-me look and breathes, "Mistress, let me fulfill your fantasy." She snaps back, "Go paint my house." If Rosie had been talking to Renee and Chris, she'd have been getting a new coat of latex before you could say "Benjamin Moore." On the day of the party, these two were at my house, working in the yard, several hours before I got out of bed. After that, they cleaned the house and began the food prep. Once the party started, they answered the door, hung up coats, fetched drinks, and carried hot hors d'oeuvres around on silver trays. When the party ended, they cleaned up glasses, trash, and leftover food. And then they told us they had a great time, and went home. A few days later, Max and I even got a thank-you card from Chris.

Service submissives like this are so refreshing. A lot of people want my attention, and I'm not going to say I don't enjoy that. Having the ability to create other people's fantasies feels good. But doing so takes a lot of energy, and sometimes I feel drained. Renee and Chris conceived and delivered a fantasy for me. I didn't have to do a thing--other than relax, enjoy the service, and take pleasure in knowing that they enjoyed giving it. What a sweetly kinky gift from heaven." -from Control Tower by Mistress Matisse

This is it, exactly. Except I do feel the desire and need to do something in return when I have a service submissive- I know that for them, the scene is enough, but for me want to give them something extra, as a thank you for being so incredible. Sometimes this is a caning, or assignments to help them consider what they need submissively, or petting and physical affection. Otherwise I feel almost like it's cheating in some way. I love to be pampered, totally, but I also worry all the time that I'm taking advantage.

I gained a lot of self-knowledge and self-love through my role as a service submissive. The woman I played with was excellent and understanding as I struggled to find my way through my desires, which were like a minefield of insecurity and uncertainty. I experienced how amazing and meditative it was to serve someone who was calm, controlled, and knew what to ask for. At the time I suspected it was the sort of situation I craved as a submissive- now, I realize it was something I craved to have myself. There's a nigglyness to service that I can appreciate- having everything just so, like in serving tea or setting a table. One day I hope to be lucky enough to inspire a submissive the way she inspired me, to give someone else the comfort and organization of a service position.

Watching Gosford Park really reacquainted me with my desire for such a household. There's something about how it bustles along! One of my favourite Pat Califia stories in "Macho Sluts" also talks about a woman who has a personal assistant and a chauffeur and it's just so, so hot. Sigh! A valet. That's what I want, my own personal queer kinky Jeeves.

On a completely unrelated note (and because watching Gosford Park inspired this whole blog) I want to make a note of this quote-

"I believe in love. Not just getting it, but giving it. I think that if you're able to love someone, even if they don't know it, even if they can't love you back, then it's worth it."

I wanted to make a note of this because this is my attitude. It is worth it. I always err on the side of love and loss. And it hurts- sometimes it rips me apart- but it's worth it because it's beautiful and fierce. I wouldn't want to do it differently.

I'm doing as well this trip as I did last time, but I think I've realized a few things about tours to cities- Saturday is not a day to get any work if you're in a traditional city without a bunch of traveling businessmen. Sunday is up for debate. Friday was fairly busy but Saturday was filled with cancellations, much to my disappointment. A day that seemed like it'd shape up for 4 sessions whittled down to basically 1 1/2. I've broken even for the trip, at least, and a little bit more, but not enough to make me eager to return, to be honest.

I'm going to go out for breakfast tomorrow with the Scotsboy, give myself a chance to see the sights I hope. Albeit, probably very briefly. I really need to have 2-3 sessions tomorrow to make up for today. I mean, it's an unofficial goal, to be sure, but if I don't make double the cost it's just not worth all the hassle. I like to travel, and I like on some level having time to myself... but I miss my lovers, and I really hate all the last minute cancellations I've gotten here. I hate waiting all day for a client who then doesn't do me the decency of showing up.

I didn't know how it would make me feel, wrapping his body in cling film.

When I had seen photos on the internet I thought it looked messy, maybe a bit silly- I secretly harbored fantasies about writing on their bodies in sharpies, marking off cuts of meat, but didn't think it'd be something I would be that into in real life. It was quick and easy, but aesthetically I figured it'd not do much for me. I had tried bondage tape, sure, but not cling film.

But when he was there, in front of me, naked and squirming ever so slightly, his flesh pressing against the transparent film... I felt my Beast come out. I wanted to tear into him, tear the plastic from him with my teeth. I saw him as prey, as food, as mine... and I wanted to devour him.

I rubbed my body over his, reveling in the stickiness of it, the way it tightened as he breathed. The way it clung to his nipples, so tightly, made them look like little pink candies, little droplets I wanted to roll between my teeth. I wanted to mark him, to piss on him, to rub my musk on him so others would know that I had claimed him. I loved the way his cock strained against the cling film, begging for attention but flat and out of the way if I wanted to ignore it. I loved how it made it harder for him to breathe. I wanted him under my power, controlled, taken. I wanted to smear my juices all over him and then slide a cold knife under the layers and rip them to shreds so I could get at his skin again.

When he's wrapped like this I have to remind my Beast that he's not a masochist, because part of me wants to pierce and bruise him. I like to think he enjoys the edge in our play, the fear and excitement from the gleam I get in my eyes when he's helpless. I like to think he's not truly scared of me, or just scared enough for it to be sexy. But when my Beast is in my veins, I want him to be terrified. I want to smell his fear and helplessness. I want him, on some level, to wish to run and not be able to.

And when he's unwrapped, and we're snuggling under the blanket, I want him to tell me I'm not a bad person for wanting to break him.

And he does.

I really enjoy being here in Edinburgh. I'm not sure what, specifically, it is, if it's anything specific at all. There are aspects I enjoy greatly- the feeling of being a traveling businesswoman, for a start, especially if I think of it as a jet-setting sex worker! I know it's just within the UK, but still- there's something about the freshness of having a flat to yourself, with a room for play/business and a room with a HUGE bed to sleep and roll around on. While I couldn't afford it every day, there's something luxurious about having all this space to myself for a few days. And luxury of any kind is, to me, sexy.

I'm a pretty hedonistic girl, all things considered. I'll happily shell out money for fancy manicures or hot rock massages, though I also melt under the touch of a naked lover massaging me (and there's that added advantage of being able to fuck them after, which is always a pleasure in itself). I like fancy cars, and first class, and restaurants with more serving utensils than items of food on a plate. I think it's partially why I enjoy fetish so much- all the little fiddly bits, all the little snippets of luxury in the sensuality of soft leather or a singletail made of fur. I like having enough playthings to have favourites, like my metal cane or my pink ball gag.

I'm sitting in my robe, waiting for some sausages to cook to eat with an apple and some wine. I'm watching "se7en" at the moment, having watched "Pi" last night (though I don't think I absorbed enough of it, so I'm going to watch it again). I'm grateful to my thingboy (TB, for want of a better term- I'm crap at cutesy nicknames) for letting me borrow a few movies I hadn't seen yet- all I have are old favourites, really, ones I'm a little too familiar with. And that's a luxury too, new films and thoughts and images to wallow in and absorb.

Along with those new images are new ideas, thanks to a night out at a fetish club out here and also to an old friend/lover who introduced me long distance to some people. I got to practice some fast and easy rope bondage techniques, so I'll be a little more comfy beginning to play with it. That's very exciting, as rope has always been very pretty to me but very out of reach, and I've always felt too impatient for it- the girlfriend wriggles too much and TB wants total immobilization, really, which worries me with something like rope that presses against nerves and such. But now with some accessible knowledge I think I could try it again...

It's also very chilled out here. I went to a play party, right, yet I don't feel overwhelmed and stressed because it was in the basement of a pub, not some huge space. And people were friendly, super friendly. It felt like a place I could practice and not be scared of someone judging me. I liked that.

So far I've had two clients, and they were both pretty cool in their own ways. I'm hoping this weekend fills up with work- if I have two clients a day or so, I'll be very pleased. I want to spend some of Sunday exploring though, as last time I didn't get to do much of that at all, or taking photos. And while I was doing the sessions, I was thinking "do I really like this work?" and I realized... yes, yes I do. I see what I do as providing a service.

I got to introduce a guy to anal play and thuddy pain for the first time, and he loved it. That's what it's all about. God knows my Top side is still reeling with ideas and plots for TB, and my upcoming performance with my girlfriend, and those are sacred and special (I even refused to do some play with a client because I liked doing it with TB too much to cheapen the thrill), but at the same time I have a lot to offer my clients. And it was precisely because of my work that I crossed paths with TB at all, and I'm grateful for that for sure!

I miss my lovers, actually. I miss snuggles. And I miss orgasms, orgasms that are about *me*, one after another, and the desire to flood them with orgasms back. But I think forward to the new adventures, like Paris Decompression or exploring London further, or Santacon, or...or...or! And I get excited all over again. I'm in love, with my lovers, with Edinburgh, with the world, with life. It's been a good day. And the wine is kicking in.

You definitely have some gothicness going on, but you're far from being a stereotypical goth. You enjoy certain elements of goth culture, but you're not going to be into something simply because it's goth. It's likely that you're the type of person who totally defies labels. Good for you! If you are into something, it's because you sincerely love it. Not because it projects a certain image.

So, only 52% anymore. I doubt I'll ever go below that- Goth will always be at least a little special to me.
It was the first place I felt like I belonged, back when I was 15 or so. I had generally played with the aesthetic, and I had always loved men who played with gender- early Marilyn Manson had lovely fashion, just didn't go for his music. Or whiteface- that interest came later. ::laughs::
I sort of came into Goth through two routes- music, via my parents, and in a quest for clothes that fit. I tried being preppy, but GAP and Old Navy didn't make clothes that fit (I remember begging my parents for those adidas pants that button down the sides... yeah, can you imagine it?)
Goth clothes were interesting and fit, and I began to play with fabrics and creativity in my clothes. I got a bit into fetish clothes, but always things that covered my whole body- dresses to my ankles, pants that covered me. Baggy pants. Tee shirts.
I played with graver stuff as well, as you can see from this photo. I'm 18, very uncomfortable with my body, in an apartment that would lead me to feel more and more isolated. But I was beginning to realize how much kink meant to me- being Goth had put me in contact with a lot of geeks and a lot of fetishy people, contacts and context that is now far closer to me than Goth. In this photo, even, I'm wearing a Death shirt from the Sandman series. :)
I really embraced being Goth. I worked at melancholy the way other people work at crafts- sometimes I think I went into crazy relationships just so I had something to write melodramatic poetry about. There's a painting behind me of a tree, all crimson and grey, with a skull in the tree and a bloody looking sky. Goth enough for you? I even had a fish named Angst.
It took a long time for me to become comfortable with my body, and even longer to be comfortable with what got me hot. Even now it sometimes scares me, what I masturbate to, what makes me pussy swell. Goth gave me some sort of community, people who weren't scared and were fascinated by the things that squicked others- blood, fear, knives, pain, blasphemy. And I liked the juxtaposition of the sharps and the blood with the velvet and lace.
Eventually though I was no longer depressed or interested in wearing black every day for every occasion. I began to wear denims, brown, golds, instead of black, red, and silver. What is a girl who loves fashion and corsets and combining things that don't necessarily go to do?
Enter steampunk-

Your result for The Steampunk Style Test...

The Aristocrat

57% Elegant, 45% Technological, 40% Historical, 48% Adventurous and 23% Playful!

With steampunk I've been able to straddle the line between past and future in a way that's fun and intriguing. I've found myself inspired all over again. Sadly I don't have enough space to build up a wardrobe to support my habit! Instead I think I'm pressuring the switchboy to fulfill my fantasies by dressing up like a steampunk dandy. It looks good though. And while a lot of people dress Goth at a fetish club, dressing all steampunk-y is more rare and much more interesting. In a room of black, browns and blues will stand out for sure.
Thinking about this and browsing the clothing sites has led me back to my desire to have a valet, all dressed impeccably to help me dress and plan my day.
I wish I was staying here more than ever.

Wow. All I can say, really, is wow. 

My partner sent me an article about a grad student auctioning off her virginity.

I'm frustrated at how many people feel that because she's made this choice, she should get HIV, or die, or become pregnant, or feel terrible about herself. Like it's ok to wish horrible things on whores, because they're less than women.

I would say more, but I don't know if I have the energy. I need to get ready for tonight.

I commented on the blog, you can see what I said there if you're curious.