I vote in every election because …

wrote 200 letters (with hunter’s help) for the Vote Forward campaign and mailed them today to voters in Texas, Alaska, and South Carolina. pretty simple: write a letter to a voter who, by some algorithm, was found to be unlikely to vote. they provide a little template and some blank spots to sign the letter and write in a little bit about why you, the letter writer, vote.

I’ve found it to be meditative, and a positive place to put my anxiety during the lead-up to the election, but also a very curious practice connecting to 200 strangers throughout the country. what would make this particular person vote? I would wonder. what could I possibly say to them that would encourage them to vote, if they’re thinking that they won’t? and why *do* I vote, anyway? how do I narrow that down into two or three sentences?

I ended up writing things like: I believe participating in the process to choose our elected officials is an important way to ensure democracy. I want a say in who makes laws that affect all of us. I care about climate change, health care, and education, and I want to make sure those in government care about it, too. I want to ensure that the people in government know what we, the voters and citizens, care about. I believe voting is an important part of my job as a citizen.

I don’t know if this will encourage any of the folks that I wrote to, but I found myself a little surprised at the answers.

I’m so curious about *why* we vote and why we don’t, and what would inspire more of us to do so. I remember hearing that in australia, voter registration and attendance at a polling booth have been mandatory since the 1920s, and their voter turnout is around 91%; australians can be fined up to nearly $80 AU if they fail to vote. but why would voting not be mandatory? I know: politics. but. things don’t have to stay the same; change is possible.

I know there are many things this country could do to help voter turnout long before voting is made mandatory — we could, for example, not actively try to disenfranchise and prevent people from voting, for example, which seems to consistently be happening through all the elections I remember paying attention to. voting day could be a holiday. we could have more polling places so people wouldn’t have to wait in hours-long lines.

a TED talk I watched the other night talked about the joy of voting, and the question of what we, as a culture, make of voting. is it a cool thing to do? is there social pressure? there certainly is in my circles, but I am in a bubble inside of counterculture radical justice communities — I don’t think I really see the mainstream.

right now, I’m mostly just asking the questions. being curious. open.

preparing 200 letters felt useful, and I’m thrilled to be part of a campaign that sent 16.8 million letters today. between this and also seeing all the news about early voting coming in, I’m feeling hopeful, actually. haven’t felt that way in a long time, maybe not since march.

I might do some text banking next … I also filled out a form to work the polls day of, I’ve never done that, but I never heard anything so I’m unclear if I’ll do that. we’ll see.

what are y’all doing in the next 17 days before november 3 to support people voting? what’s your plan to vote yourself?

Announcing: Table of Contents for Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 5 (2021)

I have been eagerly waiting to share with you the work from the next Best Lesbian Erotica volume — and I can’t, yet, because it doesn’t come out until December — but here is the table of contents!

Here’s the book write-up:

Testing the boundaries of pleasure and pain… To be so full of longing you ache for release… Coming to climax without a single touch.

The fifth volume of the Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year anthology series explores and expands on the very definition of eroticism with a diverse mix of queer, non-binary, trans, and polyamorous #ownvoices that will have you quivering with delight and wondering what more you can explore—no matter how you identify. More than just steamy sex stories, this volume offers the quiet sexuality of emotional security, the overwhelming thrill of discovering something new, and a tale for every taste—from vanilla to kink to strap-ons and sodomy.

Now more than ever, it is crucial to see unique, underrepresented viewpoints across the literary spectrum. Award-winning author and editor Sinclair Sexsmith delivers in an anthology that is both tender and tantalizing, emotional and evocative.

Here’s the Table of Contents for Volume 5!

1. Max and the Things I Couldn’t Say — Heart
2. On a Hot and Humid Night — Mx. Nillin Lore
3. Whatever I Want, Whatever I Say — Sinclair Sexsmith
4. Pure Energy — Giselle Renarde
5. Three Options — Nicole Field
6. Blood — Anita Cassidy
7. A Night Out — Amanda N
8. The Supplicant — Michelle Osgood
9. Torrent and Tumult — June Amelia Rose
10. The One Penis Policy — Tobi Hill-Meyer
11. The Summer of Strap-Ons and Sodomy — Rain DeGrey
12. Strand of Pearls — Mary Burns
13. Restraint — Kiki DeLovely
14. I Wouldn’t Be the Same Without Her — Kathleen Lamothe
15. Yes Ma’am — K.J. Drake
16. The Estranged — GB Lindsey
17. Owning a Cock — Amy Butcher

I love each & every of these stories. They are very different from each other, but the thread through is a personal empowerment through playing with sexuality, eroticism, power, and BDSM.

Can’t wait for you to read the whole thing!

Pen Play: Online Erotica Writing Workshop Series

Quarantine and sheltering in place has been intense this year, and as we move into the fall and winter, it looks like we will be continuing to shelter.

I don’t know about you, but for me, I have struggled with both my writing practice and with my erotic life this year. At times, I haven’t had any energy for either. But as I have started actively feeding them both again, and tending to them anew, I am finding my interest in them stronger and more dedicated than ever.

Come join me and dive into writing erotica. Bring your desires, your kinks, your pleasures to the page and play around.

About Pen Play:

This is a four week class on constructing erotic stories. Part classroom, part writing group, we will explore the craft of short erotic stories, focusing on the craft of storytelling and how erotica is different than stories without erotic content. You will have something short to read and a writing assignment each week to turn in. Participants will have the opportunity to share their work with each other and give constructive feedback on it. We will meet weekly on Zoom to discuss the readings, workshop selected participant pieces, and answer your questions.

In the class, we will cover some of the fundamentals of a writing life, such as: giving and receiving feedback, techniques to strengthen your writing practice, how to get published, tools for editing your own work, and more. At the end of the class, you will have rough drafts of four short stories ready to polish and submit.

This class is made for folks who are beginners to intermediate writers and who want to hone their craft and publish more work. You do not have to have published anything. All genders, all sexual orientations, all experience levels welcome — no specifics required. Queer characters and kinky acts not required, but this will be a queer-focused and kink-positive space. It will also be kink-positive and trauma informed (to the best of my ability).

Webinars will be recorded and available to download; you do not have to attend live.
Sliding scale available, email [email protected]

Dates:

Sundays, October 18, October 25, November 1, November 8
4-6pm PT / 7-9pm ET

How to sign up:

1. Venmo $150 to $Zed-Sinclair with your email in the text (the email part is important!). (If it asks to put in the last four digits of my phone number, just click at the bottom where it says “skip this step”.)

2. If you can’t pay via Venmo, email me [email protected] and I’ll send you a different way to pay.

3. Once payment is received, I will send you an email with next steps, which include signing up for the Google Classroom and filling out an intake form.

Last day to register is October 14.

I believe stories matter. Telling our stories matter. Sharing how we as queer, kinky, gender radical people live, love, lust, and desire, helps to support others like us, to feel less alone. We still don’t have enough depictions of our truths out there in the world! And I believe we all have stories to tell. Writing isn’t the only way to share them, but it is the craft I know best, and I am excited to share what I know with you all.

Questions?

Do I have to write erotica?
Nope. You can be working on any kind of writing — poetry, plays, short stories, a novel. It could include erotic content, but it doesn’t have to. We will be talking about the things that are different about writing things with explicit sex in them, but what you turn in as your writing assignments is up to you.

Will the webinars be recorded?
Yes! Webinars will be recorded and available to you to download after they are live.

Will you have an ASL interpreter for the webinars?
Yes; please get in touch at [email protected] I will do my best to accommodate different access needs.

Do I have to publish my work?
No. There’s no requirement to publish, but this class is intended for folks who are pursuing writing with some seriousness and are interested in sharing their work more broadly. We will spend some time going over tips and procedures for publishing.

What kind of feedback will I get?
We focus on giving feedback in the Amherst Writer’s Method, which enhances what is working in the piece and gives the author feedback to encourage them to play to their strengths. The feedback will focus on what’s working, what we love about it, and what stays with us.

Do I have to share my work with the class?
No, it’s optional to share your work. Participants will be encouraged to share their reactions to each other’s work in a particular framework, using primarily positive feedback, and all participants will be able to ask for the kind of feedback that they would like to receive, which could be things like some critique, positive feedback, or just to witness with no feedback at all.

Will there be content warnings? Is this trauma-informed?
Yes, we will use content warnings in this workshop, to let everyone decide what they are equipped to read and make decisions with agency. More details about how to use content warnings will be in the class guidelines. I have studied trauma, restorative justice, and community safety in various form, and I will do my best to keep the needs of survivors forefront in the structure of the workshop.

More questions?
Email me, [email protected]

Sobriety Sestina During COVID-19

you want to get away from yourself.
you tell yourself it’s because of all this, feeling
sure you are more sensitive than the rest of the world,
so you research all the ways to transform
and you become good at them. even disciplined.
you convince yourself you are alive,

even though you’re not certain what alive
really feels like. you don’t feel like yourself
when you aren’t drinking fucking, numbing. discipline
is stopping after two, then three, then five. feelings
fall away like your nice jeans, a button down, transforming
to a pile of hope on the floor. your whole world

is pussy, is a buzz, is a sense of power. the world outside
is on fire, is danger, is a fist. you’re not alive
unless you’re in charge, looking for a way to transform
into anything else, as long as it isn’t yourself.
you used to think you were just so good at feeling
your feelings, but since more therapy, you’re undisciplined

about sitting with instead of giving in. discipline
isn’t enough to keep you motivated. the world
wants you to stuff it all down, ignore your feelings,
turn yourself inside out convincing everyone you are alive
when you’re a shell, a hollow version of yourself.
you’re desperate. the more you drift, the more you transform

into someone unrecognizable. can you ever transform
back? can you stop? do you have enough discipline
to return to some former semblance of yourself
even though the addictions and desperations of the world
are so easy to indulge? do you want to be alive,
experience the ecstasy of the range of human feelings,

or knot? there is only one answer: feeling
everything, embracing, accepting, transforming
one thing into another through practice. aliveness
requires consciousness, not numbing, and not discipline
so much as kindness, softness, looking into the world
and accepting it all. there is a way to come home to yourself

hope is not a feeling, not a date outfit, but a discipline
we practice every day. it is possible to transform the world
by transforming yourself. I dare you to be fully alive.

Does Volunteering Make You Feel Better? PS: Ready to Vote?

I’ve been really inspired by what Ethan Nichtern has been doing in his social media lately; he’s posting a lot about strategy for getting through election season. I knew him when I lived in New York City — he ran the Buddhist sangha I belonged to there. 
 
My main take-away has been that he’s saying the more you volunteer for the election, to encourage voter turn-out or just for anything, the less anxiety you’ll feel about the election. honestly, I’m not sure I believe that — but I figured, let’s try it and see. 
 
He turned me on to Vote Fwd — a letter-writing campaign encouraging people to vote. I’ve done about 100 letters so far and I’m hoping to get another 100 done before all the letters are mailed on the 17th of October. Their goal was 10 million letters, and so far they have 9.8 million, so they’re expanding the goal. Pretty incredible! According to Vote Fwd: “In a randomized controlled trial in the special election for U.S. Senate in Alabama in 2017, turnout among letter recipients was 3.9 percentage points higher than turnout in the control group. (3.4 percentage points after controlling for gender, age, and other factors). This is big! It appears to be one of the most effective known tactics to boost turnout.”
it’s easy to sign up and adopt voters, and Ethan & his crew are holding letter-writing parties on Sundays if you want to do it with some other people around. I will root you on too!
I also signed up to volunteer to be a poll worker, though I haven’t heard anything about that yet.
Are you writing letters? Are you volunteering in some other way? Ethan has been talking about switching to phone and text banking in the weeks closer to the election, and though I’ve never done that, I might see what the options are. 

PS: You’re ready to vote, right?

I like this ACLU checklist and have been working through mine. I just re-registered in a new state, so I still have to do a bit of research on the local races.

What’s Happening in September, 2020

Here are the events upcoming in September!

I’ve been kind of terrible about calendaring lately. Is this a side effect of the global pandemic and uprising for anyone else? A lot of my friends are struggling with it, even folks who are usually pros at calendaring, scheduling, keeping their priorities straight. Personally, I’ve been up and down through the last few months, which seems to be pretty normal, given the circumstances. I’ve still been writing, publishing, and teaching, and producing events, but often it’s been a struggle. Sometimes I think it’s improving, but it seems to be a pretty frequent swing back to less improvement.

At the moment, I’m just trying to be okay with that, to help take care of my close friends and family, and to go easy on myself. Hope y’all are doing well … and I hope some of our offerings are helpful for connecting in to D/s and kink community.

September 14: Nonbinary D/s Discussion Group: Roles & Responsibilities in D/s

Facebook event | Fetlife event

Anyone is welcome who wants to discuss nonbinary identity and D/s dynamics.

Come join for conversations and support about what it is to be nonbinary in the leather/kink/BDSM community, and how our nonbinary identity affects and intersects with D/s identity.

Topic: Roles & Responsibilities in D/s. What are our roles? What are the responsibilities of each role? What do we do when we can’t meet our responsibilities? How do we keep ourselves, and each other, motivated? What do we do to get ourselves back into our roles when we feel like we have slipped out of it? What can we do to support ourselves, and each other, when there are other external pressures affecting our abilities to show up in our D/s relationships?

September 20: D/s Book Group – Sensational Flesh: Race, Power, and Masochism by Amber Jamilla Musser

Fetlife event

Join me to discuss the book Sensational Flesh. Here’s the description for the book: “In everyday language, masochism is usually understood as the desire to abdicate control in exchange for sensation–pleasure, pain, or a combination thereof. Yet at its core, masochism is a site where power, bodies, and society come together. Sensational Flesh uses masochism as a lens to examine how power structures race, gender, and embodiment in different contexts. Amber Jamilla Musser employs masochism as a powerful diagnostic tool for probing relationships between power and subjectivity. Engaging with a range of debates about lesbian S&M, racialization, femininity, and disability, as well as key texts such as Sacher-Masoch’s Venus in Furs, Pauline Réage’s The Story of O, and Michel Foucault’s History of Sexuality, Musser renders legible the complex ways that masochism has been taken up by queer, feminist, and critical race theories. Furthering queer theory’s investment in affect and materiality, she proposes “sensation” as an analytical tool for illustrating what it feels like to be embedded in structures of domination such as patriarchy, colonialism, and racism and what it means to embody femininity, blackness, and pain. Sensational Flesh is ultimately about the ways in which difference is made material through race, gender, and sexuality and how that materiality is experienced.”

If you’re not on Fetlife but you want to join this discussion, send me an email and I’ll get you the info: [email protected]

September 27: Folsom Street Fair online

The world famous event is moving online! This is definitely not to be missed. We will be part of a brief titleholder’s event, and there will be workshops, performances, and other ways to connect to kinky community. I’m looking forward to it.

Save the Dates:

Here are more upcoming events where we’re hosting, teaching, or doing workshops. Hope you can make it!

October 15 – Jesbian & Teagan – Leather Lust
October 22 — Feminist Sadism is Not an Oxymoron (And Other Things We Feel Guilty About)
November 13-15 — Leather Reign Conference online
November 19 — Mental Health & D/s Discussion
December 3 — TBD
December 17 — The Protocol Game: Set Up 52 Protocols for 2021
January 28 — Kinky Virtual Game Night
February 18 — TBD
February 19 – 21 – FLAME Conference online
February 25 — TBD
March 18 — TBD
March 25 — International M/s Step Down Party

Are Ejaculating Dildos Even A Thing? Yes!

Question:

Hey, so I just wanted a recommendation for a strap-on that ejaculated. If that is even a real thing. I don’t want it to be weird but as “natural” as I can get. My wife gets really turned on by the “cum inside me” situation so any advice you can give would be awesome. Thanks in advance! You were my go to! Thanks for all you do for the community!

Answer: Ejaculating dildos totally exist!

Ejaculating dildos totally exist! Unfortunately most of them are made out of porous materials that are not body safe, so I can’t recommend them. They’re more like “novelty” items made from plastic which off-gasses, producing an intense smell. But there are still a few options.

The Semenette was the first one that came on the market that is realistic and body safe (and made by dykes!), but it is VERY hard — it’s that old-school silicone and many folks who have tried it internally report that it’s pokey, not very comfortable. plus, the bulb that comes with it is quite small, like a teaspoon, which doesn’t necessarily work with those of us who want a lot of fluid to be involved too. Here’s an old review from 2016.

Doc Johnson has a variety of products, but I can’t vouch for the materials. They claim to be silicone and body safe, but they’re still porous. If you’re only using them with one person, they’re probably okay, but sometimes they go through that plastic off-gassing period where they have a big plastic smell, and that is such a turn-off personally. It is not particularly safe to be inside a body, so it does not make me want to use it!

But if you’re game to try out something from them, they are usually not too expensive (because the materials are not very high quality).

There’s a growing market of strap-ons that are hyper realistic and geared toward trans men, so I suspect something with squirting capacity will come on the market soon. But as far as I know that’s the best we have right now — for realistic cocks, anyway. There are some by the company Bad Dragon that squirt and are very well designed, but they’re made to be, well, dragon-like, not human.

If you find anything else, I would love to know about it!

This Is A Conversation About Duties: On M/s Language

Sinclair’s note: rife & I have been gathering and publishing anonymous statements about the impact of using the words “master” and “slave” in a kink context. This one is longer than most others, and elaborate, and I wanted to ensure we all get enough time with it, so I am putting it in its own post.

Thank you to the person who wrote it, who wishes to remain anonymous.

This is not a conversation about rights. It is a conversation about duties.

This whole conversation hurts my heart so deeply because I don’t think it is a conversation about the validity or value of M/s relationships, and yet we seem to have turned it into one. I have been engaged in M/s dynamics since I came out in the public scene in 2006. Before then, I didn’t have language for what I was doing. So much of who we are and what we do is wrapped up in this dynamic and I, for one, am not willing to give up such an inherent piece of myself and my identity. I am and intend to fully continue living, loving and thriving within the depths of the power exchange dynamics that have become the bread and butter of my daily life. However, this conversation has nothing to do with my dynamics. This conversation has to do with the feeling that I, and my brothers and sisters, get every time a white person introduces themselves to me, or expects me to address them, as Master. For me, this is where things get difficult. You are not my Master and I am not yours. So why is this even a part of our interaction?

As a historian, I have understood that the honorific “Master” in the community used to be an earned one. That is how I reconciled the expectation that I would use this very triggering word with the gut wrench it evoked when I was first expected to use it. “This is about the mastery of a craft,” I told myself. Sort of like the master classes I had seen in school. I certainly didn’t feel the same gut wrench when the word was employed to describe a Master Chef or a Master Painter. I rationalized the word this way and went about my Leather life in deluded bliss.

Then I met a Black boy who wished to be my slave. Even as a Black person myself, I knew that it wasn’t the same, so I set about speaking with my fellow people of color to ask for their aid in teaching me what it would mean to own a Black slave in America. I worked hard and listened to so many voices. Everyone had different opinions that spoke to their kinks and life experiences. Some of the most interesting conversations came from my fellow M/s lifestylers who deeply crave and enjoy the M/s life 24/7 but have had to struggle with how to reconcile that with the awful history of this country and the very real, very raw feelings that that history evokes. Not one person on this journey ever questioned our desires to relate to one another this way, nor to build a 24/7 dynamic surrounding those desires. The only things that emerged remained true, across all conversations, were: 1) “I should not be expected to address anyone (but *my* Master) as Master” and 2) “I would prefer not to have to be triggered constantly by the casual use of the word Master in my company”. These held the ring of truth for me and felt like easy fixes. I began to look into other words and other languages spoken by my people. (I am a native French speaker, while one of my boys is a native Spanish speaker.) I found Maîtresse, Maîtriser, Dominate, Domina, Lady, Lord, Liege and Sovereign that worked for me. I even considered using the phonetics of M/s to create the word Emess to describe my dynamics. Words are flexible and I want to be able to employ that flexibility to fully express myself without the side effect of causing harm.

I will not change the way I relate to my partners, practice my kinks or devote myself to my dynamics and I don’t believe that anyone is asking me to. No one is asking that the practices of our life long love in power exchange change. Members of our Community, our brothers, sisters and siblings, are simply telling us that the use of A WORD is harming them.

Why am I getting the feeling that we don’t seem to care? That the pain and suffering that the word evokes is not enough for us to do something about it? We have been harmed by words before. Words like faggot, dyke and freak have harmed many within our Community. When these times came, we gathered ourselves together and we forced change. We reclaimed these words and made them our own. The problem with this situation is that white people cannot reclaim the word Master in America because they aren’t the ones that it hurts. We need to find a different way to do this this time.

I will admit that the task of changing our verbiage can appear to be a daunting one. It is not, however, impossible. An NPR Article entitled “The Journey From ‘Colored’ to ‘Minorities’ To ‘People of Color’” put it well: “Language is and always will be an essential element in the struggle for understanding among peoples. Changes in the words and phrases we use to describe each other reflect whatever progress we make on the path toward a world where everyone feels respected and included.” We have to ask ourselves, how important is it to us that every member of our Community feels respected and included?

I accept that words cause harm and know that words can be changed. We, as a Community, have the power to make that change. The only thing anyone is asking here is that we care enough about the impact of our word choices on our members to enact that change. For that to happen, however, we need to find a place of agreement that we can start from. Can we find such a place?

American history will not take away my right to experience and express my deepest kink and Leather desires in the ways that work for me. I will not allow it to take more from me and my people than it already has. I will not stop engaging in M/s dynamics. But again, I recognize that no one is asking me to do that. Not one person has attempted to take away my right to have my relationships the way I desire to have them. This is not what this conversation is about, and so, I am struggling deeply because I am continuously seeing this conversation reduced to that. Asking for semantic change does nothing to effect my self or my dynamics. The power I wield is not somehow lessened if I am called Domina instead of Master. My identity will not change or be reduced because I introduce myself as Maîtress. My rights to love, fuck and play in the ways that feel right to me are not being called into question.

This is not a conversation about rights. It is a conversation about duties. Of course we have a right to define our dynamic as we please and use monikers that work for us and turn us on. Of course we have the right to express our leather and kink as we wish. However, if we want to be inclusive, if we want to be a safe space for the next generation, if we want to grow and adapt to the needs of our marginalized family members and if we want to pledge ourselves to making the community better, then we have a duty to engage this conversation from a different lens. We have a duty to shed our need to defensively protect a word that is causing harm and take on instead a need to find a way to enjoy the dynamic that word represents without causing harm. Leather has always been a step ahead in subverting the norms and there is no reason that we cannot do that again here. Let us set the example by taking down our defense walls and trying to really listen to and get to the heart of the pain of our fellow Leather people. Let us really work hard to allow the voices of our hurting members to sink in and truly be heard. Let us try our very best to remember that this isn’t personal, it is institutional… Together we can find the answer, but not until every member at the table feels heard without judgement. The right answer will preserve our sacred kinks, identities and dynamics at the same time as making our spaces more inclusive and safe.

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The First Time With A Girl

she asks
if I want to come over to her house
after class
and she will make us lunch.

after a week of flirting
hands brushing thighs under the table
testing ripeness, testing tenderness
leaning close to whisper things like
what page were we on again
learning the smell of her shampoo
the millimeter thinness of her hair,
I blink at her — can you just
do that? invite someone over?
her boyfriend won’t be home until 3,
she says, but he knows she’s bi, they’re poly,
he knows she wants a girlfriend, too

I’ll be honest, I’d written her off
as straight: but the purple streak in her hair
and short painted nails said femme,
and she flirted back
as much as anyone ever had

she used to sit behind me. I noticed her
because I noticed every girl in class,
trying out my brand new gaydar
at every chance, to make sure it worked.
I overheard her say, it’s my birthday,
but clearly the dumb boy she was talking to
didn’t hear, because the only proper
response to that statement is, of course,
happy birthday, but he didn’t say it.

I did. it’s my birthday too, I said,
and she pinned me with her gaze,
looked straight at me. after that,
she sat next to me in the second row
on the far right, offering her knee, her thigh
brushing my arm with her fingers

my tongue is so swollen, I can barely reply.
yes, I say. I got my tongue pierced, I say,
but I can’t pronounce the r’s. I brought a smoothie
for lunch — but I’d love to see your place
.

her couch was white
her boyfriend came home early
my swollen mouth could barely
form words, ached for more
flexibility, to be able to extend
the tip of my tongue
past my teeth
but I didn’t care

I’d waited so long to do this
to know for certain for sure
for confirmation
that every throbbing kiss was a relief,
a relief, a deep truth surfaced,
a secret no longer unknown.

I’m Voting Biden/Harris, But I Still Want A Dyke For President

Am I excited about voting for Kamala Harris and Joe Biden? No.

Am I going to vote for Kamala Harris and Joe Biden? Abso-fucking-lutely. Of course.

Am I excited there is a Black woman as the democratic vice president nominee? Yes! I’m excited about anybody who isn’t a cis white man. That we are starting to have possibilities, options, is fantastic and I absolutely want to see more of it and I’m excited about it.

But: Kamala Harris was a police officer. I, like many folks in the past year or so, have been learning more and more about the movement to abolish police entirely, and I’m in support of that. There are many arguments about whether more strict regulating or defunding would be steps toward abolition, and some say no, that we’ve been regulating for years and it hasn’t changed the amount of killings of innocent (particularly Black) people and police brutality. And at a time like this, when the Movement for Black Lives is stronger and more active than it ever has been, I am kind of shocked Biden chose someone with a such a police history. Then again, of course he did — he’s a moderate, centrist democrat and perhaps radicals will still vote for her because of her radicalness (being a Black woman), but more conservative folks will still vote because of her police history.

Kamala Harris also had a serious hand in SESTA/FOSTA, and if you don’t know what that did for sex work and freely distributing information about sexuality in general, definitely look into it. Her history as a DA is intense and generally bad. There are many criticisms — what I’ve mentioned here is by no way exhaustive, not that I’m trying to be. Point is: there is reason to critique her.

Either way, I was going to vote for the democratic nominee. I’m not necessarily excited about it … I don’t particularly believe that the nominees for president in this country are ever going to represent my actual beliefs and values.

I want a dyke for president. (Image text by Zoe Leonard, transcribed below.)

Still, I’ve voted in every election that I have been able to since I was 18. I do believe it’s important.

I was talking to rife today about my frustration with the state of the world — particularly the US, but corporate greed and profit over people over the earth are everywhere, not just here. I feel angry, disappointed, and helpless — which can and does sometimes turn to apathy. I’ve heard many of my friends talk about how actually volunteering for a local election or doing work on a presidential campaign has helped them feel like their anger has somewhere to go, so I’ve definitely been thinking about that part, too — how to turn the anger and frustration outward into action rather than inward into hopelessness and apathy.

I’m curious how you all out there are doing. Are you eligible to vote? If so, are you planning to vote? Did you vote in the 2016 election? If not (and assuming you were eligible), why didn’t you? Are you disappointed that Bernie or Warren didn’t get the nomination this time around?

And perhaps most importantly: What kind of activism are you doing? How have you funneled your rage, apathy, frustration, give-up-ness into something productive?

I write about voting and politics on here sometimes, sure, but I’m not a journalist and so it’s more rare to write about ‘current events’ type of happenings. I tend to assume that everybody is seeing a lot of the same media I’m seeing, because we’re all in a similar queer feminist liberal urban bubble of media — though I know that’s not true. Internet algorithms change what everybody sees extensively. I mean, have you been saying the same things I’ve been seeing this week — the extensive essays about why Kamala Harris sucks, but the resolve to vote for her anyway? The feelings of disappointment, and the barbed wire around being allowed to feel our feelings of disappointment, asking folks not to please jump on them about feeling bad because of course we will vote blue? And the smattering of folks who are saying, simply, ‘hurrah, a Black woman’? That’s what my news feeds and timelines are all full of.

I’m thinking about how I can use Sugarbutch in the coming months, if there is anything I can actually do to support getting Biden/Harris elected. I can write about it more, I can share my thoughts as we get closer … which isn’t my favorite thing to do, because it veers close to journalism, which doesn’t excite me. But how can I use the platform AND come up with something exciting? Not sure yet, but I’m thinking about it. If you have ideas, I’d love to hear them.


Text of the above image:

“I want a dyke for president. I want a person with AIDS for president and I want a fag for vice president and I want someone with no health insurance and I want someone who grew up in a place where the earth is so saturated with toxic waste that they didn’t have a choice about getting leukemia. I want a president that had an abortion at sixteen and I want a candidate who isn’t the lesser of two evils and I want a president who lost their last lover to AIDS, who still sees that in their eyes every time they lay down to rest, who held their lover in their arms and knew they were dying. I want a president with no air-conditioning, a president who has stood in line at the clinic, at the DMV, at the welfare office, and has been unemployed and laid off and sexually harassed and gaybashed and deported. I want someone who has spent the night in the tombs and had a cross burned on their lawn and survived rape. I want someone who has been in love and been hurt, who respects sex, who has made mistakes and learned from them. I want a Black woman for president. I want someone with bad teeth and an attitude, someone who has eaten that nasty hospital food, someone who crossdresses and has done drugs and been in therapy. I want someone who has committed civil disobedience. And I want to know why this isn’t possible. I want to know why we started learning somewhere down the line that a president is always a clown. Always a john and never a hooker. Always a boss and never a worker. Always a liar, always a thief, and never caught.” ― Zoe Leonard

Call For Submissions: Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 6 (2022), due October 31, 2020

Editor: Sinclair Sexsmith

Publisher: Cleis Press

Deadline: October 31, 2020 (earlier encouraged)

Payment: $50 and 1 copy of the book within 90 days of publication

Rights: non-exclusive right to publish the story in this anthology in print, ebook and audiobook form. Authors will retain copyright to their stories.

Sinclair Sexsmith is editing the next volume of Best Lesbian Erotica, and is looking for your best sexy stories about queer women.

Representations of queer women, non-binary, and trans women’s sexuality that are not as frequently seen — with ability, race, ethnicity, class, neurodiversity, ace-spectrum, age, religion, or other marginalized viewpoints — are particularly of interest.

Writers who have not previously published are encouraged. Writers of color, particularly Black writers, are encouraged.

#Ownvoices stories are encouraged and will be prioritized.

The anthology is not limited to certain kinds of sex acts. “Vanilla,” BDSM, fetish, ace, and all kinds of sensual and sexual expression are welcome. I will be looking for a wide variety of sexual identities: mommy, mistress, sir, puppy, girl, servant, etc.

I will consider a few reprints published in 2020, but prefer unpublished stories. No simultaneous submissions. No poetry or speculative fiction.

Up to two submissions per author. Stories should be between 2500-4000 words.

Submissions in English required; American English not required, but we will edit it to be in American English eventually. If there are cultural specifics, we’ll work on how to translate them into American English during the editing process.
 
Characters must be a minimum of 18. All stories have to be within legal guidelines, including no incest, beastiality, necrophilia, consent violations, or other illegal acts. If something illegal happens in the story, it should be within a context where it’s understood it’s illegal in some way. 
 
No specific requirements for formatting the text, but the closer you can be to standard publishing formatting, the better for us during the editing process.  
– legible, standard font (times, arial) in a typical size (12ish)
– no underlines or bold, use italics for emphasis
– no specifications for indentations & spacing, as long as it’s legible. I usually do no indents at the beginning of paragraphs and double space after paragraphs, but the final manuscript will be set up by editors at Cleis Press based on their specifications. 

Please submit your work through this Google form: http://bitly.com/blev6

If it does not work to submit your story via this form, please contact Sinclair directly at [email protected] with the subject line “Best Lesbian Erotica submission” and include your story as an attachment in .doc, .docx or .rtf format. Include the story title, your legal name, pseudonym (if applicable), 100-word bio, previous publication information for the story (if applicable), and mailing address.

Queries are welcome; contact [email protected].

The Impact of M/s Language: Voices from the Community

rife and I are starting to compile different statements and quotes from people in the leather, kink, and M/s communities about the use and impact of the terms “master” and “slave,” particularly for Black people.

This is part one of probably many; I hope to continue to compile these stories and talk about the impact of the language. The images at the beginning are pull quotes; the full statement is after.


From the perspective of someone who isn’t in the BDSM community but who wants to learn more about everything that the practices can offer- the terminology behind Master and Slave is entirely a turn off and stops me from even being able to open up to bdsm. As a black person, seeing those titles and seeing the bdsm community defend them so fiercely makes it feel like they’re the gatekeepers keeping me out for being uncomfortable. I recognize that it’s a deeply institutionalized phrase that means more to those who are already so ingrained in the community. But when I’m invited to m/s events, it makes me uncomfortable because I can’t get past the name.

It’s exactly the same feeling as when a friend is super into NASCAR, but there are confederate flags everywhere. They’re not intentionally there to hurt anyone. It’s ingrained in the experience to have the flags there. People who aren’t affected by those symbols don’t even see them anymore, they’re just in it for the fun. But I can’t walk into a stadium full of confederate flags and be expected to not feel minimized or unvalued the entire time.

The concept behind modern m/s relationships is intriguing, but I’ll never get to be into it without the constant reminder of our very recent history/ daily life as a society. I hope that people will be open to my perspective, because it’s entirely hurtful to be shut out.

— Aubrey

When I first joined the leather community, every chance I got I pulled aside any black person to bend their ear. I asked them how they dealt with white people using words like Master and slave. A lot of them looked at me with sadness because no one had a real answer. It hurt but they got used to it. When trying to encourage black people to explore the leather community and come in to these spaces, they have asked me how I could stand hearing words like that. The truth is, I don’t. I cringe. The first time a white man introduce himself as Master so-and-so, I was shocked that someone would look me in the eye and ask me to call them Master. The thought running thru my mind was that I will NOT call you Massa. Since then I have learned to grow a hard shell against this language because a part of me has lost hope that it will ever change.

— Anonymous

Your post made me feel… at ease. I have had conversations with those in the past about how the title of Master and Slave can be so hurtful. There is a whole community of people who I may not ever meet because of those two words. Not because I don’t think they are good people. Just clueless and prideful. When I walk into a ‘kink’ dungeon or event and someone asks me if I top or bottom, there is a level of safety implied. If someone were to ask me if I was a Master or Slave, it would scare me. The terms Master and slave to me brings about visions of slavery, shackles, abuse and death. If in that moment I say slave, it brings down hundreds of years of oppression onto my shoulders. The term immediately turns the askers face into a twisted confusion of misunderstanding and a lifetime in the death grip of systemic racism. It is confirmation, for some. Confirmation of where they think people who look like me belong. In shackles, collared, and beneath their boots. When Y/you both posted that statement, it was relief I felt. There is a level of wariness I have always had around you both. I have spent some great times and created awesome memories with you. It doesn’t dismiss the feeling of concern I have as a black person aspiring to an M/s type relationship talking to two white queers who don the label and embody the values of those words in their everyday lives. I often wondered if you would/could understand the immensely heartbreaking swim through the weighted mud of identifying with those terms. If you as white queers could ever understand what it feels like to bare the brunt of the mountains of hatred those two words hold for me. The weight of two words that would see me relive the destruction of my ancestors souls every time it left my lips. You made that post and I sat back in my chair and exhaled. My shoulders relaxed. My jaw unclenched. And I knew then that you understood. Even just a little bit… and some of the mountain crumbled away… and I exhaled. I hope you don’t lose the title. If you did it would mean that people are more attached to the words than the actual traditions and rituals it represents. It would mean the death of the M/s community for me. I am currently looking at those who are responding negatively to your post with an eye of possible danger. Making notes on whom to stay away from.

— Anonymous

There are more over in the “Voices From the Community” album on Facebook. We’re still compiling statements, and if you have opinions about using the terms, we would love to hear from you; please email [email protected]

On Representing the M/s Title

There’s been a lot of conversation around our statement about our choice to not use Master/slave language for ourselves. Many are wondering how we can fulfill the obligations of our title without those words. Some even ask if we’re breaking up or (gasp) transitioning to a vanilla relationship (spoiler alert: we aren’t!). So, in the interest of transparency, we want to put your mind at ease about a few things:

1. Of course, we affirm you can identify yourself however you like, it’s your identity. We are sharing our relationship journey,not kink shaming anyone.

2. We can not and do not speak for Black folks on this matter, and recognize a great diversity in opinions on this. We are sharing our own relationship journey. As queers and dykes, we understand the beautiful important work of reclaiming words.

3. We know what we do is not trying to replicate or look to chattel slavery, it is a beautiful deep calling that for us is spiritual and profound. The words happen to be the same.

4.We have learned that despite our good intentions, these words can cause hurt, and we care about that hurt.

5. We decided to drop the Master and slave from our titles (you can just call us Mx. Rook and little, hunter, boy, or just rook). We’re also going to be way more careful about using those words in general leather spaces. This doesn’t mean we will stop our education or visibility in those spaces, our classes will just be rephrased to talk about “Ownership dynamics” instead of “M/s dynamics.”

6. We take our titleholding commitment seriously. We feel it would be dishonorable to step down before the year is complete since we have committed to serving. Part of that commitment is to sharing our personal authority exchange relationship journey.

7. We have been in conversation with the South Plains producers since before making any announcements, and they have been incredibly supportive of our personal journey around this. We appreciate their insight as folks who have been in the M/s community for many years.

8. We love our lineage and our community. We are passionate about hierarchical relationships and have deep respect for the title system. Nothing about our relationship has changed except the words we call each other.

9. We want to continue this conversation and apologise for any hurt feelings, shock, or discomfort you felt watching our initial brief statement. We are learning and growing all the time. We wish we could be having these conversations in person, we wish we could have told you individually first. Thanks for being understanding of our strange and unprecedented times that push everything so social media.

10. We appreciate that this community values respect, integrity, and inclusion. Thank you for respecting our way of practicing our ownership relationship though it may look different from yours.

So, how will we represent the title?

According to the IM/s Judges Handbook, the International M/s pair is chosen to be visible as one individual healthy M/s or O/p relationship. We were proud to be chosen as International Master/slave 2020 by a panel of judges whom we admire. We are committed to sharing what is happening behind the scenes in our dynamic, not just on the surface. Sharing our thoughts about the impact of using the words “master” and “slave” has been a way to be transparent about what is really happening in our relationship right now. We don’t know what the answer is; we don’t yet know what other words we’re going to use in the long run. There aren’t great, easy answers here or the community would have found them already. But we are asking the questions, and curious and open about what everyone has to say.

We are proud to be in an authority exchange relationship. We are not embarrassed or ashamed. We are oriented this way, and living better lives because we are in this partnership.

We are proud to be rooted in the M/s community, and we love being part of the traditions, leather values, and embracing of change that happens in radical communities. We would not have such a strong dynamic if it weren’t for the support from and knowledge in the M/s community, and we are extremely grateful for all that we’ve learned and continue to learn. We are in this for the long haul and plan to continue our title journey with you.

We are excited to continue teaching workshops on authority exchange dynamics. We are gearing up to visit more MAsT chapters too; it is exciting that online meetings make visits more accessible. Our class “The Art of Ownership” is about the wide range of authority exchange relationships, from Victorian to Leather, from something you do on the weekends to 24/7 long-term ownership. It is designed for general leather events and folks new to authority exchange, but is full of theories and charts that are fun for experienced folks, too.

So how will we serve this title system without those words? We will continue to share our journey on Facebook and Fetlife, just with other language to describe ourselves. That’s the only thing that’s changed. We will continue teaching classes and creating support groups and fun activities online.

Our schedule for the next few months is:

August 3 – Unlearning White Fragility through BUTCH Voices (rescheduling for September)
August 16 – Unlearning White Fragility for Leatherfolks through Portland Bad Girls
August 20 – Kinky Virtual Game Night
August 27 – Leather Couch: Topic TBA
September 10 – Leather Couch: Jack Thompson – IML AMA
September 24 — Roles & Responsibilities webinar
October 15 – Leather Couch: Jesbian & Teagan – Leather Lust
October 22 — Feminist Sadism is not an Oxymoron webinar
November 12 – Leather Couch: Raven & Joshua – Polyamory & Power Dynamics
November 13-15 – teaching for Leather Reign – Ownership as a Spiritual Path
November 19 — The Protocol Game
December 3 – Navigating Family & Authority Exchange Relationships
December 17 – Goal Setting For D-types
January 21 – Leather Couch: Tomo – Navigating the M/s Relationship Plateau
January 28 – Kinky Virtual Game Night
February 19-21 – FLAME Conference (we will apply to teach again)
February 25 – The Satisfied Submissive webinar
February 2021 – Leather Couch: Master Jim, slave marsha, Sir Cougar, Topic TBA
March 2021 – Leather Couch: TBA
Monthly Nonbinary D/s Discussion group – dates TBD

We are still available for workshops, panels, and discussions; please email us both at [email protected] if you’d like to invite us to your event or group.

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On Stepping Away From M/s Language

Content: Discussion of the uses of the words master and slave in a consensual kink context, the politics of using them in community, and the harm they cause.

A few weeks ago, I put this note out on social media:

“Hi everyone; some of you may know that with my boy we are the International Master/slave 2020 and Northwest Master/slave 2019 titleholders in the leather community. We have been planning a conversation about the impact of the words master and slave for a long time, and we want to dive into it more now. We understand that when used by non-Black people, these words cause harm. Personally, we are stepping away from using the words. I’m sorry for the harm they’ve caused, and I’m sorry it’s taken us so long. I’ll detail more about what we’re going to do in a full statement forthcoming; I’m taking some time to consult with community and figure out the way forward. We will have a full statement out within the next week.”

rife and I then published this note on the Facebook page for our leather title:

Running for and winning this title has been an incredible journey, and this is not the title year anyone expected. We’re heartbroken to see our events being cancelled or, at best, moving online. We miss you all and wish we could be having this conversation with you in person.

The changes we are making with our relationship titles reflect our personal journey; our relationship structure itself hasn’t changed. We still want to talk with you about all the nerdy power theory stuff. We’ve just decided that for us, as white folks living in the racist United States, we aren’t going to use the terms “Master” and “slave” any more.

This was a hard choice to make because it has been so valuable to find community around these words, and to be part of a lineage of people exploring conscious, consensual power exchange.

We recognize and affirm that Black leatherfolk have many different views on consensual ownership dynamics, and we honor Black leadership in the M/s community. There are Black people who have done the hard, beautiful work of reclaiming these words and as queers we understand the power behind that. We cannot and will never tell a Black person what to do — many Black folks have chosen to use these words for themselves. These are their words to reclaim. Everyone has a different journey with these words. There are many white folks in M/s community who are aware of the potential impact of these words and use them with care.

We are not judging others’ choices about their use of the words Master and slave. We affirm that your words are your choice. Total power exchange dynamics are psychological edgeplay, and everyone gets to decide for themselves what their comfort level is.

The words Master and slave helped us find this community — our people — where we are validated and seen. At the same time, there have been multiple Black people in our lives – dear friends and leather family- who have told us they are harmed by these terms. We can’t and would never speak for Black people, but we know some Black folks experience our use of those words as violent and triggering. Because they have told us so.

We apologize to the Black people we have harmed in the use of these terms. Whether it was intentional or not, it caused harm and we’re sorry. We know finding new language for our relationship will not solve racism, but it’s a small thing (among many others) that we can do to reduce harm.

In the past, we have been careful with usage when not at M/s events, because we want those around us to consent and opt into hearing M/s language. Just like I wouldn’t highlight my Daddy/boy fetish if I knew someone around me was a survivor of child abuse, our intention was to be respectful and cause less harm to those around us. We would try to cover our back patches when walking through hotel lobbies, and include content warnings on published essays. We didn’t do this perfectly.

Currently, we are:

1. Stepping away from using those words for ourselves and considering other options.
2. Apologizing for the harm we have caused in the past.
3. Creating more conversations about this, and researching and listening to better understand the changes that Black folks are calling for.
4. Supporting Black liberation movements in concrete ways, including financial donations, political action, and volunteer work.

We have many thoughts about using M/s language as white people — currently we have a 17 page document full of notes, and have had countless conversations about it. We want to talk about the intersection of power exchange and anti-racist work, and we want to find more folks who want to do that, too. If you want to be in this conversation with us, please like this post and let us know.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if we had an M/s community that everyone felt they could belong to? What would it be like if we knew that nobody was being left behind because of unintentional impacts of our words?

Most importantly, how can we, as white folks committed to both the M/s community and to racial justice, reconcile the awful history of these words with the beautiful relationships we have? We don’t have the answers, but I hope through conversation we can start to puzzle this together.

It’s not about the relationship structure; we love this way of building relationships and will fiercely defend our heart-soul calling towards it. We are Owner and owned with a total authority transfer dynamic, just like we have been. It’s not about the M/s community; finding y’all has been life changing for us and we love you dearly like the family we always needed. We are not trying to police anyone else’s language or tell you how you should identify. We just want to make sure our words are not harming the Black folks in our leather family (and beyond).

We are invested in the health and longevity of this community. We want to see our spaces thrive and grow for years to come, and will be here producing online events, workshops, and discussion groups for those committed to the path of structured relationships.

With love & in leather,
the Rooks

There is now elaborate conversation happening both on Facebook and where rife published the statement on his personal Fetlife.

If you want to talk to me or both of us about this, I am open to discussion and available. You can contact us both at [email protected] or me at [email protected]

I would love to talk to people who are particularly at the intersection of 24/7 authority exchange and anti-racist work, who are interested in engaging with ideas for supporting the M/s community and leather community in general to work to be a more accessible space for Black folks specifically and POC folks in general. If you’d like to collaborate and discuss, please reach out and let me know.

We are also now collecting other statements and quotes from folks discussing the impact of the words master and slave for them, and publishing them on our Facebook page here. They can be anonymous, with your name, or with a pseudonym. Send them to us at [email protected], or get in touch if you have questions about them.

What about here on Sugarbutch?

Here on Sugarbutch, I’ve taken down posts that use master/slave language. Some of them I’ll be editing and putting back up, but some will stay down because they were primarily about M/s and wouldn’t be the same to edit. I won’t be using M/s language in erotica or in posts about my relationship going forward.

I am however interested in writing about the many, many things which are coming up in response to this statement — things about reclaiming language, about what level of comfort different people have with using them, about other issues of racism in the M/s and leather communities, and more. I haven’t figured out if I can/should post that here, or if I will publish that on Medium or somewhere else — but either way, I will be putting content notes at the beginning of the pieces so people can opt in or out to what they are reading if they wish. Feel free to let me know your preference in the comments, and I will take that into account.

Last, but not least

It has taken me some time to come to not using these words.

We both had reservations about using those words when we started finding the M/s community, but the M/s community has many explanations for why those words are used and has done a lot of work reconciling their history. There are many Black leaders in the M/s community, and I have learned much from them. I hope it’s clear within the statement above, but we are not trying to make commentary of any kind about what it means for Black folks to use these words — only for US, personally, as white folks.

I needed the teachings about authority exchange relationships that the M/s community presents, and they have completely changed my life for the better. I would not have as strong and healthy of a relationship with rife as I do if it were not for that community. I’m incredibly grateful, and I do want to see that community thrive, grow, and continue. I also hope to have a conversation about the use of these words, who it leaves out, and the harm they cause — which is already happening.

I have many other things to share about this process, and I’m slowly gathering my resources to write more about it. I am talking to Black and non-Black leaders in the leather and M/s communities about next steps, following the guidance of what Black folks want. We’ve been having dozens of hours of conversations. I’m doing my best to listen.

I welcome folks to join me and rife in visioning, as we said in our statement, a leather community that is truly inclusive, where all feel safe to show up as their full authentic selves. If you’d like to join the conversation that is already happening, check out on the Facebook page for our title years and the statement on rife’s Fetlife (which has many more comments).

6 Black Educators to Follow & Support on Patreon

One of the things I’m hearing a call for out of this uprising for Black lives is to pledge ongoing support and donations and redistribution of wealth, not just one-time donations. Patreon is a great way to support artists and educators — y’all know I’m a big fan of their model.

Here are a few great artists, activists, and educators I am pleased to support there, and I highly recommend you do, too — not just to make donations to smart, creative, life-changing people, but also to get access to all their amazing work! Personally, I’m inclined to folks who are incorporating some element of sexuality or embodiment into their work, and if you’re reading here, you may be, too.

1. Eclipse is creating a cosmic home for Black Queer Erotica

2. Sassy Latte is creating Education & Art about Body Politics & Racial Justice

There aren’t a lot of folks doing work at the intersection of sexuality and racial justice, and she shares great resources, thoughts, and images. With recent posts such as “6 Ways White People are Causing Harm with Their Attempts at Allyship” and “Let’s Stop Trying to Use White Privilege for Good,” her longer writing through Patreon is worth diving in to. Check her out on Instagram, where she is very active.

3. QueerWOC is creating a digital community for queer women of color

I found them through a Patreon article about Black creators to support, and they wrote, “The Podcast started as a Tumblr page back in 2013. Now it has grown into a community space for lesbians, bisexual, queer and trans women of color to come together and celebrate their “lives, loves, and laughs”. Hosted by Money and Nikeeta, a family therapist and community organizer respectively, the two hope to leverage Patreon to sustain the podcast and also grow the brand by producing merchandise and hosting in-person meetups.”

4. Rachel Cargle is creating resources and critical discourse to aid in unlearning

Recently, she posted templates for holding your local school district or academic institution accountable for racial justice, and she posts ongoing inspirations and thoughts about on The Great Unlearn Instagram and Rachel Cargle Instagram.

5. Good Ancestor Podcast with Layla F. Saad is creating interviews with change-makers & culture-shapers

Layla F. Saad is the creator of Me & White Supremacy, “A 28-Day Challenge to Combat Racism, Change the World, and Become a Good Ancestor leads readers through a journey of understanding their white privilege and participation in white supremacy, so that they can stop (often unconsciously) inflicting damage on black, indigenous and people of color, and in turn, help other white people do better, too.” Her Patreon supports her work and her podcast, and keeps us updated with what she’s developing.

6. Nicole Cardoza is creating conversations and tools to reclaim wellness – for all of us

Nicole Cardoza publishes the Anti-Racism Daily newsletter, “your daily reminder to dismantle white supremacy.” I have some of her recent newsletters still in my inbox: Capitalize the B in Black, Defund the Police (Beyond the Slogan), Protect Essential Workers, Rally to Celebrate Juneteenth. They are relevant every day and offer actions to do to support anti-racist work. Go to the website and add your email here: https://www.nicoleacardoza.com/anti-racism-daily.

There are many ways to support the Movement for Black Lives, but if you’re into supporting creators who are putting their good work out into the world, hope these are a few who are inspiring.

Who are you supporting on Patreon, or in other places? I’d love more recommendations.

Breath as a Healing Tool During COVID-19 with M’kali-Hashiki

M’kali-Hashiki is an erotic breathwork facilitator whose work has been transformative for me personally. She is a leather dyke, polyamorous, and a BDSM practitioner, and, to quote, “I have personal experience achieving mystical states during sex.” She has many skills in many intersectional erotic realms.

Her work focuses on breath as a healing tool in an erotic context. What does that mean? “It’s a series of breathing techniques that allow you to access and circulate your erotic energy,” she says. But “erotic” is not a euphemism for “sexual” in this case — “Erotic energy is your life force, your creative energy. The purpose of erotic breathwork fundamentally is to deepen your embodiment: to strengthen your connection with your body.”

Doing erotic breathwork now, in the midst of both a pandemic and uprisings, is particularly important. “People use these techniques for many reasons: deal with stress, remediate chronic pain, enhance physical/energetic/emotional intimacy with partner(s), to deepen their meditation, to practice dying,” she said. “In these times we know that stress and pain and fear and panic can weaken the immune system. So having the space to process these emotions will help to strengthen our immune system. Also we need to a space for our grief. We will be grieving something, if not a person/people, then a way of life. Repressing grief also weakens our immune system. We need to feel all of our feelings instead of just swallowing or repressing them. Here in this circle we get to feel whatever and however we feel. And lastly we need to make space in our bodies for joy & pleasure. Erotic Breathwork is a great tool for that.”

She has two special community offerings through the end of August: community erotic breathwork, and BLM Protesters’ sessions.

BLM Protesters’ Community Erotic Breathwork Sessions

These sessions are for any Black folks involved in the recent protests (and any Black healers supporting them).

For all the Black folks who’ve been in the streets protesting our murders: I’m offering a virtual space to come commune with your body. To croon songs of love & thanks to it for allowing you to make your voice heard; to remind it of its sacredness at a time when the US wants to ram it’s lie that you are not of value down your throat; to purge the fear & adrenaline that your body sustained while you were out there; to strengthen your soul’s endurance. A space carved out of time to feel however the fuck you wanna feel, to let those emotions run through you and create a river connecting you with our Ancestors who protect you, and our Descendants who will benefit from the holy work you’ve done. To feel all of our heartbeats in the sound of your inhale & exhale. To just be.⠀

Fam. Words right now really fail to grasp the breadth of the situation we’re in, so I’m not even gonna try.

Our rage, our grief, our fear, all of it is valid. Let us come together and hold each other with our breath and feel whatever the fuck it is we want to feel, outside of the White Gaze, outside of the Media. Let us circle and remind ourselves how precious we are, how valid our emotions are, how much we have overcome, and how far we will go together. Let us gather together and find what comfort we can from one another. Give your body a space to purge all that adrenaline, to thank your body for making your voice heard. To remind your body that you have not & will not swallow the lie that it is of low value, To fall into our connection to the Ancestors who protect us and to our Descendants who will benefit from the holy work you’re doing. To feel all of our heartbeats in the sound of your inhale & exhale.

Starting June 6 at 4pm PDT—and then every following Saturday at 3pm PDT—join me in a cybercircle with other BLM Protestors (and the Black Healers supporting them).

Shelter In Place Community Erotic Breathwork Sessions

Times are scary right now. We don’t know for sure what the outcome of this pandemic will be. No matter where we are on the globe, our society will be transformed. And transformation can be chaotic, both outside and inside our bodies. Every day brings more frightening news, and if you live in the US, it’s clear that our federal government is not up to the challenge.

All of this turmoil & uncertainty causes anxiety, stress, and panic; which not only affect our ability to stay healthy, but also make it harder to hold to make & keep space in our lives for joy.

Starting March 22 until the end of California’s Shelter In Place, I’m offering Erotic Breathwork Drop-In Sessions twice a week (Sunday at 12:00pm PDT & Thursday at 6:30pm PDT). These sessions are “Pay What You WIsh”, and no-one turned away for lack of funds. These sessions are designed to take you on a journey of excavation, of renewal, of integration. They can provide you with a container to dump some of the panic, fear, and grief so you can go about your life as well as a regular opportunity to re/connect with your body and/or access joy in your physical and energetic body.

Panic & stress weakens our immune system, joy & community strengthen it!

“We’re in a chaotic time, and chaos just means change,” said M’kali-Hashiki. “We are poised to create the world of justice and beauty and love that we have been dreaming of. We need to get through this time, we need energetic stamina, but we also need to be ready for this new world, to divest ourselves of the stories and ways that have not served us, we need to welcome the body’s wisdom & erotic Breathwork helps us to hear what the body wants to tell us.”

Head over here to sign up for one of M’kali-Hashiki’s erotic breathwork sessions for BLM protestors or for community breathwork sessions.

Sign up for her mailing list, and follow her on Instagram to keep up with her work.

Cock Confidence: The Sacred Act of Going Inside Someone Else’s Body

It is a sacred, intimate act to go into someone else’s body.

When I say ‘sacred,’ I mean rare, precious, and done to help us remember our divinity and humanity. Done to connect us to something bigger than us, each other, and ourselves.

It is a very unusual for us to do, generally. Kissing, and other erotic acts. Doctors, dentists, some bodyworkers like acupuncture. Very few things pierce the barrier of our skin. Very few things actually go inside of our bodies, actually into one of the holes in our bodies.

Generally, our skin does what it is supposed to: it keeps our insides inside and it keeps everything else out. Generally, it is successful, and when something goes in that we don’t want, it is a violation. It is a virus, a parasite, a wound, an act of violence.

It is very, very common for us to have experiences with acts of violence in our past. For people with vaginas, it is extremely common — and it is common that that violence is particularly related to genitalia, to sexual history, to something entering unwanted.

The statistics vary: 1 in 8, 1 in 4. But ultimately,

You could call this part of “cock mindfulness.” When it comes to penetrating someone else’s body, we never have a right to be there — no matter how much we play that we own them, control them, or force them (meaning, in a consensual non-consent way). We are there because, underneath our agreements, they consent to that happening.

Going inside someone else’s body also has the added complexity that trauma lives in the body. When something traumatic happens to someone, it is stored in the body, and it can flare up to the surface suddenly and without warning. The hips and pelvis are also huge storage depots (to quote one of my favorite yoga teachers) for stress, tension, and trauma. The body remembers and keeps track of things in deep ways that the study of somatic is just beginning to understand.

Going inside someone else’s body is a deep intimacy that is a privilege, not a right. It is something I encourage us all to deeply honor, any time we have the option, and to use very, very wisely.

Perhaps it’s partly why food is such a big part of courtship, comfort, and romantic gestures — because we take something into our bodies, inside of our whole systems, that someone else prepared lovingly with us in mind.

Announcing: D/s Book Group & Nonbinary D/s Discussion Group

I accidentally started two groups this month!

I say “accidentally” because I intended to create one — a D/s Book Group — but the discussion rife and I held about Nonbinary D/s this past Thursday was so successful that many folks requested we keep doing it. And so, I think, for now, we shall.

D/s Book Group

To join: Keep an eye here, on Patreon, on my social media, or on this Fetlife group for the dates and times. Or the mailing list. I’ll be shouting about it everywhere y’all!

What is it: we’ll be meeting monthly on Zoom to discuss a book that is focused on D/s. We’ll alternate one fiction, then one nonfiction; we won’t read two of the same author in a row; and we will choose books which are in print (unless we can somehow get a digital copy of an out-of-print book that we can distribute).

The first book will be in July to give us all a solid month to order it and read it.

Vote on the first title here! It’ll be nonfiction.

Nonbinary D/s Discussion Group

This one is still in progress.

This month’s D/s webinar, through the Patreon, was rife and I hosting a discussion about nonbinary D/s. In my mind, there were two main topics: 1. people who identify as nonbinary in power exchange relationships or orientations, and 2. using the principles of being nonbinary and applying it to power dynamics as a politic.

We spent most of the time talking about the latter, but we explored all kinds of other topics, such as gender fluidity and D/s fluidity; behaviors aren’t gendered just like behaviors aren’t powered; how we can use skills of gender theory inside of our D/s theory; studying intersectional kyriarchy as a way to be more consensual; understanding D/s roles before identity and sexuality; gender as a fetish; expectations of consistency when it comes to D/s and gender and most other roles; identity alignment assumptions, assuming that our identities line up a particular way; assumptions based on gender, race, size, class; and last but not least, we talked about honorifics and gendered language within D/s.

I’m committing to holding a group like this monthly for the next six months. The next one will be Thursday, June 11th, 7-9pm PT. (I’ll have that in the full schedule which is my next post.)

If you want to get in on that … follow my social media, get on the mailing list, follow me on Patreon (you don’t have to support to get the notifications of the public posts, but please do support if you have the means), check back for the June schedule (which I’m posting now).

See you there!

First Time With Daddy, Guest Post by Kimberly Dark (Excerpt from The Daddies)

excerpt from The Daddies by Kimberly DarkBrill | Sense (October 24, 2018)
Content: Sex, daddy/girl language, bondage. All characters are 18 years of age or older.

I am interested in finding out what she means. She is articulate and open with a confident stance. She is tall, not particularly attractive, grey-blue eyes and ruddy white skin. Her hair is fluffy, not quite curly, as though it carries its own small wind. Still, she seems strong; she speaks with curiosity and good grammar. She has good posture. These things attract me. I react. I am a spasming muscle; she is the stimulant. We flirt – in that ambiguous way that can never convict us.

I meet her at a university where I am giving a talk. I am the expert on gender for this evening. She is in attendance. It could be any city, any university – but it isn’t. I used to live in this city – Colorado Springs. I have a history here, finished my undergraduate work at this very campus. I have connections here – and here she is, connecting to me.

After my talk on gender roles, she lingers to question, to hold my gaze, to touch my elbow in conversation as we walk together to the parking lot after the event. I want to know what she means when she says, “There are complexities to this butch/femme thing that I wonder how much you know about. Some things I don’t know who to talk to about. The sexual identities…” She pauses, and then continues. “I don’t know how much you know about the leather community …”

She pauses again. It wasn’t really a question; she intended to continue all along.

“In the leather community, I am a Daddy. But because I pass for femme, I don’t get much recognition, much respect. And I think, I could change my appearance, but I don’t want to. I like to be soft too.”

She seems to read my attentive silence, renegotiates her admissions and adds, “but you know, I also used to be a bottom, and I looked a little more butch then.”

This admission is unique – her timing, bold. I am nodding, pondering the creation of balance between appearance and behavior. I could say, “You’re so big and strong, so forward and in control of this conversation. I think you have the credibility of a Daddy, despite the long hair, the eyeliner.”

I don’t say this. I think it. Fascinating. And so it begins, an academic discourse. She is a seeker. I am a teacher. She is a Daddy. I enjoy a considered submission. And so it begins. She watches me, listens, responds, leans in. She uses the same tools of communication I use: disclosure, analysis, physical openness, negotiation, and re-negotiation.

Later, about 5 a.m., I ponder how she presented herself to me. I agreed to have coffee with her, so I will interview us both further on this theme. To what, in me, was she responding, in order to create this response in me? She is remarkably skillful, or perhaps, I don’t know that I am an easy mark for this sort of intellectual and erotic tension. I am an easy mark for curiosity about what “leather daddy” means to her, and how she does that role – what “femme” and “passing” mean to her – what “bottom” means to her.

A few years later, we are lovers – more than lovers – we are something like family. She asks me, “How did the Daddy thing start with us? Did you ask me for it?”

I stare, incredulous. “You brought it up the first time we met.”

“Right, but we were just talking about it. How did we get around to doing it? I mean, we were lovers for a few months before that came up.” She wobbles her hand around the word that, assigning it indescribable meaning.

I am fascinated that she really doesn’t remember, that she really doesn’t know what she chose in me, the first time she laid eyes on me. We have had time to think about this. I have thought about this, but apparently she hasn’t. I don’t recall my exact words – how I gave her permission to do what she did for the first time, but I know I gave permission – the soft, steady reassurance that a violation would be allowed, appreciated.

She stood on the balcony smoking her pipe, watching the light retreat over the city skyline. She was wearing her black bathrobe over her white boxer-briefs – the snug kind that keep the soft-pack in place, hug the thighs, the gluteal muscles. (“I’m developing an ass like a Clydesdale fucking you as much as we do,” she chuckled once, admiring her rear in the mirror.) She stood alone, smoking against the pink sky. We’d been lovers for a few months, but tonight, something was different. Before she walked out, she held me for a kiss, made sure I felt her cock, soft but assertive, against my pelvis.

She was quiet, and felt somehow unapproachable, enjoying her pipe in the warm night air. She was quiet and yet, entirely legible to me and I knew not to say much. I knew to wait patiently. I already loved her and had already begun making sacrifices. I tingled with anticipation that her inflexible ways would soon reward me.

I became small and quiet, a transformation prompted by her rigidity, prompted by my permission, prompted by her assertion, and prompted by my invitation. We fell like dominos, a brutal, beautiful cascade. With a different entitlement in her hands, she felt my breasts, held me around the waist and pulled me in. She kissed me differently, her tongue so deep down my throat, I couldn’t breathe for a moment and I liked it – knew not to speak of it, but I liked it. “Go get in bed, sweet girl. Take off your clothes and wait for me.” She patted my ass and I turned from her, obedient.

I saw moments of her, through the bedroom door, emptying her pipe, methodically stowing it away, washing her hands, and brushing her teeth. My skin tingled beneath the sheet. I saw her change the soft dick for the hard one, long and black, protruding beneath the bathrobe. This part was nothing new, but something was new – and I knew not to speak of it. She joined me in bed. I was on my back, her body next to me. She was propped on one elbow, gentle but assertive, touching my breasts, my belly with tender fingers, pulling me in occasionally for a hard penetrating kiss. The mutuality of our passion suspended, I became shy and waited, thrilled and a bit frightened – could I do it? Was she going to do it? We’d been talking more and more about Daddy. Still abstract, still talking. I could feel it coming. Could I? Stay present and genuine, really do it?

Deep breath. Let the body decide. Breathe. The body is deciding.

Her soft hand still on my breast, she leaned toward my ear and asked, “Are you going to give your Daddy what he wants?”

As she spoke, my throbbing thickened, slipped. The body is deciding. “Uh-huh.” I managed, and my willing embarrassment, face flushing, fueled her. She was on top of me in an instant, her hand holding my wrists above my head and pushing down, hard. I had neither the strength nor will to move and a fear of both truths fluttered gently in my stomach, the sensation drowned out by my slickening need. Her tongue down my throat, my wrists aching beneath her significant strength, she straddled me, pressed her hard cock against my belly. Her body held my legs shut.

“Daddy’s cock is going to be too big for you. Is that going to be okay?” She was speaking into my ear, between kisses. I managed a whimper and she said with a small chuckle, “That’s right, it’s going to be just fine. And afterward, when Daddy’s all done. When I’ve taken all I want, I’ll kiss you better.” She gently kissed my forehead. “I’ll clean you up with my tongue, where I hurt you. I’ll take care of you because every part of you is perfect. Every part of you is mine.” She kissed my cheek and released my wrists with a stern look and said, “Don’t move now.”

Indeed, my wrists were still bound.

My eyes wide, no words, the mind reeled briefly with astonishment. Could she not have started a little slower with the Daddy-thing? But I could feel the answer in her touch. It was too big. She was going all-in. And I would take it just as she gave it. The body was deciding.

She gently knelt between my legs and spread them. “That’s my good girl,” she said, gazing at my glisten. “Legs up,” she said. I obeyed and as she nestled down onto my body, she put one arm around my back and held me, tighter than she’d ever held me, more lovingly than I’d ever felt her. The other hand found her cock, so she could move into me slowly, her forehead against my sternum, she was feeling every moment of her entry. Her first, in a way. She said, “I’m going to go slow at first, but because you’re so good, I won’t be able to hold back once I get started.” And in she went, little by little, “Are you my good girl?” And I was nodding against her head. “That’s so good. You are my good girl.”

And my mind was lost, belly fluttering. Already all in. My body was choosing this. My body was saying yes in every language it knew and she was listening so attentively. It was bringing her so much pleasure; I couldn’t conceive how exponentially mine was multiplied. How could I not have known this joy before? Her pleasure was amplifying and the mind went deaf in the soaring sound of it. Her fierceness and release became one and I felt the holiness of it. How could I not have known?

As soon as she pulled back and pushed all the way in, her restraint was spent. She was talking, as she started moving faster, not an apology, but an explanation. Not a request for permission, but a surety, a deservingness that was so beautiful, so beautiful, my mind was blinded by it. “Oh yes, good girl, that’s it. Remember, I’ll kiss it better after.” She said as she fucked me harder. “That’s it. I know it’s big, but you’re doing so good. It’s so good.”

I had to have something to hold onto. And though afraid of breaking the invisible restraints her hands had put upon my wrists, my arms sailed down and I wrapped around Daddy’s thick back and she moved to accommodate. Her one hand around my left breast, squeezing hard for leverage, the other arm still holding me close and solid, she affirmed me. She did not admonish my move to hold her. She affirmed it.

“That’s a good girl. Hold onto your Daddy while I fuck you.” Accommodating my need, she said, “You hold on.” And a warm, tingling light spread through my body, emanating from my pussy, emanating from her piercing. The point of her pounding ready to supernova, she was within herself and still with me. She was within her own pleasure, yet spurred by mine.

“Daddy needs to fuck you hard now, princess,” she said and how could it be any harder? I didn’t know, and everything felt right. I wanted to please my Daddy more than anything, more than anything and my body was choosing. My pelvis was tipping forward to give her all I could and then I had to hold on. The impact was so great, I had to hold on. I had never been fucked so hard before and she was commanding, “You take all of your Daddy.”

And I was screaming, “Yes!” And filling up. “Yes!” I had never felt so full of love before. “Yes!” Her anguish overflowed into joy, and I contained it all. I didn’t spill a drop of Daddy.

And by the time she was done closing my wound with her tongue, licking up her come and mine too, so no one would see, I was exhausted and wordless. I would’ve made my fortune on the business of sleep, if she hadn’t awakened my drifting, her eyes blinking at the ceiling, chewing her lip with worry.

“What is it, baby?” I said when I sensed the shift. I expected the post-Daddy-sex trauma to be mine. She had done this before with a lover. I had not. I was frightened by her urgency, looking for the right answers when she asked, “What do you think about what we just did.”

“It was good.” I offered, dumbstruck by the experience itself, this question, too much.

“Because you know, that’s not just sex for me.” She sat up, cross-legged on the bed, searching my face. I felt suddenly exposed, any move might be wrong and I knew no matter what we called it, I could not lose her. Right then I knew: I would do way too much not to lose her.

“I know.” I said, and I sat up too.

“No, I don’t know if you know.” She was shaking her head. “We have to talk about this, have a talk. Because we’ve been having good sex for the last few months, but that’s not just about sex for me.” She said that with bulging eyes and an emphatic glance toward where my body had lain. She continued. “I mean, I don’t know how that was for you. But for me, right now is the time to decide. We can still say ‘okay, we tried that out and we’re never doing it again.’”

My mind reeled. I had no words yet to discuss what we had just done – no words at all – and now something had to be decided? I chose words carefully and each felt like a failure in my mouth. “If you don’t want to do that anymore with me, it’s okay.”

Perhaps she saw the confusion in my eyes. “But you wanted it?” she asked.

“Yes, I was there with you.” I said, holding her gaze.

“I know you were,” she said simply. “But you have to be sure, because if I go there, it’s all the time. It’s not just sex for me. It’s all the time. It’s in our lives.” She was nodding while she was speaking. “It’s big. For both of us.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I crawled across the big bed toward her seated form. I crawled into her lap as best I could and I felt her worry soften.

“Yes.” I said.

She held me, and rocked me a little bit, soothing herself as much as me, I think. She kissed my forehead and we were silent for a time. Before she loosened her hold on me, she said, “Okay?”

I reiterated. “Yes.”

The gentle teacher, she added, “And you say, ‘Yes Daddy.’”

My whole body tingled. And I whispered it into her ear.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Get your own copy of The Daddies by Kimberly Dark, published by Brill | Sense

Sheltering 1: Things I Have Learned

1. More than twelve years of working from home as a freelancer / solopreneur / writer has prepared me quite well. I already have a home office set up, I already know how to divide my time and focus and still get things done, even though I’m at home. But this isn’t the same as “working from home,” of course. This is “working during a pandemic.”

2. Why do I wear so many things that are so uncomfortable? It’s hard to justify even “getting dressed,” so why bother wearing things that don’t improve my life? I actually like jeans, though I know not everyone does; I tend to buy the stretchy ones so they are very comfortable and don’t restrict movement. I’m still pretty much every day in a black tee shirt. I hope we can all wear more of what we want to going forward, and less of what doesn’t feel good.

3. Amazing all of the things that we thought we needed to get outside of the home, that we thought we needed to spend a lot of money on, that for me are actually just fine at home. Examples: Haircuts. Eating out at restaurants. Going to the movie theater.

4. I miss the gym. Road trips. Fruit picking at U-pick farms. Body work of all kinds, from massage and acupuncture to pedicures and facials. There’s a lot of overlap between beauty and health. But there’s a lot that I don’t miss.

5. I don’t miss driving everywhere. Being in traffic for hours. All the time between tasks, going from the gym to the grocery store to the cafe to the practitioner’s office.

6. I don’t miss all the time with friends. I miss my friends, sure, but I think I have a lot more socializing than I need or even want, in part because my partner needs it, and in part because I say yes when people ask. Noticing that I don’t really miss it and I’d rather be by myself most of the time is very interesting, very good information.

7. I have been remaking the plans that I made six months ago. It’s all different now. I can’t rely on what was true in November and December. Things I thought I’d do this year are no longer — so what am I going to do? I’m doing a lot of online work, that’s for sure, but that’s not it exactly either.

8. I’m struck by how different this experience is for folks in different situations. I’m sheltering with a partner and cat and dog — not with kids who are usually in school and can’t see friends and are somehow expected to get school work done. Not with roommates I don’t get along with. Not solo, starving for touch. Not working outside of my home at all, not on the front lines, not at a grocery store, not policing the public and whether they are following physical distancing or wearing a mask. I am very privileged in this and I’m aware of that, and I’m grateful for what I have.

9. But I’m also assessing what I have. For me it’s been a huge pause, a vast time of going inward and listening. Quieting. I love it. The opportunity for focus, for clarity. There’s also vast amounts of numbness and confusion, anxiety and stress and fear, of course. But in the moments I can rest in the safety I do have, I can go to another level of assessment about my life and the trajectory of my family and my capital-W Work in the world. Things were already starting to change, but the timeline was longer than it is now. Now, the timeline is different. In some ways, everything is different.

10. I hope we can keep the learnings we are getting from this. The pleasure from cooking at home. How little we actually need to shop or buy things. How much it matters that we have time in our gardens and with our puzzles and crafts. How lovely it is to connect with people long distance. How great our sweatpants are. I hope we can keep that, as we mourn and grieve the over 100,000 who have died in the US, as we work to protect ourselves from the news and the kleptocratic government, as we figure out how to go forward.

Will Anyone Else Want Strap-On Sex the Way I Do?

You might be worried that you love strap on sex too much.

You might be worried that you won’t find someone who wants to receive strap-on sex as often as you want to strap on. In general, as we get more aware of what our particular sexual interests are, it can seem like what we want becomes harder to find.

Which is true — we’re narrowing down what we want, so that means there are fewer things out there that will match our wants. But what’s also true is that our chances of being satisfied are getting higher and higher, because we better know ourselves and what we want.

In addition, we’re getting more specific with what we want, which actually means what we’re looking for becomes easy to find. If we’re looking for “someone to have sex with,” sure, there are lots of people who might fit into that scenario, but just anybody willing to have sex might not actually make for a satisfying time.

Getting more specific about our desires gets us more likely to get what we want, and also more likely to have a satisfying experience.

A Little Personal Story …

As I was coming into my own as a cock-centric person, I was worried that my interest wouldn’t match up with anyone else’s. I wanted to be strapped on when I had sex at least ninety percent of the time, and I didn’t know anybody who wanted that the same way I did.

I got a lot of push-back from other queer women I was dating at the time. One person even told me that if she wanted to have sex “like that,” meaning with some sort of penetrative instrument, she’d have sex with a man.

Associating strapping on with any particular gender is not only untrue, it deeply limits our abilities to explore and experiment with what our bodies do and the ways we can connect and play through sex. Wanting to play with penetrative sex, whether with fingers, a factory-installed penis, or a strapped on appendage, has nothing to do with gender and can be enjoyed — or rejected — by anyone of any gender. A few of the most cock-centric people that I know are high femmes, and I know a few gay men who do not want penetrative sex, giving or receiving, at all.

It took me some time to feel comfortable owning how frequently I wanted my sexual experiences to include me strapped on. It took talking to my friends, talking to lovers, and talking to other sex-positive educators to feel like I wasn’t the only one who wanted that, and to trust that I wasn’t a weird pervert freak because of it. It took trusting that someone was out there who wanted equal-but-opposite thing I wanted — for their partner to be strapped on for ninety percent of their sex life. It took experimenting and playing and being open about what I wanted.

Eventually, it has become one integral part of my personal sexuality, and if I was talking to a new potential sexual partner, it is something I would screen for.

On Stereotypes

It might seem like lesbians or queer women have rejected penetrative sex, because they are not attracted to men. It might seem like straight men would not be interested in being pegged, because they are heterosexual.

But liking the sensation of penetration and one’s sexual orientation are not the same thing. In all of my travels and coaching and teaching of strap-on technique, I have met with thousands of people, and I assure you: plenty of queer women enjoy penetration, and plenty of straight men enjoy pegging, and plenty of nonbinary folks and genderqueer folks of all kinds of genders enjoy things in their holes.

It might seem like you are looking for something that doesn’t exist, but I assure you: it does! You may have to just take it on faith for a little while, but if you look around and be open about the kind of sex life you want, you will find people who want the same things you do.

There are many, many people out there who want to receive. They might be looking for you, and thinking you’re hard to find, just as much as you are looking for them.

Happy 14th Anniversary, Sugarbutch

Sugarbutch started on this day, April 29, 14 years ago in 2006.

I had been in New York City almost a year. I was drifting away from my girlfriend from college, who moved to New York with me; she was in law school, and I was miserable. We weren’t having sex — we barely felt like partners, to me, just roommates, and I was having no luck repairing things.

I had no internet connection at my apartment. I went around the corner to the cyber cafe to apply for jobs. But I had hopped through some temp work long enough to get a job at a finance firm, doing layout & design, where I stayed for about 3 years, which meant I was in front of a computer all day for the first time since I worked at Microsoft — my schedule in Seattle before I moved to New York had been a patchwork mix of writing groups & performances, working at a bookstore, college classes, and homework.

So once I got in front of a computer, I started diving in to the online worlds of personal expression: creative writings, the “personal essay” (or, if men were writing it, the “essay”), and blogs. I stumbled into a just-born world of sex blogs, particularly New York City based sex blogs, discussing their sex-capades and life in New York. Most of these folks weren’t queer, though some were. I started writing fantasies and stories and started liking what I was writing, so I shared them.

I’ve had dozens of lovers online. My first long-term-relationship I met in a telnet chatroom in 1994, we were together five years. I’ve courted, fucked, and wooed women online when I was dating men and not really out as a lesbian. I’ve met for dates, one night stands, and courtships through the internet.

And so I’m turning to the internet yet again, in this anonymous blog, to detail my overspilling desire and try to curtail some of the want that is really painful for me, since my needs aren’t being met. And, ultimately, to decide how much more of my own pleasure and desire and needs I’m going to sacrifice in order to stay in this relationship.
from the first post on Sugarbutch: Bed Death, Standard Variety

The early stuff is all password protected now. It was such a journal, so much personal writing, so much uncensored writing. I’m not sure I’d want to re-read it, but it is still there, buried in the archives. (It’s the old password, btw. Join the mailing list and get the password used to be the deal. But now it’s join the Patreon.)

Toward the end of 2006, I wrote a piece after a foursome and it got some notoriety, and Sugarbutch started building a little tiny audience.

After that, it’s such a whirlwind … falling for someone else, breaking up with the college girlfriend, taking about a year to try to get my life together before going after the person I fell for, the magic of that six month relationship, then the trauma of the breakup and the realization of how damaging that relationship was. That was another peak, and I started getting asked to teach places, to be part of sex blogger meetups and groups. Writing beautiful, heart-wrenching, raw things through that breakup. Then healing, slowly. Dating. Meeting and courting Kristen. Opening that relationship and dating other people. That was another peak, and I had two books come out in the same year. Meeting rife, and then my dad’s death, and then the breakup with Kristen, and moving to Oakland.

There are other posts about the first 7 years of Sugarbutch, the first 7 anniversaries:

Hard to believe I didn’t write anything for the ten year anniversary, but April 2016 was the beginning of the relationship crisis rife and I have been in the past few years. I have written about it some here, but not a lot, for two reasons: 1) it’s ever difficult to share deep emotional things when they are currently happening, because this does have a lot of readers now and the feedback, comments, or criticism I get is just unnecessary and the opposite of helpful; 2) part of what I uncovered is how, when I journal, I tell myself a version of my story that I want to hear, and that can actually just reiterate and solidify my story, rather than be supportive of it. Generally that’s not true of my relationship to writing — I write to discover what I don’t know that I already know, I use it as a tool of self-inquiry and growth. But when I’m in a triggered state, it can just keep me spinning out, rather than helping me re-center. So I have journaled a lot less in recent years in general.

(I’m trying to get back into journaling, now that I have a different relationship to the c-PTSD. But that’s still in progress, and offline.)

It’s more valuable to write a summary of the last seven years, since I have a lot of summaries of the first seven years. I’ve been with rife that whole time; I’ve been in Oakland, California that whole time. This is the most stable that I’ve ever been, probably my whole life. We had a collaring ceremony, we got married, we ran for two leather titles and won.

We started teaching online — we launched Submissive Playground, Mastering Dominance, Dom Club, which has now evolved to be D/s Playground (which is an on demand, downloadable course, free to the folks on Patreon who support at $5+).

I have traveled to do guest lectures and workshops at colleges, but in 2015 I re-entered the workforce and have had a few different jobs since. I’m looking for a full-time job now.

After rife and I had a major relationship conflict starting in 2016, we started couple’s therapy, which we’re still doing. I don’t know if we would have stayed together if it wasn’t for her — and for our stubborn commitment to each other. The conflict ignited all kinds of past traumas in both of us, and I have spent the last few years really teasing apart my history of relational trauma, my complex PTSD, and dealing with the wounds that happened because of a lot of emotional neglect in my childhood. We’ve been in a much more solid place in the past year and a half.

Making a full account of those seven years is more than I can do at the moment, but that’s a start of a summary.

I’m constantly thinking about how I’m going to evolve this space. In some ways, it is a ball and chain I carry around, rooted in the me from 2006 who was so naive, so young. Some of the peaks of this project have revolved around relationships and break-ups, and instances where I am not only not proud of my behavior, I am at times deeply ashamed. I’m working on forgiving myself for all of that. It isn’t easy. Sometimes I think: if I was starting a project today, would I write about my sex life on the internet? The answer is, emphatically, no. It’s a laughable idea. Too intimate, too vulnerable. I know that’s part of what makes it radical, but I’m also just more private than I used to be — and the internet is a lot less private than it used to be.

The last four years have been laying the foundation for a huge leveling up. Mostly laying the emotional foundation, but also the financial foundation, relational foundation, and spiritual foundation. I’ve been building three things in a much deeper, more intentional way: 1. roots in a geographic place – where do I want to live? 2. financial security, particularly having my own income that actually supports the life I want to live; 3. building a family, both as a head of household Dominant to my boy, but also expanding it.

I’m frustrated that it has taken me so long to prioritize these kinds of stability — my 20s and 30s were so much about transformation and not about the usual adult things of career path and saving money and “settling down.” I got a lot of value out of my deep studies of embodiment, leather, kink, queerness, gender, polyamory, relationships, and sex in general, but wow if it wouldn’t be nice to have some savings. I guess my mid-life crisis at 40 has been about reprioritizing things like that.

I believe in the ability to reinvent myself, and to make this space serve me. Ultimately, it’s a personal writing project about writing myself into the next phase of my life, using writing to level up myself, and it has served me well for that all along.

So, thank you, Sugarbutch, for fourteen years of support. Thank you for the structure. Thank you for the place to process and express and create and share.

Thank you, readers, for reading, commenting, engaging, sharing your stories, bringing me to your colleges and towns and community centers, buying my books, reading my books, sending links of my dirty stories to your lovers and folks you wish were your lovers.

Thank you, patrons, for casting some financial support my way. The last five years of Sugarbutch have been completely different because my expenses are paid. I feel more motivated. Thank you. Sign up on Patreon if you’d like to support my work.

Thank you, rife, for being with me on this journey, for letting me write about you, for trying out sex toys with me, for sharing your ideas and stories. Thank you for sticking with me, even when things were/are hard.

Much gratitude out into the world tonight.

Hello, It Is Spring, Let’s Bloom (Playlist)

I was working on this through most of January & February but finally got it done in March. Our adventures leading up to the International contest were really meaningful to me, and I think that was a really valuable ordeal for our relationship to go through. And we came through it much stronger for it.

That is all to say, here is my latest in a long series of playlists of love songs for rife.

1. When Will I Learn – Rob Riccardo
“I guess I forget that I got all the answers.” trust the process, I’ve got this. I tell myself these things a lot these days, and to be honest I trust it all a lot more than I used to. something feels tethered to myself in a way that feels strong. the closing lines, “when will I learn that I’ve got all I need / when will I learn that I’m already free” gets so easily stuck in my head, it’s such a catchy, natural chord progression that really clicks.

2. bad guy – Billie Eilish
it’s just sexy. I can’t believe it took me so long to be introduced to her vocals, I really like her. I think she cheapens the line by adding the “duh”, but I try to just ignore that part.

3. You and I – Reuben and the Dark
the story isn’t quite our story … but the metaphor of it, the running and problems and being scared, and then “you and I are gonna be alright,” and the sweeping epicness of the chorus and the beats, it just feels like a sweeping last scene of a movie where things work out.

4. Indigo – Daniel Champagne
there’s something about these acoustic guitar instrumentals that always feel like they belong on mixes to you. they’re uncluttered, analog, and just happy to be just what they are, a simple acoustic instrument.

5. Golden – Becca Mancari
“there you go again turning golden.” reminds me of the “stay gold” line in the outsiders, a classic butch root for a lot of us, and reminds me of how we can keep coming back to ourselves and each other over and over, that neither of us has tarnished for the other — or rather, that you haven’t tarnished with me. even when things get rough and scratched up, we polish it back up, you do the work, we both do, and you turn golden, stay golden.

6. I’m Just Waiting for Your Love – Tomemitsu, Steady Holiday
you could read it like a solo person asking for a lover, but for us it feels like the waiting time when things are hard between us and I’m waiting for us to come back around and back together. we do that, you know? feels like it’s expand-contract, the nature of the universe. dreaming about your love, waiting for your love. sometimes it’s me that’s in the way of receiving it, but even then I’m still waiting for it to come back to me, and I know it will.

7. Light of a Clear Blue Morning – the Wailin Jennys
I love their harmonies so much. “everything’s gonna be alright / it’s gonna be okay.” I finished this mix in march so it was kind of before the worst of the covid sheltering in place, but it’s interesting how many of my choices are reassuring mantras.

8. You Mean the World To Me – Freya Ridings
it’s the lines “I know that I can be pretty mean / but you mean the world to me” that got me … it’s almost a breakup song, or could easily be read that way, but I think it doesn’t have to be; it’s more about a rift in a relationship, and it’s easy to assume that’s the end, but not necessarily. either way, her core message to the person is how important they are.

9. Swoon – Rising Appalachia
I love “drape me in jasmine vines in this crescent city swoon.”

10. Shine On – May Erlewine
feels like another mantra song, reminding myself and us to just keep shining. “it ain’t easy living in hard times.” (also, the tabs are on her website with the lyrics, might be a fun one to learn.)

11. Don’t Give Up On Me – Andy Grammer
“I’ll hold onto you / no matter what this world’ll throw / it won’t shake me loose,” I guess I have really needed to hear reassurances. it feels comforting, because they feel true. this one feels cheesier/pop-ier than the others, but I still get it stuck in my head and it feels right.

12. Face Your Fear – Curtis Harding
“by the way / maybe / don’t worry / it’s okay.” adding “just” to “face your fear” makes it sound easier than it really is, but in a way it IS that easy, too. well — simple, but not easy.

13. Servant of Love – Patty Griffin
kind of reminds me of the servant master archetype, but also the sweeping progression of her vocals and piano in this I find so incredibly emotional and intense. plus “I long to live by the ocean” … and “words from the deep calling to me.” I long to live like this.

14. Somebody Loved – Kina Grannis
it’s a cover of the Weepies, which I might have actually put on another mix, or maybe you did. they can be a little bit heavy on the twee cutsieness, but I love her voice and it’s such a sweet song. reminds me of the transformative power of a relationship: “you turn me in to somebody loved.”

Rest Is Important, You’re Right It Isn’t Fair, and Other Things I Need To Hear Right Now

Things I need to hear:

It doesn’t matter if you’re not being productive, and also, it does. It is okay to take a break, to focus on resting, to lay in shock on the sofa eating cookies and drinking wine for a week. It is okay to be in pajamas that have been worn for just a few too many days such that you would feel guilty shoving your lover’s face down into them. But also, it’s good to keep going. It maybe even feels better to fold the laundry and put it away, to put on not only fresh pants, but pants at all. It maybe even feels good to do up your hair and wear a nice shirt, put something fancy together just because it’s Tuesday.

You have spent time focusing on feeling good, but you need to mix in some things that are good for you. Wine and cookies and lamenting is not particularly good for you. (You have learned these lessons so many times in so many ways. Yes. Here it is again.) It is extremely hard to go after the things that are the best for you, because you have to actively break some patterns, and breaking patterns is one of the hardest things of all to do, even though they are psychic and not physical. Maybe especially because they are psychic and not physical. Do it anyway.

And then rest. Rest rest rest. It’s okay to do that, too.

Old ways are crumbling, have been crumbling, and we don’t even know what these new ways are yet. What color they’ll be. What flavor. We don’t have any sense of how deep the change will be, how big the loss.

Log off of the social media, even Instagram, the one you say is the better one because people are actually sharing their lives on there and not just parroting headlines. Too much input is too much input. It feels better to write and create, even though it doesn’t seem like it. Even though it feels impossible to put pen to paper and you end up writing “I don’t like this pen” a dozen times before you write any other words.

It’s okay not to write, but it’s also good to write. It’s good to step up and do the hard thing, to practice discipline. To identify that which you are actively avoiding doing and do it. Do it.

Holding the line – long-term discipline – feels better than going after the short-term comfort. Maybe that doesn’t feel true right now, but try it for a little while and see. Does it feel true? If not, then stop. But when you’ve done this before, you remember how good it feels to hold the line.

You cannot solve capitalism by thinking thinking thinking. It isn’t fair. There are people working to make it better. How can you deeply accept the world, even in this state? How can you deeply love the world, even in this state? Keep going. You will make things that will help — yourself if no one else. You will find your feet again, find your grounding again, feel forward into the future again. It makes sense that this is hard, this is the hardest, this is so unusual, this is so unknown. So you get to make it up.

What is your best day? Let’s make that day tomorrow. What is your favorite way to spend an hour? Spend it on this next one. You have more control than you act like you do, and less. You have more power than you act like you do. Spend it. Coax it. Create it. Let’s go.

Some Notes That May Turn Into A Sex Manifesto

Because the boy & I have been together for 9 years, and because we are also adults with jobs and families and obligations and bodies that aren’t always in the mood for sex, and because even the most compatible people have phases of being mis-matched in their desires and drives.

Because it is of incredibly high priority to me to have a rich erotic life.

Because I crave sex frequently. Because I struggle to feel close without the addition of pheromones and the alchemy of fluids. Because I want the physical closeness of losing ourselves in each other, of getting skin-drunk, of the intoxication that comes from tasting you. Because I use it to let my guard down. Because I let my guard down to have it. Because I want my guard down but I don’t always know how to take it down. Because my guard goes up so intensively automatically that I don’t always even notice it’s there. Because I still think about the boner preservation society and what would be on my list.

Because sex is the best way I know how to pray. Because sex is the best way I know how to see god. Because I need the release of orgasm like some people need a workout, to wring things out of my body, to shake and release. Because I have no better way to experience the holiness of my body. Because I start feeling floaty when I don’t have someone on top of me for a little while. Because I crave the feeling of all my senses activated, and you feeling every one.

Sex Manifesto (first draft)

1. The boy should assume that all sexual and erotic play is intended to have some pleasure in it for him. If it is not pleasurable, he is not only invited but expected to speak up about that and let that be clearly known.

2. It is possible that the Dominant will want to engage in erotic play that is not pleasurable to the boy, and the boy should do his best to accept that. However, this play should be intentional and with full knowledge that it is not pleasurable.

3. The boy can expect to have basic needs met before engaging in erotic play, including: hunger, using the bathroom to relieve himself, temperature (especially being too cold), and tiredness. If those needs are not met, he is expected to speak up and let them be clearly known.

4. We have long engaged in erotic play without a safeword, but we do have certain code words and phrases that can and should be used. a) “Mercy” is an accepted code word, and the Dominant will always consider mercy when the boy asks for such. b) “If it pleases you,” can be used to mean “I don’t particularly want to do this, but I will do it because you want me to.” c) “Only if it pleases you,” can be used to mean, “I do not want to do this, but I will because you want me to.” d) “I am a tool for your pleasure,” can be used to mean, “I am focused on servicing you,” meaning, “this is not about my pleasure right now.”

5. Masturbation is encouraged, orgasms are not restricted, and there are no particular requirements for how either should be done. Asking permission to come pleases the Dominant, but is not required at this time.

6. Fantasies are encouraged, porn is encouraged, and other erotic explorations are not just allowed but encouraged.

7. Having sex with other people during dreams is allowed. (Let’s just make this explicit, since the boy’s dream-self sometimes feels guilty.)

Take My Whip: Fantasy Date Night, Guest Post by rife

It’s Friday night and we keep this night blocked off on the calendar. 5:30 rolls around and you send me around the block to walk the dog once I wrap up my work for the day. When I come back, you’re sitting on the porch in your jeans with the leather crotch, a tight new black t shirt and the chest harness. All the deck furniture has been pushed off to the side and your Bluetooth speaker is playing a mixture of jazz and romantic pop music. You are wearing your heavy harness boots and you let your goatee grow out a little.

I giggle, suddenly feeling underdressed in my daytime pajamas and sneakers. I prance over and get up on my toes to kiss you. You let me. “Hi, Daddy! What’s all this?”

“I’m taking you dancing, boy. Go get dressed.”

“Mmmhm. I mean, yes, Sir.” I say softly and pad inside to feed the dog and put on that slinky grey dress you like and my combat boots with the soles that have worn down to slick nothing and the chain wrist cuffs that match my collar that you like to see on me. I wash the work day off my face and scrub dry until I’m pink.

You raise an eyebrow at my outfit choice but you’re smiling underneath it.

We dance for days and days on the porch as night falls and the bats come out to play. Sometimes the tempo is slow and our feet barely remember to shuffle while we kiss with lots of tongue and you run your fingers through my fresh soft buzz cut. The smell of wisteria finds its way to us across the breeze and if our neighbors see us, they pretend not to.

Sometimes the tempo is faster and you throw me across the boards in controlled chaos. It takes every ounce of concentration to just follow, to listen for the cues in your palm on my back, to remind myself of the rock step-triple-step beat, to give over to the music and your direction. There are moments when it is effortless and we are just flying, one creature.

Finally it is fully dark and you press me back against the one oak tree, breathless and sweaty on the warm summer night. Ed Sheeran or some other sensitive white guy is still crooning on but all I can feel is your dick hard against the fly of your jeans against me.

You press me hard enough that I’m sure the rough bark will leave marks, pinning my hands over my head, looping the chains around my wrists into that hook that usually holds the wind chime. I’m impressed by your forethought but the nation is quickly swept away my your hands doubled up on either side of my rib cage, stroking the length of me up and down from exposed armpits to the bottom curve of each hip. I shiver and swoon under your firm big hands that make me feel so small. You inch the bottom of the dress up teasingly slowly. I really hope the neighbors aren’t watching now.

Just when I can feel myself start to squirm and rub my thighs together anxious of the wetness I can feel coming on… you pull back. I whimper a little and sigh involuntarily, which of course is what you want.

“Not now, pet. You’re going to wait.”

“Mmmrf. I mean, yes, Sir.”

Inside, we make pizzas — yours pesto and salami with a cauliflower crust, mine sourdough and jalapeños and onion. They are delicious, but I am distracted thinking of the packer still between your legs. After dinner you tell me to ignore the kitchen mess and follow you, so I do.

You strip my dress off like someone who has done it a hundred times before and nod approvingly at what is revealed: just mounds of tight exposed flesh with no underwear. I feel you press up against me from behind and your arm wraps around my throat.

“You’re going to take my whip, boy, and then you’re going to take my dick.”

“Mmmmmm… ! I mean, yes, Sir.”

The wood of the coffee table is shockingly cold at first and my nipples flinch against it, but I relax into it as you layer gentle strokes with your big fat deerskin flogger all across my back. I moan despite myself as you ramp up in intensity and land a few solid strikes across the curve where ass meets thighs. You always were a leg person.

You pause to lean over me and grow into my ear. “Mmm, beautiful. Good boy. Ten more. Count for me.”

This time, I do not hesitate. “Yes, Sir.”

You step back but your fingers trail across my reddening back like it pains you to be separated. I can still feel the energy of you reach out to me across the room.

Until it is concentrated into a fiery pinprick of the kiss of your single tail.

“One, Sir.”

I try to remind myself it is just sensation. I try to erase pain from my vocabulary and just feel it. Easier said than done.

“Two, Sir. Three, Sir. Oh…! Four, Sir.”

Now we are both flying, drunk on your power. You push me harder to see if you can draw blood and break in this whip. Make it bound to me like i am to you.

The lash falls hot across my shoulder and i squirm hard, but the trickle raised is just sweat.

“Five, Sir..!”

You love me but you quiet that part of yourself with reserve to get what you want. No, it’s not want. You will be nice later. You need blood.

“Fuck! Six, Sir. Seven! Ah!”

I squeak out with difficulty eight and nine. You tell me a hundred times i am a good boy for taking it so nice and it lands every time.

Finally the warm droplets are pooling for you and you can feel your dick hard and straining in your jeans. You laugh aloud as i flinch hard out of habit while you barely tease me with number ten.

“Ten, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

You run the tails and your fingertips over my back and ass, drawing in the red, savoring my flinching as you pass over the already raised welts. My breath is heaving and so is yours, in time, I think.

In a moment your fly is open and you are crammed against me, sliding in easily to the hilt of your open jeans. You pull my hips back into you with both hands and groan as you start thrusting slow and deep the length of you. You wrap your hands around my face and shove your fingers hard against my tongue. You are growling a steady stream of filthy words but my brain isn’t even processing it anymore. I am overwhelmed by you.

“Fuck, that’s so nice. That’s right. You just take it for me, you little whore. That’s Daddy’s slut. Unh, you feel so good. So tight baby. Daddy’s going to give it to you. Fuck…!!!”

I guess I came too, because the next thing I remember: I am in a puddle, dripping into the carpet and high and there is no pain anymore.

You scoop me up and guide me into the shower, lather down my dully aching back with peppermint soap and wrap me in your big soft Daddy robe.

We eat Girl Scout cookies and watch Steven Universe until I fall asleep on your shoulder.

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“There Are Others Like You:” Interview with Rowdy, rife’s Puppy

Recently, Betty Butch was doing some research for an article, and did a small interview with me about my puppy persona.

How shall I refer to you?

my pup name is rowdy and pup pronouns are he/him, but if you’re referring to me as the human, you can call me rife, property of Mx. Sexsmith, pronouns he or they.

Tell me about yourself

My pup is a husky-corgi mix named Rowdy. He is super friendly and loves wrestling and human attention. He enjoys the outdoors and– OMG BALL!!

When did you first hear about puppy play, and how did you come to participate?

I probably saw it first at Folsom street fair about ten years ago, and thought, cute! that looks fun. But was much more on the giving scritches side than getting them for a long time. I played one time with a pup who did a whole sled dog team and that was pretty inspiring.

What does puppy play mean to you? What does your experience of puppy play look like?

For me, it is a playful, nonsexual way to be extroverted in kink spaces without the anxiety of having to be verbal. It can look like wrestling or cuddling or playing fetch.

Can you tell me about a scene or moment that encapsulates your love of play / pup headspace?

I like to be told I’m a good boy, so training with my dominant/handler can be fun… but the most memorable was after my cis-pup died in a kind of tragic way, I happened to be at a kink event at the time and couldn’t bear people asking me how i was doing because i was devastated. So that was the first time I was in full pup mode in public, and it was healing… it felt like a way to be closer to my dog who had just passed, remembering her body language and enacting it. And after, we did a piercing ritual still in pup space.

Would people be surprised to know you engage in puppy play? Why or why not?

Depends on where they know me from. ;) We don’t talk about it much on the blog or as titleholders, but my pervert friends would not be surprised. I love animals and am a dog walker part time as one of my vanilla jobs.

If you could give advice to someone curious about puppy play (whether private play, or going to events/moshes), what would that advice be?

You don’t need any gear, just have fun. Practice nonverbal consent a lot and have a plan in place if your boundaries are pushed (standing up or saying “no” works). Pups come in all shapes, sizes, ability levels, and genders, so don’t sweat it if you’re the only one not on your knees or with your particular plumbing. I paw-mise, there are others like you!

On Receiving a Full Scholarship to College, Twenty Years Later

Twenty years ago, in 2000, the Martin Family Foundation changed my life by giving me a full academic scholarship to the University of Washington.

I was 20. I’d cut my hair off the year before, split up with my high school boyfriend, and was now figuring out what it was to be out and loud and really really queer. I was struggling to afford community college and rent, and while I did have some support from my family, I was also an emancipated minor and had been living on my own for 3 years at that point.

I remember filling out the application. I remember, on the day of the interview, I missed my bus by mere moments and went to the pay phone outside of Pagliacci pizza to call the school and let them know I was going to be late. I was sure I had no chance of receiving the scholarship, based on being late, but they said no problem and switched my time slot with the person after me (who was early). (I think of this often when I’m late, the lesson being: just let them know.)

I blazed in to the interview, at a table full of silver-haired white men, a few of whom were taking notes on laptops (it was 2000, that was uncommon), and I talked about how I wanted to make queer art and write about liberational stories of sex and desire and the transformative potential for feminism to change the world.

When I left, I thought, well, there’s no way that room will give me money for my mission. But I was proud of myself for telling them what I really thought, what I really wanted to study — it was very vulnerable, to be so honest about something that felt so radical.

I remember that much more than I remember getting the call that I’d been accepted.

It meant so much to me that the Martin family heard my young adult queer ambitious heart and said, yes; not only do we believe in what you’re trying to do, we’d like to give you money so you can do that. It still means so much to me.

I never thought I would actually be a professional sexuality, gender, relationships, and kink writer — I didn’t expect to use my women, gender, sexuality studies degree so directly. (I just thought I’d be able to articulate the sexism & homophobia in whatever publishing company I worked at very well.)

In so many ways, my career started with this moment, when this group of men said yes. It gave me the opportunity to believe in myself a little stronger, a little more vigilantly. Someone else listened and said *yes, I’d like to give you money so you can do that* and they did, and I can honestly say it changed my life.

Happy 30th Anniversary, Martin Family Foundation. thank you for all you have done for me and for others at UW & beyond.

I’m Still Not Tired of Your Company, aka A Valentine

Happy Valentine’s Day! To all of you: beloved friends, community acquaintances, readers, family, old friends, and new.

I appreciate you and I’m grateful we have this weird, modern medium to use to keep us connected. Valentine’s day is weird and can be isolating and too full of Hallmark for comfort, but I still think excuses to celebrate love, tell people we love them, and spend quality time together (well, that’s my love language anyway), are all generally positive and I gratefully accept an excuse to focus on it, and let you know that I am glad to know you all.

and:

To this incredible person, my partner, my spouse, my boy of almost 9 years, rife: I love you.

I’m grateful for our intense, beautiful, swoon-worthy courtship, grateful for our years of struggle to figure out how we fit together and what we are really going to do together and how we, two flawed humans, are going to make a life together, and grateful that we are looking forward into the future again with a vision for our partnership that stretches long beyond the horizon that I can see. I adore you. I never get tired of your company — ?? Which still confuses me, because I get tired of almost everybody else, massive introvert that I am. But I love you next to me on the couch, in the woods, crafting and listening to podcasts, or watching another episode of the Great British Baking Show when we should be sleeping. I love the way you take care of your chillest dog and my grouchy old lady cat, and how determined you are to make the world a better place by tending the earth, and how you are so patient and kind, and how you make art out of everything, even the flaws and things I used to label as decay or destruction. that you are in my life inspires me to be better, motivates me to step up and dream bigger, and makes me want to impress you.

I love you — today, & all the days we get to will have together, and the 3,072 days we’ve been together already.

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Sinclair & rife Are Leather Paper Dolls (& You Can Download Us!)

Since May 2019, rife & I have been leather title holders.

There are many outfits involved.

rife, being the artistic and very efficient boy he is, decided to make paper dolls of us, and all of our leather, so we could look through the outfits without having to try them all on.

Honestly, I’m not sure it saved any time, but it is damn cute!

(Yes, he can make a set for your, but he’s not cheap, and it takes about ten hours.)

If you want your very own Sinclair & rife Leather Paper Doll set, rife made a PDF for you to print and cut out.

If you have any outfit ideas for us, we’d love to hear your suggestions!

Feeling Yourself: Getting Acquainted With Your New Strap On

So you bought a strap on harness and dildo — great! Exciting! Congratulations on choosing from the dozens of excellent products that are out there, and I hope it’s everything you wanted and more.

Ready to use it?

Sometimes, the distance between bringing the new toy home and actually using it with another person be a lot. Some of that might just be scheduling, and carving out the time for you and someone else to get sexy and lube up.

But some of it is fear, anxiety, or nervousness — and that can be harder to correct for. Sometimes our minds create barriers when there is none, even if — or perhaps especially if — it’s something we really want. If we don’t try, we don’t fail. We remain safer. But, in kink, and in sex toys and pleasure, taking a risk is very often where the pleasure is.

So perhaps it’s good to root out what kind of fear is happening. Actually listen to those voices in your head the next time they show up and rage at you: What if I screw up? What if I look ridiculous? What if I don’t know what I’m doing? What if I freeze? What if it slips out and I keep going and don’t notice because I can’t feel it? What if I like it, like, really a lot?

Just listen, and see what they’re saying. If it works to reason with yourself, you might be able to counter some of the concerns with facts or likelihood, but often, those kinds of voices don’t really run on fact-based logic, so it might not help.

And ya know, the fears might be founded. Some of those things might turn out to be true — but with time, and more confidence, and more experience, not only will there be less fear, but there will be more ability to shake off whatever potentially embarrassing things happen.

So. Let’s go.

Experiment with some of these things and see what feels best for you. These aren’t in any order, and they might not all work for you. That’s cool — just take what helps, & leave the rest.

And please — add your own ideas, if you have suggestions, in the comments.

1. Set It Up

First things first: Get it out of the packaging. Wash it thoroughly with mild soap and water. Sanitize it, if you like, by wiping it down with 10% bleach and 90% water, or running it through the dishwasher in the top shelf with no soap, or by boiling for a couple minutes.

Follow the directions about the harness that you bought and do a quick once-over clean of it. You don’t need to wash it in the washing machine, if it is machine-washable, or do a whole leather-safe soap and coat of oil, but you might want to wipe it down with a damp cloth.

It’s not so much because they are “dirty” and you should be worried about how they’ve been packaged so much as it’s about getting to know it’s care and feeding.

Depending on the harness you purchased, and what kind of body you have, you might also want to trim some of the excess off of your leg straps. Some of them come extra-long so to accommodate all kinds of body shapes, but if your body has been about the same size for a while, it’s probably safe for you to customize it to you, and trim it to fit. Assuming you’re not going to share it, of course.

2. Put It On

Yep, just put it on. Take some time for yourself and put it all the way on. Wear it around the house. Do the dishes. Answer some email.

You don’t have to stay in it too long — though it is useful to figure out where the harness might chafe, where the weight of the dildo pulls the harness, and how easily the straps slip. Plus, it’s excellent practice for putting it on and taking it off, for figuring out the fastest way to get the buckle and straps all in the right places, and for how to beat get it off.

Experiment with some different things to see what works best.

That means: put it on and wear it around a few times, not just once!

3. Get to Know It – aka, Masturbate, Masturbate, Masturbate

Jerk off with it! Read erotica, watch porn, or just let your mind wander. Thinking about the use of your strap on will help it be realistic, feel more like a part of you, and maybe even give you some insight about the kind of fantasies you might enjoy.

Take it in your hand and explore it. Imagine yourself feeling down into every inch of it, down all the way to the tip. When you touch it with your fingers, feel it where your fingertips meet it, but also try to feel it from the inside. Try a little harder. Strain for the feeling. You might find it more sensate than you expected.

Belladonna has a porn series called Strapped Dykes that could be inspiring, and of course there’s the Crash Pad series. Say Please and Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 have some of my favorite strap on stories in them. Give those a try.

4. Expand Your Proprioception

“Proprioception” is the felt sense of the edges of your body, and it’s changeable, possible to incorporate inanimate objects into your sense of yourself.

For example, consider when you’re wearing a big backpack. For a little while, for most of us, we will knock into things somewhat awkwardly when we first put it on. But if we wear it for a while, we can develop an expanded awareness and start to sense how far out behind us and to the side that it extends.

Same thing happened with driving a new car, or a bicycle.

This can happen with a strap on — or a whip, a flogger, a paddle — too.

Keep feeling into it. Keep trying it on and playing with it, feeling it in your body. It can take time, but it’s possible.

Add your own ideas, if you have suggestions, in the comments.

Thanks!

Ready to Make Waves: Two Recent Inspirational Leather Speeches

I’ve heard more speeches in the leather community lately than I have ever in my life, and I gotta say — I’m moved. There is some beautiful oratory happening, some strong inspiration, some insight and sharing and vulnerability and power that I haven’t seen in a long time.

It’s how I used to feel, in feminist and queer activist circles. At all those rallies and meetings and events. But I haven’t felt that way about queer and feminist events in a while. Leather feels more at home, and more edgy, and like more relevant topics.

Here are two examples from this past year: Bianca Spencer, current Ms Rubber San Francisco, at the Ms Powerhouse Leather San Francisco contest, and Jack Thompson, at International Mr Leather in May of last year, delivering what became his winning speech.

Bianca Spencer’s speech from Ms Powerhouse Leather SF contest

Bianca, the current Ms Rubber San Francisco, gave this speech during the Ms Powerhouse Leather San Francisco contest — and I was moved. I mean, I think we all were. I haven’t been so inspired by a speech in a long time. Thank you, Bianca!

Jack Thompson’s speech at International Mr. Leather

I haven’t found the transcript for Jack’s speech yet, though I think I saw one at some point so I do think it’s out there somewhere. Jack is breaking down boundaries as an out, bi-racial, bisexual, HIV-positive trans man, and there has been some push back from the cis men in leather, but equally powerful support. It seems clear to me why he won, when I heard this. #JackIsMyIML

Resources For Sex & Chronic Pain

A friend of mine recently asked me if I had any resources for chronic pain and sexuality. I knew of a few off the top of my head, but I started looking around, and querying in a few of the sex educator groups I’m in, and on Twitter, and compiled this list.

Thanks to everyone who weighed in and made suggestions!

What else do you all recommend? Please leave them in the comments.

Spoon Theory

Y’all probably know about the spoon theory — it is very widely popular in many circles, not only when talking about ability, written by Christine Miserandino. If you don’t, highly recommend you familiarize yourself with it — here’s the sweet article that started it all, over on ButYouDontLookSick.com.

Websites

Chronic Sex – & their Podcast
KinkAcademy.com – Shanna Katz & Wintersong Tashlin have series on sex & disability
Sexability.com – Rafe Biggs
Disability After Dark – Andrew Gurza
SexAbled – Robin Wilson-Beattie

Twitter

SexAbled – Robin Wilson-Beattie

Corey Alexander

Articles

Books

Partners in Passion – short section starts p374, but there are resources throughout the book
The Monster Under the Bed: Sex, Depression, & the Conversations We Aren’t Having – JoEllen Notte’s new book, forthcoming March 2020
Am I Ugly? – from the author: “First third talks about chronic illness, and the last third talks about sex in relation to surgery scars.”

D/s Books

Kneeling in Spirit: Disabled Submissives

Conference

Sex & Disability conference – happened in 2017 but there are listings for presenters and resources here

Which D/s Webinars Should rife + I Produce in 2020?

I didn’t expect the launch of the D/s webinars in 2018 to be such a big deal. The monthly webinars have become the primary way rife and I teach online, and I’m very excited to continue to have that platform to explore D/s topics, connect with other folks who are in D/s relationships, and talk about queer, nonbinary D/s.

This year, we did so many amazing topics:

  • Art of Ownership
  • Ask Us Anything
  • The Protocol Game
  • Fundamentals of Dominance
  • Self-Growth Through Dominance
  • Doctor D/s: Troubleshooting the Hard Stuff
  • … and more!

And, of course, we produced D/s Playground!

We turned our 8-week course Submissive Playground into an on demand ecourse for all kinds D/s orientations. It’s now online & live at dsplayground.com and you can sign up now! (Patrons get access to the course for as long as they are a patron.)

Now, it’s time to plan 2020

I took a poll over on Patreon early in December, and I have narrowed it down to some topics. My ideal is to do four webinars about D/s dynamics in general, four on submission, and four on dominance.

On Submission:

  • Actually I’m not sure yet. I didn’t break out many topics in the poll I did on Patreon, and rife & I haven’t sat down to talk about what topics for submissives would be best
  • Got any ideas?

On D/s dynamics in General

  • D/s as a Spiritual Path
  • Top/bottom vs Dominant/submissive
  • Nonbinary D/s
  • Feminist Sadism is not an oxymoron (and other things we feel guilty about)

Though, to be honest, I want to continue to do the Protocol Game in December as a way to prepare for the new year — it’s such a good time to do it! Maybe that’ll be a special bonus webinar? Hmm.

On Dominance

  • The Vulnerable Dominant
  • Self-Growth Through Dominance
  • Decision Fatigue & Other Responsibilities (receiving as a dom, giving orders, commanding presence, dominant aftercare – things like that)
  • ??

Secret Plan: Dominant Fireside Chats

I mentioned “dominant fireside chats” in the poll on Patreon, and it got quite a bit of votes! I love love love this idea, I’ve been thinking about it for years. So, I added it as a goal on Patreon — at a certain level of $, I’ll host one fireside chat a month (or maybe every other month? Is once a month too much? I’ll consider) and sit down to talk about dominance with another dominant, and take questions. That would be so much fun. There really aren’t enough dominant resources out there, I’d love to contribute to that conversation.

Support me on Patreon if you want to help me meet this goal and make this happen!

So, what do you think?

Got any other requests for 2020 webinars? What topics are you itching to explore? What are the kinks (hah) that come up in your D/s dynamic frequently? What kind of topics do you find yourself discussing with your friends all the time? I’d love to know.

Let It All Go, Boy: Part Two, Guest Post by Sonya Bolus

Content: mommy/boy role play, sex. All characters are consenting adults. Read Part One here.

**

Mommy:

I pull away. Stand up, looking down at you.

“You need to stop. Now!”

You look stricken. Poor boy. Still dazed, struggling with your lust. You are embarrassed. And sorry. I can see it in your eyes. I soften my tone.

“Don’t worry, little one. I’m not angry. You’re not in trouble. I just need you to understand. Privilege like that is earned. When I want you to touch me, I will invite you. I will direct you.”

I step closer, bending down and touching your cheek. “I know you didn’t mean anything wrong. You are a very good, very sexy boy.” You smile tentatively.

I sit with you, stroking your cheek and hair for a while, like you are my creature: petting you, lulling you. Then, in a low voice, almost a whisper in your ear, I speak. “I know what you need, boy.” Your eyes get wide. I run my hand possessively over the length of your bared body. “And I’ll take what I want.”

When you breath out with a silent “oh”, I pull you to me and kiss your mouth with all of my hunger and desire exposed. Crush your lips with mine, use my teeth on you, press my mouth against you so you can’t turn away or catch your breath.

Then, using your short, disheveled hair, I roughly bend your head back, holding it there to stroke your throat with my nails, graze your jugular with my teeth. Then very gently, like a shadow touch, a hint, I wrap your neck with my hand, placing the slightest pressure on your throat.

Oh, sweet boy, how can I resist you? You don’t know how your pretty eyes make me ache, make my cunt drip, make my Femme-cock harden. Dear little boy, you make me ravenous, and I can’t help myself!

I release your wrists, shove you down. Run my hands firmly up your thighs. Over your torso and chest, your hard, small nipples brushing my flat palms.

Then down again. I want you open beneath me. Hungry now, I press your legs apart. I want you to give me your butch-virginity, again and again. All boy. All dyke. All stone melted, flowing. Searing hot lava pouring from my boy’s hungry cunt, slick and steaming on my hand, lubricating my entry as I slip my fingers into you, spreading you slowly wider until my folded hand slides into you, and I take possession. Mine. I have you.

For a moment, you panic and your body stiffens. I stop and hold my hand motionless inside you, swathed in your swollen, silky inner flesh. I allow a moment of stillness while your mind catches up with reality and sensation.

Then, beginning with minuscule movements, I start to gently pump you with my fist. Slowly, your tensed muscles melt. With each penetration and retreat, a slight twisting of my forearm eases the stroke. I’m moving languidly, gradually dipping my fist deeper into you, taking a little more, pushing further. Your legs are relaxed and unconsciously splayed, but your hips push up at me, thrusting almost imperceptibly. Your eyes are screwed shut, hands clenching the sheet at each side, like you’d fall through the bed if you let go. You are focused, tuned to the frequency of invasion and disconsonant sensation. Your lips are dry from panting and the guttural groans that accompany each thrust. You are opening beautifully, boy.

Now I move harder and quicken my stroke, fucking you rough and deep. Your moans are long, drawn out, filled with vibrato and pitching higher until you are wailing and keening. Your kegels are a tight band on my wrist and you unwittingly crush my fingers together inside you. Every part of you is tensed, straining. Thigh muscles, taut and shaking, hold your full cunt higher, seeking release.

I don’t let you come. No, not yet. I want to keep you straining for me, begging. So I pull out, amused by your surprise and taking a small thrill in the tears of frustration that wet your eyes.

“Silly, little boy. Did you forget?” I purr, “I own you tonight. You are my toy for the moment. You funny thing… to think I would let you get off so easily.”

I turn you over abruptly, press you face-down into the mattress. Move to your side and hold you down, my left forearm pressing the back of your neck and shoulders.

Don’t wriggle. Don’t cry. You did this to me. Your pretty-boy body, firm and yielding. Your pretty-boy face, flushed and bright. The tousled, sweaty hair. You must know how you provoke my desire. You, with your hopeful, wanting eyes. The mix of hunger and confusion and eagerness. Your surrender, peppered with fear and seasoned with arousal. This little boy is crying for Mama. Why should I resist?

I don’t.

I know you need it. But the first smack to your ass is unexpected. A shock. Yes! The electric snap of energy. The biting pain. I feel the sting on my hand when I strike you, and I watch your ass cheeks quiver and redden. It is a sharp surprise, and you yelp. I almost laugh out loud at such guilelessness. But I don’t want to bruise your pride along with your body.

“Time for a proper spanking, boy.”

I release your neck and teasingly rake my fingernails down your spine almost to your butt crack. Your ass reflexively tips up. Now that you know what I want, you steady yourself to accept it, lifting up onto hands and knees, ass completely available.

“Such a brave little lad,” I praise you. “What a fetching little boy you are, when you know your place.” I smack you soundly. Then again. And again, building a rhythm that makes us into a fluid machine, working together seamlessly toward some unnamed goal.

In a smooth, instinctive movement, I wrap my left arm around your lower back and drag you by your waist, unresisting, to me. Hold you close and tight across my lap where I’m kneeling on the bed, with your head resting face down on the mattress to my left. Your ass is perfectly positioned for me. With my dominant right hand, I whack your already hot and red-purple cheeks. Harder, now. You are doing so well, my little boy with tears in your eyes.

I ball my hand into a fist and punch the soft muscle of your bottom. I laugh lightly when you jump. “I need to bruise you, little one, so you can relive this moment when you examine yourself in the mirror tomorrow.”

Once, twice, three more times I punch your cheek. You give a little yelp with each blow. Then you groan, a husky sound filled with hurt and desire. I move to the other cheek, throw a smack like a whipcrack, then deliver three hard little punches in quick succession. You breathe in, sharply, and release it in a loud moan that breaks into a genuine sob.

Not much more tonight, then. This is too fragile, yet. It is too soon to push you further.

So when I strike you again, it is softer. And I leave my hand pressed motionless against your heated skin until your shuddering breath settles into a regular rhythm. Then I tenderly caress you with my fingertips, softly blowing cool air on your hurts. You relax into the gentle touch with a childlike sigh. I bend and very lightly kiss that hot skin. Another sigh. I pause, take a deep, quiet breath. Savor the moment before I move on you.

I almost denied you this proper finish. But I enjoy how you willingly suffer for me, and I believe you can take this last torment. So I grasp a pliable handful of your ass cheek and twist your hurting flesh, digging hard into the developing contusions, while you cry out in surprise and pain. I release my grip and then crush the flesh of your other bruised and burning cheek, driving my fingernails into you like teeth. I relish how you do your best to silence your cries, but I love the sounds of your pain when you can’t. Silence bores me.

I let go with a little shove, pushing you away before I go further, barely able to contain the ferocious hunger you inspire. You are on your belly, breathing hard, and I let you have a moment, while I gather myself and excruciatingly tamp my fire down to a less destructive flame. Then, I lay my hand flat against your back between your shoulder blades and help you steady, breathing with you. When your breath is even and calmed, you slightly tip up your butt, quietly offering it to me again.

“What a good boy,” I croon. “Hmmm … do you think you deserve more?”

I reach for the pump bottle full of J-lube sitting discreetly next to the table lamp, and I drizzle the slippery cool wetness over the crack of your ass, using my thumb to open you and get it up in there until your hole is as slick as your boy-cunt. I ignore the noises you are making as I slather lube over the length of my hard, black cock, stroking it like I can sense every touch. I feel the power of it, this extension of myself that you will accept as part of me. I pull your hips close to me and rest your dripping asshole against the head. I see you are shaking. Desire? Fear? Fatigue? There is a moment of holding back.

“Tell me you want this,” I demand in a low voice. “Be truthful. Don’t lie to me. I’ll know.”

No hesitation: “Yes! yes! Please!” You are flustered and so earnest. Heart-meltingly earnest. Your words tumble out like marbles falling all over each other.

“Yes! I want You… I mean this. I want this! I need to be Yours. Please, Ma’am? I mean… Mommy.
I want Your… uh… dick? I mean … Is that ok? I do, though. I want it. In me. Please? I mean … if you want me… Mommy? Do you?”

You take a deep breath. Then very softly, “Please fuck me, Mommy. I need… I need you to fuck me.”

So nervous, but so very genuine. You make me want to laugh and hug you and fuck you and hurt you and own you and take such good care of you. But mostly, I want to fuck you.

“Oh I want you, little boy,” I growl. “I want your Tight. Little. Hole.”

You suck in air. Mmmm… I love your hunger, love your need. Your trust and fear. It is all so… delightful and… delicious.

Then quietly, I answer your request, “Yes, you may have Mama’s cock. You have been very well behaved, very honest. And you deserve. To be fucked. By your Mommy.”

‘Your Mommy’. These are powerful words. I think you know that I don’t throw them around like they are anything but sacred. They are an invocation. A baptism. These words name you and claim you. I’m not Mommy to just any cute, horny, butch bottom. I can’t be Mommy for a scene and then walk away.

This is me, accepting responsibility for your body and heart, your want and need. And it is me letting down my guard and entrusting you with my dark and vulnerable self.

How is it that I know so soon … really know … that you are my boy. And I am your Mommy. It hasn’t been long enough. I never take on a D/s relationship like this so quickly, especially Mommy/boy. I don’t understand it, but I don’t have any question in my heart or mind that this is right. I feel a rush of almost painful joy, and I wonder if I’m going to spill tears on your back. I suddenly want to gather you up into my arms and whisper “My boy, My boy” into your ear over and over, kissing you and feeling you against me. But instead, I press gently against your tightness with the tip of the dildo that is also my dick. I need you. Like this. Now.

I take you slowly this first time, this exquisite first possession of your ass. I maintain an insistent, gentle pressure, moving very slightly in and out, nudging you open. I feel it when you release, the ripple of acceptance passing through your body. You sigh as I slide through and in. Filling you. All the way in. I stay there, sunk deep in you, your hot, sore flesh against my skin and the harness. Silence holds the moment. Then I begin to slowly stroke myself inside you. I watch my cock fucking in and out of you, see it stretch your distended hole, watch your tender skin hugging my shaft, moving with it. I listen to your groaning and the rhythmic, wet sound of slow fucking. God, I feel you. I feel myself inside you.

We are in our own small sphere of time and space. The room has faded, the apartment, dinner, personal ads… all faded into the outside world of everyday. Time stretches, somehow viscous. The air is denser, humid, hazy. In this moment we have our own microcosm of sensation, the synergistic dynamism of a perfectly crafted engine, a capsule universe webbing us with bright, breathless energy.

You moan: a low guttural howl. And I feel the fear finally, fully drain from you, weeping from you as if from a lanced wound. Your shoulders are shaking: silent sobs, (I keep slow-fucking you). You pull yourself together, groan and whimper, (I don’t stop). Then you grunt and push against me, wanting more, begging with your body for pleasure.

We begin moving together in a hard rhythm. Each thrust is a shared heartbeat, pumping the tide of heat flowing between us. I bend forward, take a gentle-firm grip on the back of your neck; you strain back toward me, like a bridled horse, unconsciously obeying my touch. I slip my hand up into your hair, combing through your soft, short curls, then grasp them in my fist, holding you, bending you back to me.

“Mine. I fuck you to make you Mine, boy,” I growl. And you give it to me. Your tears and sweat and your body fucking me back, insistent. Your asshole strained and accommodating, so willing.

I want to feel your body against me, so I bend forward, supported by my hands on either side of you. And you curl down and arch your back into me. My body envelops you, my breasts pressed to your skin. I shift my weight to my left arm. With my right hand, I reach around your pelvis to find your cunt hole dripping. I slip two fingers into you, thumb against your clit, and moan with the thrill of your heat, liquid fire lust. You pump against my hand, carnal animalistic grunts escaping your throat. But I can’t fuck you properly in this awkward position, and before long, I pull my fingers away, reach for your hand and guide it to your crotch.

“Be a good boy and make yourself come while I fuck your pretty ass.” My voice is husky and distant. You pant your tremorous reply. “Yes. Mommy.”

I kneel up, knees planted on the bed behind you, ready and eager to fuck you for my pleasure alone. My desire is blinding; I want the wild ride, driving you like a beast. But instead, I force myself to hold back, and I pace myself to you, listening to your body, matching your desire. Because… I want your come, boy. That is my pleasure tonight.

Your hand is busy. “Oh God! Oh yes!” you whisper, and say it again. “Yes. God, yes!” Chanting it in sync with each thrust I make. Your breath is quickening and the energy in the room pulses like a live thing. My mind dives deep into the blur of your pleasure and our synergy. I feel your orgasm gathering. “Oh my God! Yes!” You howl, “Yessss! Please!” Your muscles tighten, your ass tries to push me out. But I push back and give you just that much more until you convulse and shout, “Yours! I’m Yours!” and your body spasms and spasms again, and then again.

But you are still stroking yourself intently and still moaning: a long, drawn out, “Ohhhhhhh,” almost as if you are surprised by what you feel. Your moan pitches higher and suddenly all of your muscles clench, hard and juiced. You are frozen, tense and mute. Then the wave breaks; you wail and howl, riding the swell of pleasure I can see and feel pulsating through you. I press my cock deep in you, holding your hips and pulling you against my pubic bone, pulling your orgasm up against me. Your thighs are shaking. You cry so sexily, “Oh Mommy. Oh Mommy.” Over and over like a mantra.

And I cum from your cum. It always shocks me when I climax without physical stimulation. Not earth-shattering, but a surprising, gushing pleasure. My cunt contracts and throbs, and clear ejaculate sprays from me, drenching your ass, trickling hot down your thighs and mine. A lovely way to end things, you covered in my cum. Like an animal, marked and claimed. I hold myself stiff inside your ass and enjoy the bright moment. I deep inhale, tasting the sex in the air. Exhale and savor your exhaustion, satiation and post-come, starry-eyed pleasure. I am finished, so I pull out slowly, releasing your hips. You whimper just the tiniest bit and crumple to the soaked sheet below. I love what I can do to you, boy.

I lie down next to you and draw you very close, lifting a blanket over our bodies, murmuring softly, “Dear boy, sweet boy. My darling boy.” Kiss your head and face and stroke your shoulders until you drift into sleep nestled in my arms. Sleeping in your own wetness and mine. Sleeping like an angel. I live for this; these magical moments.

But, you don’t know.

You don’t know what goes on in my head.

Lying here with you sleeping in my tender embrace, I imagine all that I might do to you. There is a caged Tiger in me that hungers and wants release. My hunger is dangerous, darling boy. My hunger wants to violate you, tear you open, destroy your innocence.

Oh yes, Mommy wants her sweet boy to take it hard. Mommy wants to slip a hand over the boy’s mouth, keep you quiet while I use you. I’ll push my fingers into your mouth so you can suck for comfort while I force you. I’ll croon in your ear, “Be a good, quiet boy and I’ll give you what you really want. I’ll give you the fuck you need.”

I want to watch you try not to cry, try not to turn away or disobey, try so hard to offer yourself to me like a good boy. (I know you can do it. I know you can take it, boy. Make Mommy proud.) I’ll fuck you until you hurt. I’ll hurt you until you’re Mine. I’ll push up in there and give you the deepest drilling you’ve ever had. I’ll open you so wide. I’ll break you. Break you.

You know why I want to hurt you, don’t you, my boy? It’s because you are good. The sweeter you are, the more I want to beat you, cut you, choke you. You seduce me with your trust and naivete, and I can’t stop myself. I want your tears. I want to hear your suffering. The more you snuggle into my arms, the more I want to fuck your mind, blind-side you, turn you roughly over and ram into you, hurt you and take my pleasure in your pain and submission. You’re just a little boy, but I’ll use you for my fuck hole. My little rough-trade boy-bitch.

Someday, maybe soon, the Tiger will emerge, with claws and teeth, eager to devour you. Perhaps I will wrap your neck in my hands, choke you until I see your eyes roll back, until your lips are purple-blue and you start to go slack. Bring you back from the edge and do it again.

Perhaps, I will take a steel cane to you, bring up welts, maybe blood. Then fuck you from behind, wearing a spiked harness, scraping and abrading your hurt skin with every thrust.

Oh my boy, I will cum so hard in you, I will finally be truly gratified, fully satiated.

Exhausted, sweat dripping from my breasts and clinging to my hair. Pumping the last of my cum into you. My legs buckling so that I fall onto you. Collapse on you, pinning you down, breathing in gasps and shuddering, my cock still wedged hard in your ass, still owning you.

But, dear boy, before I destroy you, I need to love you first. I need to trust you. I need to know you. Because when I pull out of you and roll to my side, spent, for a brief moment I will be yours, letting it all go. Crying, maybe.

You see, I need your gratitude. I need your forgiveness. I need you to tell me “thank you”, so I know I didn’t hurt your spirit. Tell me you love me, that you are always mine. Then I’ll know I haven’t truly broken your mind or damaged your trust. Smile and kiss me, so I know you can take it, whatever I need to do to my boy. Rest in my arms, so I know you want me, Tiger and Lover. Mommy and Master.

I’ll float, while you stroke my back and hold me quietly until I can move. Until I am your Mama once more and can take care of you again.

Then I’ll hold my broken boy until my love can knit you back into joy, bright-eyed wonder, devotion. So you can stand proud and whole, my strong Leatherboy. Precious Mommy’s boy. Cling close, and I’ll embrace you until my own heart melts, and I’ll know I have loved you how you need it. How I need it. How it can only be for a Mommy and a boy.

Cartography of Control: A Map For Areas of Dominance & Submission

When it comes to control in D/s dynamics, there are a lot of questions to ponder and theorize about.

How do you give over even more to your dominant? How do you take more from your submissive?

How do you work out what your limits are?

How do you take or give more control?

How do I start making rules and protocols outside of the bedroom?

Or maybe you’re just in a D/s dynamic that is excellent, but you both want a little … more? So perhaps the question is simply, How do you step up your D/s dynamic?

This theory can help address all of these.

The Cartography of Control is a Map

The cartography of control maps out areas of someone’s (generally the s-type) life, and codes them into categories to share which areas they would like to have under someone else’s control and which areas they would like to keep for themself.

The first step is to brainstorm different life areas. These are probably endless, but there are some broad umbrella categories that applies to most folks. Here are some areas to start with:

Kink/BDSM activities
Orgasms/sex
Partners
Friends
Community
Family
Pets
Tidiness
Money
Spirituality
Gender
Emotions
Sleep
Speech
Stuff/possessions
Medical
Goals
Time Management
Media
Opinions
Education
Work/profession
Body modifications
Posture
Grooming
Dress
Politics
Hobbies
Fitness
Drugs
Therapy
Food
Alcohol

It’s always possible to think of more things, or to get a lot more specific about things within the categories — grooming, for example, could be divided into how someone keeps their hair, shaving, what products they use in the shower, makeup, their skincare routine — all sorts of things. But for now, we’ll keep the categories broad and divide it into specifics later.

Sort the Categories Into Yes, No, or Maybe

Now that you have a somewhat robust list — it doesn’t have to be exhaustive, but at least is a complete enough list for you to start — sort them into three different categories:

  1. Areas the submissive would like the dominant to have control over
  2. Areas that the dominant could possibly have control over, depending on [certain] circumstances
  3. Areas the submissive would like to retain their own control and final decisions over

One of the things rife often says is that he can’t give over any area where he himself does not have control. For example, if he was a smoker, he couldn’t give his nicotine addiction over to me, because he isn’t in control of it. I could help him with a plan to stop smoking, but I couldn’t just say, “You are no longer addicted,” and exercise control.
This is quite simplified; you could develop more categories to sort things in to, like “areas I will give over after the permanent collar is on,” or “areas you can control

For now, don’t worry about whether or not the dominant wants to control these categories. That’s a separate step. Just think about the submissive’s part in it, and whether they could or are willing to give up control.

One way to sort these is to write all your categories out on paper, then use different colors to denote which ones are which. Red could mean “no, I will keep control,” yellow/orange could mean, “maybe, depending on circumstances,” and green could mean, “yes, I would like my dominant to have control over these.”

Yes, you can change your mind — fine tune it, think through it, do thought experiments and make educated guesses about how future you would feel if certain areas were under someone else’s control.

Like this:

After you have the areas sorted, it’s time for the dominant’s part.

Next, make a separate chart of areas the dominant would like to have control over, could maybe take control over depending on circumstances, and would not like control over.

Now you should have two sets of lists. Time to compare them

Start with the yeses — those are the low-hanging fruit, the control that is easily on the table! Find the areas where you are both a yes — that’s your sweet spot. There are probably months of explorations inside just those areas alone!

But if you want to keep digging in, find the areas where one of you is a yes and one of you is a maybe, and discuss. Maybe you’ll discover some places where you want to grow more trust, or some parameters for the relationship that you hadn’t previously discussed.

When you’re ready to start exploring a particular area, brainstorm all kinds of things within that category that you could control, and start experimenting with protocol.

But first, a quick word about protocol:

Remember — only add one or two protocols at a time into a dynamic. It sets up the submissive to actually succeed at remembering what the protocols are, and doing them. Plus, it helps the dominant to remember and recognize when the protocol is or isn’t being done, and to act if it does not happen — which is another key piece of managing protocol.

You’re also perfectly set up to start playing with the Protocol Game, if that appeals to you! The cartography of control is a perfect way to figure out some of your training areas, and build the game from there.

Hopefully, figuring out your cartography of control will help identify areas where you can dive deeper into your dominance and submission.

A Bullet-Point Decade

Inspired by Maggie Stiefvater, who has quickly become one of my favorite authors after reading the Raven Cycle series, here is a bullet-pointed list of what I’ve done this decade.

  • Published Say Please, Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, Sweet & Rough: Queer Kink Erotica, the novella series, Erotix, and Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 4 (2020) … basically, all of the books that I’ve published came out this decade
  • Published stories in 20+ books, not even sure I can count them all
  • Wrote a column on Autostraddle for a year and a half
  • Met & fell in love with rife … had countless adventures, had a collaring ceremony, received a cover from him in front of the monthly leather group we’ve attended for six years, threw the most incredible 5-day party/destination travel wedding in my hometown
  • Moved from Brooklyn to Oakland, in part to be with the boy and in part because I’ve always wanted to live in the San Francisco Bay Area and I felt complete with New York City
  • Ran for and won a leather title with rife (this is a tiny entry in this list but it is a really huge accomplishment)
  • Traveled to 34 states, 5 provinces in Canada, Puerto Rico, and Mexico
  • Finally figured out what was at the root of some of my health problems: got diagnosed with a systemic candida infection and spent two years (mostly successfully) trying to clear it from my system
  • Got top surgery / a breast reduction surgery that has greatly improved my body
  • Applied for 25+ jobs, 4 grad schools, 2 writing residencies, 5 writing awards that I did not receive
  • Received alumni of the year from my gender studies department at my undergrad college
  • Received three awards from the National Leather Association for my writing
  • Judged three different literary contests — National Leather Association, Lambda Literary Awards, and Publishing Triangle Awards — multiple times
  • Judged the International Ms Leather contest
  • Taught dozens of classes at dozens of venues across the US & Canada
  • Was completely rearranged by the sudden, unexpected death of my dad in 2012
  • Learned brush lettering, rekindled my love for tarot cards, stepped up my journal game with bullet journal techniques (though I was doing something similar to that before the craze started! #beforeitwascool)
  • Dug deep into my own mental health, eventually landing on a diagnosis of c-PTSD, which has been a huge relief slash one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced
  • Witnessed the spiraling out of control death of my ego in 2018 that rearranged me even more than the death and change of 2012 did
  • Committed myself to the spiritual practice of buddhism & kashmir shivism (with a good heap of pagan witchiness thrown in there too)
  • Became a teacher in a lineage in which I’ve studied since 1999 (through Body Trust); founded an erotic embodiment company with three beloveds!
  • Got the root canal in my front tooth rebuilt, which was needed for a long time and was probably a low-level infection in my body for ~ten years
  • Ran a queer reading series in New York City with Cheryl B, which enabled us to host and support incredible queer writers from all over
  • Spent time on the board of the BUTCH Voices conference, running their media team
  • Launched a Patreon for Sugarbutch, which has completely changed my life and finally, finally, finally enabled me to feel like people really do want me to keep writing and publishing here
  • Spent time doing yoga, running (3x 5k races), boxing, and weightlifting, and continue to practice finding the pleasure in moving my body
  • Completed a sacred intimate year-long training, which has been one of the biggest things I’ve ever done for spiritual growth in my life
  • Moved to an apartment in Oakland which is my favorite home I’ve ever lived in, aside from my childhood home … maybe even including that
  • Continue to live with a cat who is now an old lady who is only slightly grumpy and very very cuddly
  • Maintained & grew Sugarbutch! Posting around 5-7x a month for the last thirteen years, since 2006
  • Went back into the workforce after losing my job in 2009, worked at a wine store, a hyperbaric chamber spa, a gender & sexuality research center, and a queer speakers bureau
  • Am beginning the career change into tech by taking classes and learning the lingo, trying to figure out what I’m doing
  • Learned to ride a motorcycle & got a license
  • Had one flying lesson and flew an airplane, just for a minute!

I could probably keep going. Maggie’s list is far more precise and interesting, but “had two #1 NYT bestsellers” wasn’t on my list this decade — perhaps for the next one.

So many of these accomplishments are about teaching & writing, which makes sense, as they’re where I spend the majority of my time. I’m noticing there’s a lot about travel, spirituality, health, and relationships, too. I think I’d like more bucket list items on there, more exciting moments of interest, more hobbies.

It’d be interesting to write a 2030 (!!) decade in review list and vision some of the things I’d like to do in the next ten years. That feels a little too tender and vulnerable to share here, but perhaps I’ll make some notes in my notebook.

There’s A New Packer & Stroker From New York Toy Collective: Meet Jack


So cute, right?

First of all: What’s a stroker?

There’s a growing number of “stroker” toys out there, which are usually around three inches long and contain a hole at one end, to be able to insert a large clit or small dick. For most folks, this means having taken a testosterone supplement for a while — though anatomy size varies, and there are folks who are large enough without it.

Once the stroker is on, it is made to create some suction and be able to be rocked back and forth. Sounds pretty great, right? The kicker is whether or not it’ll actually fit your body parts snugly and create the suction and sensation that it promises. If you already know your clit/dick is sizable, you’ll be fine, but if you tend to be on the small side, I hate to break it to ya, but you probably won’t fit. New York Toy Collective explains: “Jack can stretch to accommodate larger anatomy. Jack may work with smaller anatomy but will not create any suction during use.”

The opening on Jack is 1/2”. You could get a tape measure out and actually figure out your own diameter, if you really want to know. But if you haven’t taken testosterone and you don’t already know that you have a larger than average clit, it probably won’t fit.

But don’t worry — Jack has many talents!

He’s squishy and kinda small and neat and just cute! Jack is also a packer.

New York Toy Collective also makes a packing strap or a magnetic pouch that are optional add-ons, and works very well with Jack. You can make your own packing strap or pouch with a sock or two, too.

More Details on Jack

Four colors — cashew, caramel, hazelnut, chocolate
100% soft silicone
Internally ribbed
Will create suction for anatomy at least 1/2″ in diameter.

Outer Dimensions:
3 x 3 x 1 1/2″
3″ long shaft
1 1/2″ shaft diameter

Cavity Dimensions:
5/8″ max diameter (this silicone is very stretchy and can accommodate larger anatomy)
3/8″ min diameter (anatomy narrower than this will not activate product suction)
2 1/2″ depth

If you’re looking for a small silicone packer, this is a great option.

Head over to New York Toy Collective & purchase Jack — use code SUGARBUTCH on orders more than $50 to get $5 off

Let It All Go, Boy: Part One, Guest Post by Sonya Bolus

Content: mama/boy age play, sex.

 

Dyke Mama seeks little boy. Leatherboy. Butch. Non-negotiable: compassion, integrity, Leather Heart. Any age, size, ethnicity, etc. Are you willing? Let’s play.

***

boy:

I’ve got my coffee, black. Cruise on through the back door of The Brew Zone coffee shop and find a metal bistro table with two chairs in the rear patio. The air is hot, but misters lightly cool my skin. Feels great, but my hair is starting to cling to my forehead in short, annoying, curls. Dammit, I’m trying to look my butch best here. And now my white tee, half tucked into well worn jeans, is damp, too. My feet are sweltering in heavy, polished boots. I sit down, attempt a pose, and wonder what the hell I’m doing.

Thirty-two, scrawny, butch leatherboy waiting on a blind date with some internet stranger. Is this stupid?

But what choice did I have?

I’m a boy, and after being ashamed and shy about it for years, I’ve finally accepted that I want to be with a Leather Mommy. Well, good for me. Hurray. Whoop-dee-doo. Problem is, Daddies are everywhere, whereas no-one even mentions Mommies without a bit of a sneer. Total double standard. So because of some fucked up taboo, it’s practically impossible to find a queer, femme, Leather Mommy. Screw that! I’m 32 and sick of hiding, done with waiting. My options few, I had to cowboy up and post a personals ad. Not cool. Except, on that same day, some “Dyke Mama” puts up an ad looking for someone just like me. 

I don’t believe in coincidences, so here I am.

I check the back door again, for the zillionth time. Nothing. Maybe she stood me up. Maybe she saw me, didn’t like the goods, and decided to leave. Fuck that shit! I’m not going to humiliate myself waiting on a no-show. I start to get up, ready to blow this off, and then the door opens and a woman walks out into the sun. Her. Olive skin, blue-black dyed hair, a bit fat, older than me by at least ten years. She looks around, sees me, smiles like a cat and heads toward my table.

I swear I can feel some sort of energy radiating from her. Smacks me right upside the head. I forget to be cool. Forget everything. I’m just a tongue-tied, butch lump-in-a-chair. Looking up at her.

“Hello, little boy,” she purrs. Heat rises up my neck and flushes my cheeks. Great. Real sexy. But at least I remember to stand up and pull out her chair like a civil gentlebutch.

I check her out while I’m holding her chair. Her hips are wide, and they spread when she sits, overflowing the chair. She’s wearing matte-black men’s leather boots, dark jeans, a thick, intimidating black-leather belt — the classic Leather Uniform — but she wears it with a sheer white blouse, at least 20 thin bangles clinking on her wrists, long earrings almost to her shoulders, cropped hair, black cat eyeliner and red, red lips. A black lace bra shows through the blouse and her cleavage is … fuck, it’s incredible! I tear my eyes away, worried she’ll think I’m disrespecting her.

She smiles like she’s amused. “A lemonade would be nice.”

And — “Yes, Ma’am!” — I head inside for the cold drink, happy to occupy myself with something she wants. When I get back, I see her forehead is beaded with perspiration, and she’s sweating a bit through the thin blouse. I should have had ice water waiting for her, I kick myself. Good thing there wasn’t a line to get the lemonade. I place it carefully before her, scrape my chair back, and she nods very slightly, so I sit. God, she has kind eyes! Finally, I can smile at her. I know it’s a big, goofy, shiny smile, but she seems to like it, so it’s all good.

She takes an icy lemonade sip. I lick my lips. Then we do the small talk thing, generally shooting shit about the heat, our hobbies, coming out, work, the scene. I pull myself together, and I’m very charming, I think. I hope.

She pauses for a moment, then abruptly asks me “What did you come here looking for? A Mommy? Tell me what that means to you.”

I stumble a bit. “Um … Not some mean, ego-bound Mistress, doing Leather as performance, that’s for sure.” I nurse my cooling coffee. “And not a role-player or a weekend player.” I think hard about it, trying to put it into words for the first time. “I want a genuine Leather Mommy. A kind-spirited, nurturing Mommy. One who can take charge of me and take care of me, teach me and love me and … take me down.”

She considers this. “Are you a little boy?”

“Well, yeah. Guess so.” I know I’m blushing again. “But I still like to play hard. Rough. And to serve. I want all that, too.” Long pause, then quietly, “I need it.”

She nods, really listening to me. Then we start talking about limits and wants, boundaries and experience. Our conversation ramps up. Consensual this and Safe that. And Sane whatever. And I’m thinking: Yes, yes. Thank you for caring and reassuring me. I will do the same for you, Ma’am. But let’s get real: What can we both expect if we do this? I mean, what comes next?

To be honest, I’m half terrified, half excited and half horny as fuck. Yeah, I know: too many halves; it’s called “being overwhelmed.” She must see my anxiety, because she takes my hand across the table and holds it in hers. My racing thoughts calm a bit.

“Okay, here’s what it would look like, if you were my boy.” Her voice is tender and yes, maternal. “We could play games together and draw pictures and play with toy cars. We might even go for ice cream or to the zoo. And you could sit on your Mommy’s lap any time you want. Even in the bar.” She squeezes my hand. “You will need to be a good boy, well behaved with good manners, and do as you’re told.” Then she smiles conspiratorially. “But you could be a bit naughty when it’s just us. Most important of all,” she continues, “you’d be cuddled and loved and treasured.” She looks right in my eyes. “I want to take care of you like that.”

I shiver at the last bit, feeling small and hopeful. I swallow and my chest aches, like something heavy and hurting is trapped inside, and I’m just now noticing it.

She continues, her tone a little firmer, “You would also be my Leatherboy, not just my little boy. My Leatherboy, with all that a D/s relationship implies: negotiations, expectations, protocols, SM, Leathersex, service, obedience. I expect you to be open and proud of who you are and who you serve. And I do not tolerate anything less than authenticity, honesty and integrity.”

This is a lot to take in. But I love almost everything she’s saying. I imagine living it, and it seems unreal. I can’t quite believe; Could it really happen?

Without warning, the patio lights click on, cuing dusk to fade in. How did the afternoon just slip away? She squeezes my hand again and lets it go. We exchange references and phone numbers. And then, it’s over. 

Except when we get up, she traps my wrist, pulls me close against her softness and kisses my cheek so gently it burns. In the span of that moment, as if a spell has been lifted, I suddenly see her incredible beauty. Striking. Alluring. A stunning, magnificent creature for whom I would willingly kneel. I am totally wrecked as I watch her navigate away from me. She doesn’t look back. But I keep staring at the door after she’s gone.

***

Two weeks later, references verified and ground rules established, we’ve shared three phone calls, two Skypes, dinner and a movie, one long, deep goodbye kiss, and a snail mail card from her to me, with a hot-as-fuck biker boot on the front, a romantic message inside and a dinosaur sticker slipped into the envelope.

But now we’re finally going to meet for dinner at her home. I think I know what that means. So I’m literally shaking with excitement when I arrive at her apartment.

“Perfect timing. I just finished making dinner,” she exclaims as we hug hello. So we go straight for the dining room.

The fish she prepared is probably very tasty, but I am far too distracted to notice. Later, after I clear the table and wash the dishes, loving this first small act of service, we move to the living room.

We are sitting on her couch, digesting and chatting for a while, as if that’s what this date is all about. But then, during a break in the conversation, she reaches for my hand and holds it in both of hers. I shift a bit closer on the couch. The warmth of her body hovers around her like a sweet, humid halo. I lean against her shoulder, holding my breath, feeling small and safe but also uncertain. The world seems to pause, listening.

She turns and gently pulls me into her embrace and her kiss, tender and soulful. I’m floating. I’m trembling. Every single molecule in my body vibrates. She stands up, gently bringing me with her. Looking into my eyes, she strokes my hair, then leads me silently to her small bedroom. Oh my God, yes!  

She lays me down on her bed and kisses me from above, like she’s searching for something deep inside me. She presses her leg up between mine and pushes against my crotch like she wants to fuck me through my jeans. Taking my hands, she holds them firmly down against the bed while she keeps kissing, kissing … and I am unresisting. Maybe she’s put me in a trance, because I can’t move, can’t make a move on her. This has never happened to me, I swear. Yeah, I’ve bottomed before, but this is so freaking gentle and slow, hypnotic.

A ceiling fan stirs the warm air. I notice it as she releases me from the spell and pulls me up to stand in front of her. We kiss again, and it fills me with want. Her tongue steadily becomes more possessive, then invasive, until it claims my mouth. She grips my jaw, holding my mouth open, the other hand on the back of my skull, keeping my head still, making me her receptacle. She runs her tongue over my palate, deep into the softness of my throat, then exploring between my lips and teeth. I can only receive her, and it provokes an almost delirious hunger. Nothing else exists except her filling my mouth.

She releases my jaw, but continues to kiss me as she covers my body with her hands, over my shirt, then up inside, seeking skin. Her hands under my shirt, moving up my back, fingers resting on my shoulder blades as her thumbs press sharply into my armpits, as if she’s testing my response. Her hands soften again, trailing down my chest, sliding fingertips an inch under my waistband and circling the inner fabric to my belt buckle. Releasing the buckle, opening my fly, she slips a hand down into my jeans, over my shorts, pausing to cup my dick in her palm: a soft packer that seems adolescent beneath her caress. She squeezes and fondles and strokes me like she wants me to stiffen in her hand. Her eyes are locked on mine now, hazed with lust and power; she almost looks high.

Her hands at my waistband again, she eases my jeans over my ass to the floor. As she slowly unbuttons and removes my shirt, she wets her lips then uses her palms and teeth and tongue on my skin. Everything is mesmerizing and so incredibly sexy. I feel disoriented, but I know I must want it; my cunt is so slick and my cock pushes hard against my shorts.

Before I can fully take in what is happening, she has pulled my underwear down past my knees, my packer with them. I’m suddenly so naked, with just a tangle of fabric at my ankles. 

She reaches down again, now staring impassively into my eyes but breathing roughly. With one finger tip, she slides between the folds of skin in my crotch. With a fluid motion, she dips slightly into my cunt and drags the wetness up over my clit and onto my belly, leaving a slick trail. I feel like I might cry. Like all my butch bravado has just fizzled out.

She steps back to get a look at me. “Such a sexy little boy,” she croons. I start to shake.

Feeling way too vulnerable, I kick off my jeans and briefs and move toward her, reaching for her, wanting to feel her body up against my skin. But she pushes me, and I stumble inelegantly backward onto the bed. With a soft chuckle and a wicked smile, she begins to undress. And I’m under her spell again. First the jewelry. Tinkling earrings, rings, long necklace. She unbuttons her sheer black blouse, and it flutters to the ground, exposing a satin bra with just a hint of lace. The flowy crepe black skirt slips off easily, to reveal a black leather harness already strapped on. Well, that makes things clear as crystal.

Finally, she removes her bra, releasing breasts, generous and natural, heavy with large areolas and nipples. She is thick and fleshy… and not perfect. But she is confident, seductive and erotic. And all woman! Without meaning to, I moan just a little, and it is a rough, throaty sound.

Flashing me a sly smile, she opens the bedside drawer and takes out a thick, black cock, stroking it suggestively. She inserts it into the silver o-ring at the front of the harness and tightens the straps. Then she wraps her hand around the shaft, like she’s ready to jack off. She slides her hand up to the head and circles it with a finger, then lightly strokes the tip, where the piss hole would be. Then she looks up at me and lets out a wicked little laugh. My body’s electrified, almost painfully aroused. When she stands above me, arms akimbo, naked and strong, her femme-cock sways and bobs gently in my direction.

“Mommy?” I murmur.

She closes her eyes. A wave seems to move through her, and she sighs soundlessly. Then, like a benediction, she breathes huskily, “Yes, boy.” And she leans to kiss me. Gentle and floaty, and then harder. Then deep and hungry and overpowering. Mid-kiss, she lies her body on top of mine pressing against me, soft and full, with her hard dick wedged between us. I moan a little. Can’t help myself. I am bursting with want, buzzing with it. Dying from it.

She wraps her embrace around me and My Whole World is contained within her arms. The sweet natural scent of her. The yielding spread of her breasts. Indulgent, she offers them to me, and I suckle, unquestioning. She pulls me into her voluptuous warmth with a heavy, sensual groan. But I am not focused on pleasuring her, sexing her, fucking. Not focused on my hard-on or whether she likes my body or what she’s going to do with me later. I just suck her heavenly nipple and let go into a dreamy bliss.

I feel like her all-grown-up, baby boy, and it is so natural and so good. I want to be snuggled and held. I want to love and be loved in a sort of innocent, childlike way. I want to trust her. I want to let down my guard.

And somehow, drifting in this euphoric haze, I do.

I let go of my embarrassment and fear, my bravado and the insecurity underneath. All the inner-child-longing I’ve hidden away from a judgemental world: that is Hers now. I let it all go. All of it. I give it to her while I nurse at her breast; a crazy moment of pure trust. I feel like her precious boy. Hers.

Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I should be more cautious, guarded. But I know that this is right. I know that she really is my Mommy. I have no question. And she wants me, too! She She She. Wants me, her little one. Her leatherboy. Baby boy. Hungry boy. Grown up, sex-hungry boy.

Lust suddenly overtakes my other needs. I’m sure she can feel the shift, how I’m not so little anymore. Now, her breasts are making me hard and wet and horny. I drown myself in the softness of them, cupping and holding that pillowy flesh. Licking her nipples and biting and losing myself in her. Squeezing and kneading. My whole body is asking for her attention.

Please Mommy, I need your gentle fuck.

I need your deep, hard fuck. Your fingers. Your cock. Use me. Wear me out. Find the way to my tender self. Open me. Please. Fuck me open.

***

Read part two here.