Taking Flight

In the past week I’ve successfully been suspended twice. By “successful” I mean I went up and I came down and there were no injuries. I lasted somewhere between 10 and 20 seconds up each time.

Have I suddenly learned to love suspension?

Naaaah. I wouldn’t say I love it. I still prefer being down on the ground, for the most part. Though I do love me a partial…

But I trust the two people who I’m allowing to practice their suspension skills on me, because they’ve invested a considerable amount of time learning from reputable and respected rope teachers in our community. And when I mean a considerable amount of time, I don’t mean a half-day class and some at-home practice.

I mean hours spent in monthly supervised instruction followed by practice followed by supervised approval that they’d picked up the appropriate skills and technique before moving forward.

I’ll say this: sitting through the class where they learned safety and technique for their first suspension (a side suspension) helped me a lot as one of the people putting my body on the line for this endeavor. I was able to understand with more clarity why certain things are positioned in certain ways or in certain places in order to maximize safety (and comfort…which is minimally maximized in a suspension to begin with) of the bottom.

I’ve sat through one-off rope instruction as a bottom before. They teach how to tie the knot, which I don’t pick up very easily. I’ve tried to follow the steps but I lose them as soon as it’s over. So, generally, when I’ve been the bottom in a class before this, I’ve not taken away much from it other than the wonderful sensation of being tied.

But, in these classes, I am learning too – especially from the instructor who teaches from the bottom position – on which ways to position my leg, for example, for the best results in a well-tensioned thigh cuff. I also was able to better understand what areas I should feel the pressure in, and whether or not there’s a need to panic if my fingers go tingly.

Little by little, I’m becoming more able to articulate what I think would work best for my body and my endurance level. I want the hip harness on first, for example, to limit the amount of time my body is in a stress position once the chest harness goes on. Or which leg goes up because one is stronger and more able to withstand carrying the weight of my body for the five or so minutes that the rest of the uplines are being secured.

It makes me feel like a true partner with the person I’m tying with. This isn’t only about them and their goals. It’s about our goals together.

The more I’m able to understand how to help my partners customize these ties to my body, the more comfortable I feel with the thought of taking flight. One-size-fits-all rope has never quite suited me.

Which brought me to this conversation the other night with my partner as we came home from our first successful suspension together.

“Maybe by my 40th birthday, I can be a piñata!”

I can see it now. By next July, I should totally be able to withstand spending …what, like a whole minute? Maybe two in suspension? Then he can beat me with, with something fun…like a hollow plastic bat. Big noise, but little pain. And I can hold handfuls of candy and fling them about the room!

It’s a fun thought. Who knows if it’s something that could happen or not? I don’t even know what’s happening tomorrow, much next be in a position to plan for next summer.

But, I like that I’m learning something and I like that I’m pushing myself a little out of my comfort zone with the help of two people that I trust will think no less of me if I feel like it’s too much and have to stop.

That trust alone is 60% of what gets me off the ground. The rest is just rope.

My Exhibitionism

Every once in a while, the fact that I’m an exhibitionist becomes a bit of a problem for me. See, it used to be easier to scratch that itch.

I wouldn’t say it was any safer, but I guess I just felt safer for a while. Then I had my very unsavory experience with a stalker and now I have to rein it in to protect my life and livelihood.

She’s itchy again. That exhibitionist inside me. She wants to come out and be seen.

I don’t know what I want this post to be, really. Partly it’s a way of venting my frustration at a system that doesn’t allow me to sexually express myself the way I want to without the inherent risks and consequences that I’m no longer willing to accept.

Partly it’s just ’cause I am feeling hidden when I want to be on display and the feeling of being hidden (even when it’s by circumstance and unintentional) doesn’t sit well with me.

Or maybe this is my weekly Sunday drop and what I need is some food and fresh air more than I want the validation of a thousand eyeballs on my flesh.

Probably all I want is attention, but the thing is – the type of attention I want is very specific, and the Fetizenry here doesn’t always interpret my requests for attention appropriately. I don’t want to be harrassed or cat-called or told in all the explicit ways that people fantasize about me. I want to feel safe and welcome in the expression of my sensuality.

I want to be respectfully and pleasantly admired and/or appreciated. Genuinely and honestly, but with enough restraint from those who see me so that I feel confident in allowing myself to continue that type of exposure. That’s what my exhibitionism is really about, when it’s all said and done. I relish the opportunity to be vulnerable because what I really get off on is trust.

I trust my audience to prioritize consent, decorum, and respect over their own personal desires.

After all, my inner exhibitionist…she’s doesn’t put herself on display for her audience’s enjoyment. That’s my intended reaction from a consenting audience, but it’s not really about pleasing them.

It’s about being me.

Satisfyer Pro 2: A Review

Some time ago, there was a post about sex toys and the conversation turned to some gizmo that was making waves (of the orgasmic caliber) a few hours south of here. Now, back in the day, I used to write sex toy reviews for AVN under a different pseudonym, and I’d NEVER had any experience with any device that would get me from zero to orgasm in less than 30 seconds, as the folks down south had been suggesting.

My curiosity was piqued.

So, last week, when my partner sent me a link to the amazon listing for the Satisfyer Pro 2 with the words, “just sayin’…” I used the power of Prime to have it delivered and charged up before he walked in the door Friday night.

I deemed it the “edging machine.” Within SECONDS I was in the state of physical bliss that my longtime favorite, the Doxy, would take an average of five to six minutes to get me to. The difference is – where the doxy takes me from that edge to full blown orgasm in a matter of seconds, the Satisfyer Pro 2 might be capable of keeping me on that edge INDEFINITELY.

I didn’t have a good and proper full-blown orgasm with the device until the following evening,….

Holy Fucknuts.

It wasn’t just the orgasm that was delightful, it was the extended LIFE of the orgasm that blew my mind. Minutes after I’d removed the device from my clit, I could still feel it reverberating in my netherbits.

I did it again later that night. AMAZING.

And then….twice today. I’m looking over at my doxy like “i’m so sorry….” but….damn.

The Satisfyer Pro 2 definitely satisfies. It took me longer to cross over from edge to orgasm than it does with your standard wand device, but the ride is delightful the whole way. Also, added bonus of not having that shooting pain from my wrist up my arm from adding pressure to the heavy wand in just the right spot. (Early carpal tunnel syndrome, perhaps). With the Satisfyer Pro 2 all you do is place it over your clit, turn it on and leave it in place. No need to wiggle or move or add pressure.

The squishy head piece is easily removed for cleaning and sanitation, and the doodad comes with a USB charging device that connects via magnets on the bottom.

There are two buttons. One to turn the device on or off, and the other to manage the intensity. I’d say I liked it best at the 4-5-6 intensity levels. Any more than that and I start to lose the edge.

Nobody has paid me for this review. I paid for the danged thing out of my own pocket. So….I’m just saying: If you’ve got $45 laying around. Give this a shot.

🙂

Unexpected Possibilities

I want to find a Daddy.

I want to find a Mistress.

I just want to find single, sexy, bisexual unicorn to date my spouse and me.

I want to find a job.

Okay, only that last one was me. Up until yesterday, that’s what I was saying. I want to find a job. But, up until yesterday, I’d only applied to one with a position description similar to what I do now, and I’d not done any followup to determine if my candidacy was being considered.

Then somebody in a relationship advice forum posed a question. She said that even though she identified as polyamorous, and even though her prior marriage(s) had failed spectacularly, she still sometimes felt like she’d rather do the monogamous, marriage, white picket fence thing but without feeling trapped. She wanted to know if others struggled with similar contradictions.

Plenty of people pointed out that being married and poly was not an inherent contradiction. But, as I responded to her, I kind of came to a little epiphany. Here’s what I said to her:



I think what might be going on is that you’ve been sold a bill of goods of what “marriage” is supposed to be and your marriage didn’t look like that. You’re longing for the bliss of fitting into the pattern that society’s PR campaign has laid out for us.

We’ve been sold on the idea that marriage equals love, equals security, equals happily ever after and romantic shmoopiewibbles. Marriage means that that you’re both on a team and nothing can tear you apart. But life happens and ruts happen and stress happens and shit. just. happens.

It seems really anti-romantic to say that marriage is a financial arrangement; but the most romantic way to view marriage (in my book) is as a financial arrangement. The idea that whether or not we have government-sanctioned love, the love is real makes the marriage part irrelevant.

When I married my husband I knew that I never would have left him if we hadn’t. Our marriage did not change anything in our relationship except…financially. It made things a lot simpler when he passed away unexpectedly to deal with our mutual assets.

Well, and also…the sex stopped. But that wasn’t because we were married. That was illness.

I guess what I’m saying is that when you’re longing for the marriage, then the marriage is the destination. But when you’re focused on your relationship, then the marriage may just be part of the journey.



The epiphany happened after that. When I thought about another commonly pointed out difference I’ve noticed in ways people “do poly.” Some people seem to always be looking for someone new, or they have a very specific slot to fill in their lives that they struggle to find the right fit for. Others are just open to making connections with people that may fit into their lives in unexpected ways.

I started my career in nonprofit by accident. I was placed in a nonprofit by a temp agency when my entire career goal was “don’t end up working for my parents.”

But I loved it. I felt like my work mattered – even though i was just a receptionist. Now, I’m in a rut. Top of my department, but there is no more upward mobility. My organization fears change to the point where I cannot gain the type of experience I need to make my next move. My career is in stagnant water and the mosquitoes are everywhere.

My employment is nothing but a financial arrangement. There’s no love there anymore. It’s a marriage gone sour.

Yesterday I said I wanted to “find” a job, but I’d not put much effort into doing so. Today, I want to be more precise. Today, I’m saying I want to find a position that again lets me feel that what I do matters, and where my time and talent are appreciated. I want to feel motivated and excited by my work. I want to be the right candidate for them, yes – but I also want them to be the right fit for me.

I want to grow.

In order for that to happen, I have to take my own advice, and open myself up to unexpected possibilities.

What being a woman means to me: A Writing Challenge

A friend issued a writing challenge, asking to answer the following three questions. Below is my entry.


(1) What does being a woman mean to you?

I realized right away that the way I wanted to answer this question was to start highlighting the many incongruities with the concept of “womanhood” and what womanhood actually means to me. In other words, it was going to be an essay about what it doesn’t mean to be a woman.

It doesn’t mean I like shopping, or babies, or makeup, or that I have a vagina. Being a woman has nothing to do with my anatomy or my hobbies or my sexuality or my talents.

So I spent a few minutes trying to figure out what it does mean.

I think that being a woman means learning to adapt to a world that insists on making decisions for you. It tries, at first, to make you believe that this is the world you want to live in – because “decisions are difficult, and women are weak, or emotional, or incapable – and as a woman, it is a relief to be given all the answers.”

And when, as a woman, you begin to question that – because, at one point – we begin to question that, you face the many ways that the world continues to manipulate you into staying inside the nice, comfortable box they have designed for you.

I think that being a woman means learning to adapt to being consistently underestimated. Some adapt quietly, some react with defiance – but regardless, it is a fact of life for a woman.

I think that being a woman means absolutely nothing, because “woman” is a socially constructed label.

Being a woman means that I am a person.

And being a person carries far more relevance in my world than being a woman.

(2) What about being a woman do you want or would you impart to your own daughter by the time she reaches adulthood?

Were I to have children, I would want them – regardless of gender – to understand and respect the power of living authentically. With respect to women, I would want them to understand that our society will attempt to erase their individuality while simultaneously selling on all the ways they can be more special. I want them to understand that so they can never fall victim to it.

I also want them to understand that those who hold tightly to the systematic oppression of women are often as much victims of the patriarchy as we are. When we confront these ideas, we are confronting their stability. Instability frightens people. Fear makes people feel attacked. People who feel attacked attack back.

I would want them to understand the difference between forgiveness and understanding. One must strive to understand their oppressors, but to forgive them is a personal choice, and not one I’d likely to make without a sincere apology.

At the same time, I want them to understand the power that forgiveness gives them over their own pain. When they are ready, I want them to embrace that power for themselves.

I want them to understand the importance of respecting nuance, imperfections, and the diversity of perception. I want them to embrace the challenges of facing our own imperfections and learning from them to become more enlightened members of the human race.

I want them to love themselves and to not feel like doing so is a sign of selfishness. I want them to love themselves so well that the people who love them have a template for how it’s done properly.

An I’d want them to know that regardless of who they are, who they love, or how they choose to express that love – they would never lose my respect, unless they willingly harmed people without consent.

(3) What would you impart/share with her around the age of 13-14 as she’s entering her teen years?

There’s a part of this I’ve written before:

By the time my step-daughter wanted to read the Twilight series when she was in her early teens, I’d already read them. I told her she could read them on one condition – we had to have a chat first, and we’d have to have another chat before she got to the final one.

All her friends were reading it so she agreed to the chat.

Here’s the gist of what I told her:

This book makes the bad guy sexy. He wants to hurt her but he loves her. She is the ONLY one that drives him this kind of crazy and because he loves her so much he holds the whole “I want to kill you” instinct back. This is not a healthy relationship. This book will make you want that guy, and it’s okay to fantasize about that guy – but that guy is not the right guy when you start actually dating.

By this point in her life, my step-daughter had not yet given us many clues as to her sexuality. She had admitted she liked boys, but had not denied that she might also have an interest in someone who was not a boy.

And if she had shared with me that she might be into dating someone other than a guy, I’d probably have done a lot more reading with her on what some of the challenges and hardships that are inherent in that. I’ve recently become aware, for example, that there is inadequate-to-zero sex-education for lesbian teenagers leading many to find out much later than necessary about safe sexual practices, and have some confusion over what “losing one’s virginity” even means.

So, yeah. Right around when the hormones are about to hit – my priority would be to help my daughter prepare for them.

A Tale of Two Women

I recently made the acquaintance of a young woman at an introductory rope event. She’d watched the instructor perform an exercise by tying a single column tie around my wrist and then spending the next two minutes wrapping the rope around me without knots. The purpose of the exercise was to allow for more free-form and feeling in the tie, rather than the strict following of a specific pattern. After some encouragement, the young woman agreed to try doing it herself. I was offered up as the bottom for her to work with.

This young woman was what a very high percentage of the population would call “hot.” I couldn’t describe her to you in detail now if I tried, but to say that she had long straight hair, a young, lithe figure, and big soulful eyes. She was a very attractive person.

She could not stop apologizing.

For everything. From the moment she began tying the single column tie on my wrist until the timer went off after 2 minutes it was a constant sea of “I’m sorry. Sorry. Oh. Sorry.” After two or three times of telling her she had nothing to be sorry about I gave up.

I could tell she was really bright. Like, there was plenty going on underneath the remarkably pretty surface, but it was masked so much by insecurity. I asked her why she wanted to learn to tie, thinking if I could understand her motivation, I might be able to adapt my bottoming technique to make it easier for her to achieve her goal.

Her answer was that she just liked to learn things.

Of all the reasons I’ve heard riggers talk about why they tie, that’d previously not been one of them. There are elements of control, connection, creativity, exploration, expression…. but not just “I wanted to learn for the sake of learning.”

It’s not a wrong answer by any means, but I realized that as a bottom, there was nothing more I could do for her. She could as easily have the experience by tying the leg of a dining room chair, and she’d be less likely to continually apologize to it.

This was a little while back now, and over the few weeks that followed that evening, I thought of her a few times. Truth be told, I think of her in terms of “girl” because she so didn’t yet embody what “woman” means to me.

What made me think of her today was a different woman.

Having finally gotten fed up with the jerk-around Home Depot has been giving me with regard to my appliances purchased the week before Thanksgiving and now delayed for delivery TWICE, I decided to show them my cards. I don’t like being one of those customers that threatens to cancel an order unless I mean it…

…so I went to Best Buy. There were two associates working in the appliance department, but one seemed rather newish and the other was handling three different customers at once. Once I stated my business, the newish one asked me if I could wait because it’d have to be be the other one (department manager, as it turns out) to help me.

I’ve already waited over a month with the Home Depot clowns, so I figured I could give Best Buy a little leeway here. When the department manager finally was able to help me, I was really floored, and very pleased, with her level of professionalism and knowledge about the products and procedures on how to price match my order. She knew her way around that Point of Sale system like I know my Doxy in the dark.

I couldn’t tell you how old she is. She mentioned having a granddaughter, but honestly, she looked way too young for that. I’d have pegged her at about my age.

She did not have the most fortunate genetics when it came to physical appearance. She was overweight with quite a bit of dark facial hair, oily skin, and stained teeth.

But this woman had confidence, at least in this environment. She was good at her job – even managed to upsell me on a dishwasher and cooktop while saving me money on the range hood. The whole time, she was answering questions from her colleagues on everything from how to swap the way the door swings open on a washing machine, to how high a pedestal had to be for a dryer, to how to run a price check for a warehouse only item. I began to relax and trust that my needs would be met and my wants would be addressed. She made me feel comfortable, like I was in good, capable hands.

It’s the way I want to feel when I’m being tied.

Bottom line – looks matter for shit when you want to feel safe. Or something like that.

Irreplaceable

I had a dream last night. It involved time travel. There was one of him and he was going through time collecting all of me at different ages and in different timelines. It was like a poly dream where he was still my only one, but he had several of me and he loved them all dearly.

I told him about it as I woke up. “Luck you,” he said. And I replied, “Nah, lucky YOU.”

I mean, he had a half-dozen me’s to keep him busy. But each one of me still had to spend time without him, and that was sad.

I thought back to the dream. There was an old version of me with grey hair who wore frumpy sweaters. He loved her, too.

“Whenever I’m with you…. no, wait. Even when I’m not with you,” I corrected myself, “Since we’ve been together, I sometimes forget that….,” I paused, trying to figure out how to say it right. “I forget that I’m not perfect. Or that I’m not everyone’s ideal. I forget that I’m not thin.”

He smiled. He understood what I was trying to say. Since I’ve been with him, I forget that I’m fat. I forget that the form-fitting dresses aren’t really “sexy” to the rest of the world. I forget to feel insecure about myself. “I see me the way you see me,” I said.

“Well,” he answered, “I am unique in the world. Then again, there could be dozens of others who think like I do that could replace me.”

“No,” I said. “Nobody could ever replace you in my life. And I don’t think anybody could ever replace me in yours, either.”

He shook his head, agreeing with me. “No, that would be impossible,” he said pulling me close.

Poly or not, he loves me for who I am. At any age. What we have is unique in the world, and nobody could ever replace us in each other’s lives. That’s enough for my monogamous heart to feel secure in my relationship.

I think that’s what that dream was telling me, but I only need to catch him staring at me with his big loving eyes to know it when I’m awake, too.