I was once asked if I ever run out of things to write about. This was a few years ago when I was dropping two or three posts a day on Fetlife, and half of them would always start trending.

“No,” i remember answering. “I never run out of things to write about, because I never run out of things to think about.”

It’s still true. I have plenty to say; but I seem to have lost the drive to say it there. The less “safe” that space felt, the less I felt like allowing myself to be publicly vulnerable in it.

There’s stuff I’d love to still be writing about. I have a ton of thoughts on relationships and human connection. A story a week on love and lust and kinky sex. I’d chronicle my exploration with rope suspension and share photos and stories that represent my experiences as a larger-bodied bottom. I’d share my musings on the parallels between life and art (namely in the form of the many, many TV shows that I watch). And so many things to share about the way I’ve been asserting myself at work, because #TimesUp and all that jazz.

I could share about some of the feelings I’ve been having as I form new friendships with new people that are helping me explore different facets of my relationship paradigm. I’d love to openly process where I am emotionally about the potential for one of those friendships to become physical – something I both want and fear simultaneously.

I could keep you updated on my cats and share the whimsy of that time (early this morning) when in a fog of sleep deprivation, I asked Alexa to turn off the cat’s incessant meowing coming from behind my bedroom door.

She did not understand.

I would definitely share with you all the different ways I have been inspired by others. I want to share their blogs and their art and their messages with you, and convey how how much opening up my mind and heart to the things that used to make me feel a measure of discomfort has expanded my understanding of beauty and strength and integrity in so many forms. The way that embracing and elevating and listening to diverse voices has given me so much to be inspired by and has so profoundly enriched my perception of the world around us.

There is so fucking much I want to say.

I don’t even doubt that there are people who want to hear it, and people who have to hear it and people whose lives I can improve by sharing it – and yet….

…and yet, I remain in my silent corner.

I want to blame it on trolls and stalkers, but the truth is – the trolls don’t really come for me, and when they do, I have no qualms in ignoring and/or blocking them. The stalkers, though. That one’s a pickle.

I can pinpoint the moment I started being afraid to share all my thoughts with you to the moment some angry guy on the internet retaliated against my anger toward him for invading my privacy by escalating his implied threats of exposure.

I wish I could have just limited that fear to my exposure on Fetlife – but, no. He made it clear that what happens there does not necessarily stay there.

I changed my behavior after that. I purged my friends list (again). I set all my face pictures (and then subsequently all my pictures) to friends only. I limited the degree of vulnerability I was willing to share openly.

And without that…without that feeling like I could be my most authentic self in that space, I lost the will to post altogether.

I kind of miss it.


1000: Even deeper than I thought I’d go

I began blogging on FetLife (a kinky social media site) close to three years ago. Today I reached the milestone of my 1000th post there (many of which began crossing over to this blog about a year ago). That’s the context you need to have the post make sense.  Carry on. 

When I first started writing on Fet, it was in the wake of heartbreak and renewed hope. When my writings first started getting noticed on fet, it was in the wake of even more heartbreak and lost hope.

The more I exposed my pain and vulnerability, the more tenderly I was received. It was a light in a dark tunnel, and I followed it through.

But there came a time when I realized I was perhaps exposing too much. I don’t exactly recall how I came to this conclusion – but, it was (at first) a suggestion made by someone else.

That someone turned out not to be compatible for friendship, but nonetheless – their suggestion remained present in my mind. I was able, eventually, to recognize there were some unfortunate consequences to my oversharing, but they ran deeper than the ones I’d been warned about.

I’m not having a good day.

In fact, I’ve not had a good couple of days.

Relax: I can handle it. It’s okay for me to have bad days. But, it’s been a while since I’ve felt so low. I am experiencing emotional doomsday feelings where my mind travels to the worst places, and drag up memories of the most helpless moments of my life. I am also experiencing physical manifestations of the anxiety that has been dragged upward – the choke-sobbing fits and the acidic ache in my chest and knotted pains in my belly that won’t seem to pass.

I feel, at any moment, like I could give in to the bubbling emotions just beneath the surface and go into a full blown anxiety attack. And for teetering moments at that edge, I almost want to do it – if only so I can let it all out and find myself in a state of dulled emotional capacity on the other side.

Though it has been some time since I’ve been in this state, it is one with which I am familiar. Reverse back a few years, and this is a shadow of what I used to experience on a near weekly, if not daily, basis.

I know what this is.

I also know why it’s here. Not just the obvious catalyst for its arrival, nor even the underlying essential motivations, but deeper down to the fathoms of my existential being, – the stuff I think most people don’t access on a regular basis – I do. I’ve got my number.

1,000 posts ago I’d have shared those details. I’d have given you, the anonymous reader, all of the data: the catalyst, the motivations. I might have, by the end of the essay, drawn a line toward my existential conclusion.

And the reason I’d have done that? I’d have painted you a word-picture of my pitiful state for the purpose of gaining your tender support. It’s a form of manipulation, but not in a nefarious way. After all, writing and story-telling of any kind is a form of emotional manipulation.

So yes, I’d have explained the who, what, when, where, and why of my despair and swam in the soothing elixir of your concern.

It’s what I needed then. But, over time, I became dependent on it. It became a crutch without which my emotional limp would heal but never reach maximum strength.

Now, 1000 posts later, you’re not so anonymous. I know who many of you are on some level.

I also have, for perhaps the first time in my life, an understanding of who I am independent of my relationship to anybody else, (including family, friends, lovers, husbands, stepchildren, or colleagues).

I exist as a person on my own. The people in my life closest to me that inspire love and affection provide an enrichment that I’d never want to take for granted, nor mistake for the emotional equivalence of oxygen.

What’s this got to do with my bad day?

Well, that’s just it. It’s my bad day. I know why it’s here and what caused it, and I’m well aware that it will be fleeting.

So, while I feel the urge to tell you all about it – to dive into the details of the why and how I’m feeling the way I feel – I also now know that the resulting concerned feedback does not help to achieve my purpose.

I just want to share. I just want to to share my truth. I want to illuminate that even one with a charmed life can sometimes struggle – not for the purpose of eliciting your pity, but in an attempt to narrow the chasms that sometimes separate us.

We all suffer, in varying degrees and for different reasons – but we all suffer.

I don’t want to feel separated from humanity. My current (and admittedly temporary) state of despair should not serve to isolate me when, in fact, it has so much potential (and history) of doing the exact opposite.

I want to tell you that you’re not alone, because – in doing so – I remind myself that I am not either.

I’ve joined Dumbledore’s Army

Last night I had what was best described as a “mind-blowing carnal experience.” I don’t recall a time I have ever so relished and given in to the absolutely hedonistic joy of being alive, in love, and in glorious rapture. So much so that for a brief moment in the midst of uncontrollable orgasms, I actually thought I might be dying – and while it scared me, I kept on going.

I wasn’t dying. I was living.

In the moments that followed, I had a bit of an epiphany about what it means to me to push past that fear and live passionately.

Right now, watching the world through twitter and facebook. Planning which protests I can attend and how I’ll get there. And with every tweet, retweet, and blog post I share, I feel myself more and more exposed.

I don’t think it will be long before they come after his detractors.

I don’t think it will be long before outspoken members of the resistance start “disappearing,” silenced by a regime that fears and abhors dissent.

I ask myself, will it be worth it? The hell that might rain down upon my happy, comfortable life – for the sake of speaking up?

I think you know the answer.

If you ever read the books and thought you’d join Dumbledore’s Army despite the danger – now is your chance.

If you ever thought you’d have marched in the days of Martin Luther King, Jr. if you’d been alive to witness it, now is your chance.

If you ever thought you’d have given sanctuary to Anne Frank’s family, or to people fleeing slavery through the Underground Railroad, now is your chance.

We’ve not yet reached the point where our resistance is illegal. Not yet. But don’t think for a second that’s not their goal.

Should the time come when executive action is taken to try to make it illegal, I don’t think there will be grandfather clauses written in. There is a nonzero chance that the people speaking out against this administration, regardless of their citizenship, will find themselves in peril in the future.

I’ve spent the better part of today making my peace with that. If it happens, I’ll know that I’m standing on the right side of history. Without a God or descendants to judge my actions, I make this decision because my own conscience dictates that it is the right thing to do.

I won’t make any grand sweeping statements about my further intentions for this blog. Not saying I’m done writing about BDSM, sex, or relationships. I’m just saying that, for now, I don’t see that being a priority in my life.

I’ve joined Dumbledore’s Army.


I’m in the top third!

Top 100 Sex Bloggers 2016

I made it to the top third!  There’s me, right there, at number 27 of 2016’s Top 100 Sex Bloggers! Clicky that little badge there and it takes you to the list.

And that’s with the majority of the posts during the nomination and reviewing period being tainted by the election.  I’m so pleased, and honored, and tickled!

Now I’m excited to go check out the other bloggers on this list!

Emergency kittens, orgasms, and Firefly in the wake of an unsettling election

Originally posted for my Fetlife audience; but lightly modified for a broader audience.

The cycle of writing topics on FetLife generally works as such: a thing happens. There is a divisiveness in opinion on said thing. Lots of posts start flying back and forth with heavy, anger-laden commentary within them, and inevitably, some people who grow weary of the fighting say something like “Can we get back to the kink?”

Then, this last time, that very request became cause for further divisiveness.

This entire election has been emotionally draining. Just a few weeks ago I even wrote about how difficult it was to find my “smut” in light of all the ickiness I felt about the national narrative on women.

Through it all, I never stopped being kinky.

I might have been less inspired to write about it; but there was still rope, spanking, hard fucking, throat grabbing, and cocksucking going on in my life.

I even masturbated to orgasm the night of the election, but I had trouble doing it. See, it was after 3am. I needed to get some sleep. I know that orgasms make me sleepy.

I literally justified an orgasm to myself.

Since the election, I’ve been more vocal on facebook and a lot more engaging with conservative family members has been happening. Those of my fetfriends who intersect with me on facebook have seen what’s happening there.

It’s exhausting.

And last night I reached a point where I needed to shut it down. I watched television shows, funny youtube videos, and browsed cat-related subreddits. I also ate a pizza and had some cookies.

And then, I felt like writing something; but I didn’t want it to be serious. I wanted to write something sexy. Or funny OR ANYTHNG BUT SERIOUS.

And similarly to that November 9th orgasm, I had to justify it to myself.

But, really, I don’t. I won’t speak for everybody, but I am a multidimensional person. Fetlife (and this blog) isn’t a place where I only express one part of myself (the kinky part); but the only place where I can express ALL of myself. That means sometimes my posts are thoughtful and introspective, and sometimes they’re sexy and drool-inducing, and sometimes they’re just plain ol’ attempts at humor.

I’m all of those things. Thoughtful, sexy, funny. I’m all of those things all the time, even when I don’t particularly feel one in the moment.

I keep remembering when Lorne Michaels of SNL asked Rudy Giuliani after 9/11 “Can we be funny?” and the then-mayor of New York responded, “Why start now?”

This world is far from perfect. I’m going to do my best to shed light on some of its imperfections and work to make them better; but at the same time, I can’t allow myself to become hyperfocused on just those ugly parts of life. There is beauty, and laughter, and passion, and love in my life as well.

So whenever I need to take a break and look at EmergencyKittens on twitter or take a smut break or go masturbate ’cause it helps me relax…

I’m gonna. And you can, too.

My Sally Field Moment: Or “Holy Shit, I’ve been nominated!”

I was really excited when I reached my 100th follower on this blog some time around its one-year anniversary. It’s somewhere around 130 now.  Over on FetLife, where all this got started, I have a lot of interaction in comments and likes, but here the stats are pretty moderate.  Once in a while something I post here will take off (I think because it gets posted to a facebook group) like when I write about poly stuff, or post one of my social justice rants.

But usually it’s pretty quiet ’round these parts.

So when I started noticing an uptick in my visitor stats and clicked through to one of the referrer links, I was shocked and delighted to see that Mrs. Fever had included my blog in her nominations for consideration as one of the top 100 Sex Blogs through Molly’s Daily Kiss’ annual contest.

I felt a little bit like this guy:

Earlier today I was drafting a post trying to convey how much I love that video, and at the same time how wistful I am that I rarely have reactions like that over things.  Over experiences?  Totally…like when my partner agreed to dress up like a scary clown and fuck me.

I might potentially have a similar reaction if someone were to, oh…I don’t know…send me a surprise high-quality anal hook.

Just sayin’.

Anyway, I’m thrilled, and grateful that anybody reads this blog at all.  For someone like Mrs. Fever, (who, by the way has previously been selected as one of the Top 100 Sex Bloggers), to show that kind of favor toward me is really….well, gratifying.

And seeing this little wordpress.com site listed up with all those other …you know, blogs with dedicated URLs makes me feel a little bit like the hometown gal who just showed up to her first big-city party.

Thanks, y’all 🙂





Who is phi?

Uh. Hi. I’m phi.

Right. So, I wasn’t actually expecting people to find this blog for a while. I figured I’d fill it up with some back entries of my fetlife blogs and then eventually figure out if and how I wanted to attract other readers to read them. I mean, I have a lot of people who read them on Fetlife already.

But I get people who aren’t on Fetlife that meet me in real life and ask, “So, what do you write about?” Rather than send them to the place where they have to create an account and be subjected to ALL the deviants, I created a public facing blog where they can bear witness to just my deviance.

And now, some of you have found it. Somehow.


You don’t have the benefit of knowing me in real life or reading the near-300 back-catalog of self-expression that my Fet followers have access to, so I thought I’d share a little background that might add some dimensions to the stuff you’ll get from me if you stick around for the ride.

Here goes:

Phi is pronounced “fee” and is short for the online handle I use in my real life, which is too easy to google and connect to me, so I shortened it to phi, which people call me anyway.

I do, in fact, answer to “phi.”

I’m a 36 year-old woman that hails from (and continues to reside in) southern California. Ok, almost 37. Wow. I’m almost 37…what the …? No wait, I am 37 now. And nearly 38. Timey-wimey.

Anyway, I write about kinky shit. Mostly. If you were to really boil it down to its essence, I write about feelings.

Sometimes my writing is funny. I haven’t posted too many of those here yet, but they’re coming. Sometimes they’ll make you cry. I haven’t given you many of those yet either, but…they’re coming. Sometimes they just make you think. Sometimes they make you diddle.

People like the ones that make them diddle.

I have a day job that has nothing to do with sex or kink or writing. I want to change this, and starting a public facing blog was one of the steps in my very well-formed strategic plan to achieve literary greatness as a smut writer.

I haven’t figured out step 2 yet.

That’s a lie. I have.

Over on FetLife I started a series called Slutcapades. It’s sort of a collection of memoirs from my wanton youth (and beyond). I was a bit of a wild thing. I’m currently working on editing those stories together with the goal of self-publishing them. I’ve tested the whole self-publishing thing out w/ an e-book on kindle called No Words, which is a story about a person who looks and acts just like me receiving a visit from a very sexy man who looks and acts very much like another popular Fetlife personality.

Belts are involved.

This is a big, scary goal (the publishing, not the belt thing. Okay, also the belt thing). See, I’m not out to my parents about being kinky. I have a feeling that deviance runs in my very large extended family, so it’s only a matter of time before some cousin or aunt or uncle or in-law thinks, “hmm…that redhead looks like so-and-so. I should ask her parents if they know about this.”

I’d rather they find out from me, and I’m not quite ready to tell them yet.

I did, however, write a humorous hypothetical exchange on how that conversation would go, if I were to have it.

Okay, so you know where I came from, why I’m here, my approximate age range and a sense of what my voice is like. The part you don’t know – the part that will shed light on a lot of things is the part that throws people off sometimes.

I’m a widow.

I was with my late husband for about 10 years before he passed away in January 2014, so yes – still somewhat of a recent widow. I’ve had trouble re-negotiating how people do dating now, and the re-entry into the life of a single woman has been a bit bumpy.

I am currently partnered with a polyamorous man, at least as of the time I’m updating this writing. I am not (at this time) polyamorous myself, so that’s a fun new challenge for me to work with.

Now that that’s out of the way, I can start posting some of the other blogs that wouldn’t have made as much sense without that context.

I’m very active on fetlife so if you are already on there and want to add me, go for it. It will just make for a lot of redundancies until I have figured out how my two audiences will differ. I’m also hilariously attached to my cell phone and love receiving and replying to comments or questions here, there, or wherever, whenever possible.

Otherwise, welcome to my brain. Hope you enjoy your visits!