Musings on Kink, Power, and Accoutrements

Today, I went over to RHF's place. And hit his girlfriend, Columbia, with various floggers and paddles - which was excellent practice. She's a lovely bottom - more responsive than the Cloaked Norseman. Then, after my arm was tired, and RHF had cooled her down with judiciously applied ice, I bit her. Hot damn. I am hesitant and very much still finding my way with regard to impact play, when I'm on the giving/topping end. But when it come to biting and hair-pulling, that I can do, confidently and joyfully, given an enthusiastic subject. And Columbia was quite enthusiastic. I learned, in college, that there are several boys who melt into a little puddle when you firmly grasp the hair at the nape of their neck. I learned that these same boys tend to make very pretty noises when you sink your teeth into their shoulders. Oh, I love that. I love the rush, knowing I'm awakening those pretty, pain-filled pleasures in them. I looked at Columbia, nekkid on the cross, and relished the thought of those shoulders, bare to do with what I pleased. I wrapped my hand in her jet hair, and pulled, tight and firm. I bit into the top of her shoulder, above her collarbone, wide and hard. And I felt the protectiveness well up in me, the caring. The profound knowledge that I have responsibility for this creature, that she's trusting me to hurt her, to push her, and to bring her through safely. I stared in wonder at her hair, the curves of her back and ass, open to me. When I top, that's what I want to feel. That wonder, at the gift I'm given. That enthusiasm for giving sensation. The profound satisfaction in the care and safety I provide.
I am, I believe, still primarily a bottom. But it was interesting to find what triggers the top in me, what pushes me to lose myself in action rather than reaction. And to observe how I top, what my goals and feelings about it are. Mm.
After I left Columbia and RHF's place, Apollo and I went to meet Church Goth Boy, hereafter Eldil, and his wife, hereafter Pomona, for dinner and gaming. Pizza, wine, ice cream and Munchkin made for a lovely night...then Eldil took me to his room (not like that you perverse people) to see the flogger he offered to loan to me (he found out, over lunch one day, that I was kinky and eager to learn to perform the skills I enjoy receiving). It's pretty. It's purple, and not too light, not too harsh. Not quite as spongy and thuddy as I'd like - but it'll do very well for a practice flogger.
Then he asked me, "How do you feel about collars?" "Um, well, I've only worn one once, for a very short time, when I was at my friend's house and she was showing me, very informally, all her tools...but they're something I'd like to explore..." Next thing I know, he's pulling a very plain black leather collar out of the closet, and telling me to turn around and lift my hair. As he fastens the collar and locks it, I feel the weight of subspace start to descend. Eldil is not a playmate. Since, to my knowledge, he is not poly, he will never be a playmate. As such, I should probably not let him put a collar on me again, even so informally. The weight descended, and my latent attraction to him rose. He commented on the fact that it fit me perfectly, where it's not quite right for Pomona, and proceeded to remark that I now had something new to wear to the upcoming fetish event.
"Oh...er, I don't want to appear as though I'm actually collared," I said. Really...I don't want to look as though I'm off-limits - that might spoil potential fun! "Well, you could turn the collar around so that the D-ring is out of sight, or you could attach a chain to the D-ring, then attach it to your own wrist, showing that you own yourself." My immediate reaction to this was, "That's what a fluffy sub would do! Someone who just wants to wear the pretties, not walk the walk that goes with them." But I've been thinking. I really like the idea, at this point in my exploration, of the collar, of my collar being first and foremost about my sovereignty over myself. My right to say where and how and to whom I give myself (of course, this is tied, at a higher level, to spirituality, with my first binding and commitment being to Deity - and I give myself in accordance with Her wishes for me). When I put it on myself, I am signaling that I am in control. When I permit someone else to put my collar on me (if I permit it - I have not yet decided), I have given that control willingly into their hands for a fixed time, a scene. I am not ready to commit my collar into the control of any one person, any one lover. Granted, once offered, any lover to whom it is offered will have the option to use it or not, as they see fit...but they are not the sole owners/users of my collar.
I feel, on some level, that I'm misusing the symbol that is the collar by making it about my own control and sovereignty (under Deity, of course). This, though, stems more from my fear of public opinion and what others will think about "that sub who owns herself" or "that sub who carries the key to her own collar" than about any personal objections. Hm. I'd appreciate thoughts on this.
On the note of personal sovereignty, a word about the Magician. In the midst of my kinky exploration, there is RHF and my Lovely Long Distance Friend/Mentor who are very much helping me explore what my submissive side is all about, helping me feel out my boundaries for giving up control, and helping me relish the sensation of surrender. By contrast, the Magician doesn't play power games. They don't interest or amuse him. He is all about sensation, and, more relevantly, about asking for what you want. In that sense, he is all about personal sovereignty and owning your own desires. And while it might be strange that I care so much for such diametrically opposed relationships, I care for them precisely because they are so different. They are causing me to grow in equally important, wonderful ways. RHF and My Mentor push me to learn about endurance, about giving up control, about taking what I'm given, and serving another's pleasure. The Magician pushes me to name my own desire, to search myself and ask boldly for what I want. He pushes me to find my voice, so often silenced in arousal, to give words to the longings in my heart and cunt. I am so very grateful to have this sort of balance in my life, in my exploration.

Where to begin?

Indeed. It has been a full month...full of lessons and orgasms and ponderings and pleasure. Loooots of pleasure. Since last I wrote, I have had several more glorious times with the Magician, spent hours in scintillating conversation with a long distance...friend? Lover? Mentor? Clergy? ...uh, yes, and had long, involved talks with Apollo about time and schedules and why this (poly-non-monogamy thing) is so important to me.

A few of the lessons I have learned:
- Kink is better sober. And not just because of safety issues. I genuinely process pain a lot better when I'm sober. Of course, I don't think the state I'm in after engaging in sexual or kinky activities counts as sober per se...but alcohol is best left out of it. :)
- When I get uncomfortable with a situation, it's often hard for me to sort out what it is about that situation which isn't working. Fortunately, I have someone in my life who's very wonderful about presenting ways for me to get at the heart of situations. :D
- D/s activities will stay within the context of a scene. As much as I'm fascinated by this dynamic and want to explore it, Thou Shalt Not Tell Joy To Come in Public. No one has that privilege with me, to exert their power when it's not clearly defined that I'm giving it to them. What made this instance worse was that I was coming down from a brief scene, so I was already in subspace, in compliance-space. So when the order came, I complied automatically, even as my brain was screaming that "All of these people don't have the privilege of seeing you at this level of vulnerability...no, no, no!"
- One interesting thing about multiple relationships is the conception (in my head) that they should all be moving at the same rate. If I'm comfy giving oral sex to X, I should be comfortable giving it to Y too because I've been involved with them for the same length of time. This really isn't so. But it's been an interesting thought patten to come up against. It also adds to the feeling of wonder and uniqueness to realize that each relationship is distinct. Each has its own rules and boundaries, and just because something works in one relationship does not mean that it will work in all of them. They are separate entities.
- When I deal with and confront the things that are making me uncomfortable in a relationship, my attraction to the person goes way up. Surprise, surprise.
- This exploration of poly/non-monogamy is not just my hedonism, my selfishness. This is part of Me. This is part of who I am and part of what fulfills me as a person. And it is part of my calling to make sure that I explore and fulfill that.

Most recently, I have begun learning that I can take pain. Lots (for me) of it. Before my most recent playdate with RHF, we had discussed and reevaluated boundaries. He wanted more sexual contact. I was not, and am not ready for that with him - largely because I was not comfortable (see above lessons). We talked about the things that were making me uncomfortable, and he was very gracious about resolving them in a manner which indicated that he genuinely respected my boundaries and cared for my welfare. As sexual contact (of some sorts) was still a bit touchy with us, I mentioned that I'd like to start pushing my limits with regard to pain...see how much I really could take.
Aaaaand, now my ass is an interesting shade of purple. :P He began by spanking me. Now, spanking in and of itself does not really crank my engine. I mean, I much prefer the set of connotations that go with flogging to those that go with bare-handed spanking. But, it wasn't bad. It was a surprisingly powerful sensation - surprisingly strong pain. When he switched to a wooden paddle, I had my first thought that afternoon of "Should I safeword? This really fuckin' stings..." But I held on. Rode it. And it was like riding a wave, cresting and coasting. Eventually he stopped, and put me up on the cross to begin flogging me. Mmm. He pushed it into the area where it was hurting, where I was not constantly in my Serene-Yoga-Breathing place. But...I could step back, I found. I could turn my attention to my breath and just be in it. Or I could suffer the pain and squeal. Both were interesting experiences. I really, really want to be pushed far, far with flogging. I like it so much more than most other impact play that I've tried thus far - though of course other instruments and methods have their place. Anywho.
After he flogged me, he had me come, several times, with manual stimulation. Then, as I was still riding the edges of my last authorized orgasm, he placed the Hitachi between my legs. I screamed, and my fading orgasm reasserted itself, crashing back over me. "You'd better not be coming," he said. But...my brain said...but I wasn't done, when you turned that thing on! I...aw, damn. "Sorry, sir," I whispered. Immediately, the Hitachi stopped. I felt a tapping against my ass, something thin and cruel. He did not hit me, it felt, with much force, but oh gods, it was painful. My first caning. I felt myself nearing catharsis, nearing tears, nearing a letting go of something... but then he stopped. And I was grateful. I wasn't sure that I could have taken what would have been required to push me over that line. I had thought, several times, about calling out, about making it stop. But then, there was always that part of me, reminding me that I could step back. That I didn't have to be suffering so intensely (which is not the same as not feeling it...I still felt, but it wasn't bad, it just was). That I could do more, take more, even a just a little more. Looking back, I probably could have taken the pain needed to push me over the edge into Whatever Was Waiting, but I'm rather glad it didn't happen then.
I went home feeling....tired. So wrung out. In a good way, but wrung out. Apollo was a bit incredulous when he saw my ass...a little stunned, little shocked. I was too, frankly. But it's all good. It doesn't hurt at all, really, just looks like it should.

And now, to prepare for Apollo's homecoming (poor boy has to work weekends now, gorramit.) and the activities planned for tonight. *grins*

"Beg"

That's what he said. It was a week ago, my second formal playdate with RHF. We went out for sushi (a first for me!), and back to his place for BDSM. We'd agreed: Below the waist is fine, but manual stimulation only. No oral, no intercourse. Honorifics would be used.
"Do you want something?" he asked, after he'd flogged me well, and left a sizable bruise on my ass with his palm. He'd finally taken my panties off, and was slowly creeping up my inner thighs.
"Mm-hmm," I moaned.
"What do you want, then?" he inquired. Oh gods. I was already so high, so high...I could have just stayed there, as long as he kept touching me. I didn't care, didn't know what I wanted, just that I wanted.
"I don't know...just...I don't know, Sir." His fingers made contact with my labia, and I shuddered. They split my lips, teasing me, just brushing my clit. "How much do you like to be teased?" he had asked, while we were discussing limits for today. So much, I told him. So much. In this space, teasing...isn't. It is its own fulfillment.
"Have you found words again?" he asked, "Can you tell me what you want now?" I had the feeling that he was looking for something along the lines of "I want to come," but that wasn't in me. I didn't specifically want an orgasm...I was happy where I was.
"I...I...want something in my cunt, please, Sir." Penetration, though, yes. That, I craved.
"Beg." Quiet. Struggling within myself for words. Struggling to ask for what had always been freely given.
"Please...Please Sir. Please."
"Please what?"
"Please Sir, please put your fingers in my cunt." And two fingers, immediately, inside me. My knees bent reflexively, bearing down, aching with sudden need. My arousal rose to that plateau of orgasmic bliss, and I cried out.
"Remember, you have to ask before you can come." Shit. I had forgotten, because he hadn't specifically reminded me beforehand, that he likes to practice orgasm control. Shit. Part of me wanted to confess my sin, but I was still on Orgasm Plateau, that place where I'm flying in orgasmic bliss, with random Peaks of even more intense pleasure. I couldn't figure out if I should, how I should, or how to explain myself if I were to confess. So I asked.
"Please sir, please may I orgasm?"
"Beg." But I am begging, I thought. What more does he want? I tried to let go even more, let my most uninhibited self speak, but all she could say was "please".
"Please, please Sir, Please let me orgasm. Please. Please!"
"Come." I tightened my Kegels, and got a Peak, crying out. He withdrew slowly, and helped me sit on the ledge at the bottom of his cross. I lay my head on my arms, panting and weak. There was a tearing sound, like a condom wrapper.
"You might want to look and see where this condom is going," he said, but I didn't need to. I knew. When he found out that I'd never used a vibrator before, he decided that this session would introduce me to the Hitachi Magic Wand. He had it on the "low" setting, and placed it between my legs. Ahh. Pleasant...though if I shifted, just a bit, it landed on my clit - and suddenly, I began to understand. He kicked it up into high gear, and I only barely remembered to choke out "Please, please Sir, may I orgasm? Please, I need to." Silence.
"Please Sir! Please, oh please. Let me orgasm sir, please!" Finally, after a few repetitions, I heard:
"Come." I screamed.
"Come." A cry.
"Keep coming." Guttural moans, all the while pressing myself against the Hitachi, feeling an exquisite-ness to the orgasm that normally doesn't happen with clitoral orgasms, normally reserved for the Almighty G-Spot.
Finally he turned it off. Finally he helped me to the bed, disrobed himself, and snuggled with me. After I had my brain back, I 'fessed up to my Unauthorized Orgasm. "I know. You get one free day. Don't do it again."
And I lay there wondering, and I'm still wondering, how on Earth I'm going to manage it. The Orgasm Plateau, for me, is a place that I come to suddenly, without warning, when one little thing goes very right...no telling what that'll be. And on that plateau, it's several minutes of deeply orgasmic bliss with small peaks, but even the baseline is ecstatic and orgasmic. What do I do, for orgasm control? Ask before I hit a peak? Ask before I hit the Plateau, period? I don't understand. I really doubt that I can hold back either the peaks or the Plateau. It almost makes me want to forgo the whole orgasm thing in general in the context of kink. I mean, not that it wasn't nice, but I feel well-fucked from a good flogging, with no actual orgasm involved. And there's no stress about holding off, or defining what is or is not an orgasm.
On an unrelated note, none of the sex bloggers I read/have read ever mention the fact that pressing oneself enthusiastically against the Hitachi can result in one's labia feeling bruised. For days. That was interesting.
I'm still processing the begging thing. It didn't feel wrong...but, again, like I didn't know what he wanted. I don't mind asking for something...it was kind of sexy to plead. But, at the same time, it's difficult. Difficult to form words, difficult to form ideas.

In still other news, Happy Beltane! Wendy encourages everyone to take advantage of warmer temperatures and take the fucking outside. For this Beltane, I will be attending a Voltaire concert, priestessing a ritual, and having snuggle time with the Magician tomorrow. And then Pentacost is next week...all my red clothes are getting a workout!

Try to understand - he's a Magic(ian) Man!

Last Saturday, I hung out with the Magician. The plan was to hang out in the afternoon - watch a movie, probably, then I'd go home for dinner with Apollo (who had to work that day), then back out to see the Magician sing in a choral concert. I invited Apollo, who declined on the basis of Tired and Worn Out.
I got to his place sometime around three, and after enthusiastically greeting his cats and meeting his roommate, we decided on Batman Begins, since I'd yet to see it, and simply must see the one coming out in July (oh, Heath Ledger. Another teen crush in the Dead Guys pile, along with Jim Morrison and George Harrison). I really enjoyed the movie. Which means that I paid attention. There was minimal cuddling - some back rubbing and head-scratching, but that was it.
Left, picked up food for Apollo and myself on the way home, and had a lovely dinner (and a quickie! Whee!) before going back out to hear my first ever Requiem (Verdi's, for those interested). I thoroughly enjoyed it...though I had to restrain my laughter when I saw "Pie Jesu Domine/Dona eis requiem" in the lyrics/libretto? and realized that it's what the monks in The Quest for the Holy Grail are chanting.
Afterwards, the Magician mentioned that some folks were going to the Mellow Mushroom, and asked when I needed to be home. I called Apollo to find out where he was on the Going To Bed process - and found him very nearly there; thus, he didn't care if I stayed out later - he'd be sleeping either way. So, I decided to stay out. But upon further reflection, we decided that The Mellow Mushroom was very likely to be very, very crowded at 9:30 on a Saturday night. So we went back to his place and watched Spaceballs with his roommate - another first viewing for me! There was substantially more cuddling. There was also a mid-movie pause for the getting of ice-cream, then more cuddling. There was more cuddling after the movie ended.
And by cuddling, I mean deliberate, exquisite skritches - nails on the stomach, legs, arms, back and neck. Thorough backrubs. Fingers in my hair. And he was so careful, so conscientious, skirting the boundaries of being explicitly "sexual" - running his fingers right below my bra and right above my breasts, along, but not under, the edge of my skirt. Oh, shivers. Asking, low and compelling, "Do you want more?" My answer of an enthusiastic nod and a few incoherent syllables led to his hand suddenly on my breast, over my clothes, but still electric. Edging, patiently, under shirt, under bra to run those nails over my nipples as I clutched at him, writhing. His hands in my hair, pulling just right - large sections of hair, with steady, intense force. Acquiescing with no visible annoyance or distress to my need to keep it above the waist. And he held me, grounding and gentling me down, before I left that night.

As the song says,
"Mm, he's a magic man.
Ahh, he's got magic hands."

What an abundance I have at this time in my life. What plenitude of uniqueness. Even with all the work, the balancing, the scheduling, the schoolwork....even with all that, I can't imagine preferring monogamy. There's too much out there. Too many amazing people with too many exquisite talents/selves/bodies. There's too great a range of sexual/sensual experience and joy...from the comfortable, thrilling full-on intercourse with Apollo to random flirtation, with bites and skritches, at Rocky to playdates to militant cuddling on couches. I love it all. I want it all. I don't want to choose or exclude. I'm willing to work at it to have it all. Willing to continue working on communication and time management skills. Willing to keep examining and checking motives and ethical situations. Willing to accept that this...this...greed? ravenous-ness? expansiveness of affection? generosity with myself? ....whatever...is worthy of being nurtured and indulged, within the bounds of ethical behavior. Willing to keep listening to my boundaries for sexual and emotional connection, even when they seem silly to me...understanding that they don't have to make sense, they just are.
Life is so damn good.

More about gender...and coyotes

*** Pagan/spiritual content ahead. If this offends you, or induces eye-rolling, please refrain from reading***


So, I've been thinking about gender, more. Sinclair says that I am not, as I put it here, "gender lazy" just because I don't put Work into my performance of gender. I'm thankful for that validation - there are lots of areas of my life in which I feel like I'm not "hardcore" enough or "taking it seriously enough" because I don't work at it.
But still. It's niggling me, poking me in the back of my brain, now that I'm aware of it. I want words for my gender. I want to name it, dammit. And I am not "femme." I am not "butch". I know that this is a spectrum, and a complex one...but I don't like those names as applied to me. Applied to other people, damn, they're sexy. But not on me, not for me. I'm not genderfuck or genderqueer because those imply, to me, a conscious playing with the spectrum. And I don't do that either. I mean, I do...it's costuming and ritual, but it's not what describes my everyday presence and performance.
My sex is female.
My sexual orientation is bisexual (probably closer to pansexual, but I haven't looked that up yet, so I won't officially use it).
My power preference is submissive/bottom.
My gender is _______
I don't know. I was talking to my Priestess from College Town, hereafter known as Magdalene, tonight about my gender issues and thoughts, and she asked "Why do you need to put your gender in a box?"
"So I can take it out again! Boxes are fun to play with."
And they are. Yes, names and categories can be reductive and restrictive and limiting. But Naming, oh, the act of Naming and claiming something for yourself...it's beautiful. And boxes were meant to be opened, to be broken down, to be played with. But they are still useful for communication, for organization, for figuring things out and sharing said things with others.
Magdalene agreed with me, and told me this story about the year she spend with Coyote:
"The year before I took my First Degree, I hung out with Coyote. I was with my first priest at the time, who described himself as "a male lesbian," and not just in the "haha, that's funny" way. This was also the year that I did my first Fools' Day Ritual, because the tricksters in my life insisted. I'm a Virgo, so I don't like to give them much attention. So, my priest and I planned and did the ritual - using all the wonderful and horribly wrong jokes we could think of - we cast Circle with mistletoe in honor of Loki and had pecan spinwheels for Delerium and Marlboros for Coyote. Now, our clothes did not come off during this ritual. But somewhere in the middle of it, my priest got thrown on the bed. And I was on top of him. Coyote and Mrs. Coyote decided to have fun with us. It was the first time a god had manifested through me. He was Mrs. Coyote, and very pleased to have breasts. He had never come that way before.
And my first degree name? Anansi. So, you see, gender issues are pretty usual around the time for your first degree."
I suppose so. But I really want a name for it.
Anansi, by the by, is an African spider god. When he came over to the Americas, he became, frequently, Aunt Nancy. Quite the genderfucking god.
Conversations like this, though, are why I adore my College Town folk. Less than a week. I see Shakti and DragonCat on Sunday. Mmmm.

My gender...

Ariel has recently been posting about gender, and what hers looks like. I got fascinated, and started thinking about how gender applies to me. Ariel mentions that "I have a lot of gender but very little direction," meaning that she likes to present a wide variety of gender-y appearances.
I think, perhaps, that I have a lot of sex (as in, identification with my biological sex, being female), and just enough gender to come down on the side of "feminine". I read about Sinclair finding her butch identity, and performing gender - and I wonder at the amount of work it seems like, to have to be so deliberately oneself. But, on the other hand, the intentionality appeals to me - gender must matter if folks are willing to take such pains with it.
But I'm gender-lazy. As I said in my comment on Ariel's blog, I am high nothing. Not high femme, not high butch, not high tomboy, not even high-scholarly, for crying out loud. I am female, and generally somewhat feminine, but that's about it.
I love my RHPS corset, fishnets, and heels, with heavy makeup and space-age hair.
I love dressing hippie-boho-girly and sharply elegant with makeup to suit.
That's about 5% of the time, though. The rest of the time, I wear sweaters and t-shirts and comfy pants and Birkenstocks and the occasional skirt. I just got a pair of nice brown flats and a pair of tall black boots (with no heels) for Christmas, and that was a huge step for me. I don't want to put so much effort into how people see me, how I appear, most of the time.
I was a dancer for many years. From sixth grade until my senior year in high school, I was in at least one full-length ballet per year. I learned, through those experiences, to love the high-maintenance required by performing - but it was a special thing. Only a few nights out of the year does one put on the makeup, slick the hair, and wear the costume - take on the part. It's ritual, this dressing-up, which requires adequate scenery and lights and music to go with it. I couldn't do it every day. Dressing up, performing, is for me a way to explore and relish the sides of me that are not the everyday me.
For instance, I absolutely LOVE going to Rocky Horror, once in awhile. I love yelling the callbacks, love putting on my eyeliner and darker eyeshadow to go with my crimson corset, black panties, and fishnets. I love putting my hair up in those two, Leia-esque buns. This is my Shadow, my overtly sexual and crude self, my self who seduces. My self who revels in the sounds of the woman being flogged in the back of the theater, and the looks the ticket-taker gives me as I walk past.
But this is not someone I want to be any more frequently than once or twice a month (in public, at least). I need and crave that outlet, that stage...but only on occasion.
I understand that, to one degree or another, I am performing my gender everyday whether I think I am or not. But it does not feel like it...I'm really not even sure what my gender is. Comfortably feminine? Low-maintenance? I associate gender so much with appearance and fashion that I can't separate the two. I know gender is more than appearance....but I think it's reflected in appearance, at least when in "high" forms. I don't know, though. Hm.
This is what I know: I am feminine. I am female. I am submissiveish. I like boys and girls and girls who used to be boys (and probably the other way round, if I ever meet one). I am attracted to androgyny, femininity (not girly-ness), and masculinity. I am attracted to dominance and confidence, in men and women. I love being bitten and having my hair pulled. I'm fascinated by kink and power exchange. I'm deeply spiritual, and conceive of God'dess as Lover. I wear my hair down as much as possible. I am poly.
Some of this is biological sex, some is sexual orientation, some is preference...does all this together make gender? Maybe?

When the Moon is in the seventh house...

...and Jupiter aligns with Mars...
Ok, no "Age of Aquarius" here. No more, in all probability, of Jupiter aligning with Mars (Jupiter is my ruling planet, btw). In the wake of my amazing week in College Town, I think I'm getting closer to defining What Is Enough For Sex. It has to do with the DragonCat/Mars difference. That feeling of comfort, of safety. As much as I may like Mars, and objectively trust him, and even want him (though, I'm a little ashamed to say, now that the novelty's gone, I don't even want him so much), I don't get that easy feeling of comfort and safety. Of being absolutely OK as I am, cherished for who I am. I get that from all my Murfreesboro/Nashville lovers. I get that from Apollo. The thing that makes it significant that I feel that from/for DragonCat is that I don't know him that well. I can't tell you his favorite movies or what music he likes (ok, he does like Ween. I know that much), or if he has any food allergies. So, I'm wondering if what makes it "enough" is that feeling of ease and comfort and safety, rather than any specifics of number of dates or time knowing the person or deep, dark secrets shared. I mean, I don't think I'd fuck a stranger simply because he exuded this feeling...but I think this may need to become a primary criterion. Which may well mean ending things (sexual things, at least) with Mars soon. Hmm.

And now I'm thinking about that 17th century poem (by Donne?) that talks about "sublunary love" and all the perils thereof. For, "everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the Moon" to quote a twentieth-century poet.

And love is difficult to navigate. And sex is a thorny issue (screw them roses, though!). But I think that there is too much good, comfortable (within myself - not painless, not without the broadening of conceived limits and horizons, but comfortable in myself), thoroughly pleasing sex in my life to deal with or have sex that makes me unsure of myself or feel in the least unsatisfied or uncertain. This doesn't (necessarily) contradict the Ecclesiastical Theory of Sex:
(A time for spiritual sex
and a time for carnal sex.
A time for girl sex,
and a time for boy sex.
A time for fun and pleasure,
and a time for connection.
A time for power exchange,
and a time for equality.
A time for bondage
and a time for embracing.
A time for masturbation,
and a time for threesomes.
...etc.)
This just means that I should be thoroughly comfortable with my partner and with being wholly myself around my partner for all these types of sex. Even if it's just (just! Ha!) fun and pleasure, there's no reason I should be less than fully confident in who I am or that I should feel uncertain about being accepted for me, limits, requests, kinks, neuroses and all.
So. I still need to write my story about Mars, but it will probably be post-relationship. That's ok, though. There are beautiful boys (and girls!) with whom I connect and am safe. And that's more than good enough for me.

In Which Joy Muses on Bisexuality

I've mentioned previously that I think I have a harder time thinking of myself as "bisexual" than it is for Apollo to think of me as such. Granted, the events of this week have made a lot of what I was going to say in this post much less relevant and made me feel much more "qualified" to use that label, but still. It's been an interesting adjustment.
When I came to the conclusion that I wanted physical relationships with women, it was something of a cool realization, rather than a burning epiphany. I was thinking over my longings for a poly-relationship, on the intimacy-with-friends line, and suddenly it just didn't seem right that I couldn't share that level of physical intimacy with my women friends. I mean, I experience love and affection most profoundly through touch - that's the root of my desire to broaden my sexual partners to include those I treasure, not just the one I live with. It seemed, to me, to devalue my relationships with women if I said, "I am willing to be loved and love in this way, to this depth, with my men friends, but not with my women friends." Likewise, I had been struggling with my conception of the Sacred Feminine, of God'dess, God as Woman. She didn't seem as tangible, as real and accessible as my God. I addressed her as Mother, as Friend, as Sister...but none of these were as visceral an image as my favorite image of my God - my Holy Lover. Suddenly, bisexuality became a bit of a spiritual necessity. When She became my Lover as well - well, damn. It just made sense. So there was no secretly harbored crush, no deep-seated attractions to women - just a realization that it makes sense for me. Granted, I have always liked androgyny, in men and women, but I was attracted to the androgynous women because they looked like pretty boys (of course, I realize this could be self-delusion here...that may have been the only psychologically safe way for me to rationalize my attraction at all). Even now, I don't experience the same random lust for a lovely, attractive woman that I can experience for an equally attractive man. The women I want, really Want are those with whom I already have a touch-relationship - we already are comfortable and loving enough to hug, to rub backs, to play with hair. But, oh, I do want them pretty badly. And my God'dess? Well, I've known for awhile that I'm the sub in a holy D/s relationship (forthcoming post on my crackpot ideas about D/s and spirituality/courtly love)...but now I have Two Owners (though, of course, really I only have One, but still). And she's gorgeous.

In Which Joy Muses on "Casual" Sex

I over-intellectualize things. I know this. It's a fact. So, if you're not into mental strife, go ahead and skip over posts with the keyword "ponderings".
So.
My first instance of acting on my newly-gained Permission came about over my Fall Break, when I went to visit some college friends. I ended up receiving all manner of beautiful attentions from one of my wonderful, succulent woman-friends, hereafter known as Shakti. It was a single event - the night before I went back home -with no indication of a future repeat. And I was perfectly and utterly OK with this.
My next instance was with Mars, a boy I met via OKCupid. We met; we flirted; we drank coffee; we explored comics shops, and after two weeks, we kissed. Oh, man, it was high school all over again. A month later, we had sex (after Apollo and I thoroughly discussed it). We have had sex twice....and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
The difference here has a lot to do with my definition of what is "casual" and what's not. The first instance does not get classified as "casual sex". Rather, because it was with someone who I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, loves me whether or not I'm fantastic in the sack and whether or not we sleep together again, this is friend-sex. We're friends first. And that's not a casual thing - that's important, vital. Thus, our sex is not casual - it is drama-free, stress-free and obligation-free, but it was and is a part of our larger relationship. But, with Mars, I don't have that assurance, that closeness. He's thrilling, exciting, flattering - but afterwards, I still wonder: Is the thrill enough? Oh, I like Mars. He's fun to talk to, fun to hang out with, and a great cook (and a FUN lover). But I could let him out of my life without missing him too much. He's not a Friend, a Beloved One.
My original intent, in opening up my relationship with Apollo, was to make space for friend-sex/flirting/cuddles. But, this casual-sex thing has been fun. Intellectually, I hold that more casual sex is perfectly acceptable and a valid practice, if done ethically. I find myself desiring fewer and fewer limits on what is "acceptable sex" - and celebrating the differences in Relationship-Connection-Sex, Spiritual-Sex, Friend-Sex, and Fun-and-Pleasure Sex. I'm Ecclesiastical - to everything there is a season, and a time for every type of sex under Heaven. Yet, at the same time, I'm confronting the persistent conviction that it is worthier to limit one's sexual possibilities (to people that I have a given level of intimacy with, to a certain group of friends, etc) than to be open to all kinds of sexual interactions. Tied up with this is the assumption that casual sex, by being what it is, devalues other, more traditionally "meaningful" forms of sex. I think this is a very flawed assumption, but I have to admit that I'm still struggling with it. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, just as the love I have for Neil does not diminish or lose value in the fact that I love my other friends (and lovers), neither does the sex I have with Neil (or with Friends) depreciate in value or meaning because I have casual sex with Mars.
Spiritual connection has value.
Human connection, love, and communion have value.
Pleasure and Fun also have value, and should be valid ends in and of themselves.
Ideally, my sex life would reflect these priorities. I think it can. I think part of my hesitations and misgivings surrounding my experience with Mars may center on Mars himself, rather than the fact of the "casualness" of the encounter. However, specific thoughts on Mars, and why he makes me a little less than comfortable, must wait for a later post.