Expectations

Over the past few months a couple of people have said things that make me think I am way harder on myself than I need to be.

The most recent comment was, "I'm sorry that we never had the opportunity to play, but I would never have been able to live up to your expectations anyway."

Normally I would have spun this until I 'heard' this as a negative comment. Typically my thought process would have been, I must be a royal bitch and completely unable to be satisfied. But this time was different. This time I heard something completely different. I heard, "I am impressed by you, and hold you high in respect and admiration". This is truly what this person meant, and for once I got it.

Even though I 'got it', I still find it a little strange. Strange that someone would hold me in such regard. I shouldn't, I know this. When I am in a group of like minded kinky individuals, I do attract attention. I am sought out. I have a very high profile peer group. However I feel as though I remain just off to the left a bit. I tend to question people's sincerity and motives. I have a difficult time believing that people want to be in my space just because they want to. I have a hard time swallowing that I truly have something to offer people.

This is a distressing realization. I am sure I have missed opportunities, lost potential partners and passed on things that could have benefited me, all out of insecurity and lack of self worth. I want to blame someone for this, but truly I cannot. I want to feel angry, and actually as I type this I am a little angry. Angry at myself as I reflect on my past and all the times I simply didn't believe what people were trying to say. That I had worth, things to offer, impeccable skills, an energy that draws others in.

I suppose the past is just that and missed opportunities cant be recovered. But everyday is a new day and filled with possibilities and potential.

I am going to take what was said to me and keep it tucked in my pocket for those moments when I wonder if I am invisible.

Jump

On a whim I am writing this post from a word given to me by a friend. Jump. Hardly as entertaining as the word boobies my wife handed me the other day, but a word that may hold just as many sentiments and feelings.

The initial response to the word jump will always have me wanting to hear "how high?". That is who I am. I don't expect people to jump for me, I expect those who commit to that position to want to ask the question. I am a leather Daddy, a Dominatrix, a skilled Top. So yes, jump takes me to a place where submission is beautiful and "how high?" is natural.

The word jump also brings back haunting memories of how many times I thought ending my life was the answer. It reminds me of hopelessness and helplessness. Of struggles no one knew I was going through, and ones I couldn't even understand myself. It takes me back to a time of loneliness, drug addiction and failed suicide attempts.

Jump also reminds me of youth. Maybe because my youth incorporated both sadistic charm and complete losses. I did a lot of jumping then. From jumping rope to jumping ship. My childhood held many typical moments and far too many that were unnecessary.

And what post would be complete without some racy questionable references?

Of all the ways I use the word or action of jump......"jump up here on Daddy's cock" is surely a contender for favorite.

Lights on?

Sex for me accomplishes many tasks. From the most obvious to the not so obvious. It is about buildup, passion, release, and fulfillment. Its about trust, going places you normally cant or wont, and leaving places you don't wish to be in. Its about sending your senses reeling. I think most can agree that our senses are heightened while engaged in sexual activity. But are heightened senses always a benefit?

We all can recall a time, past or present that makes our tummy, and other things, tingle. Remember the first touch of someone you craved? Those are the tingles I am speaking of. I am fortunate. I adore my wife and have a very satisfying sex life even after almost 14 years together. I am able to recall even the most recent of encounters and get the butterflies in my stomach. Its nice. It tells me that I truly wanted to be in that moment, not just used it for satisfaction or obligation.

But what makes those butterflies? Where are we drawing those feelings from? Obviously our senses. When we relive those moments we are reliving the feeling of a heightened sense. A sense that triggers a stimulation, not unfamiliar, but totally involuntary. What senses are capable of those triggers is probably as vastly different as the sex and fantasies we get them from.

I am a lights off kind of person. Not because I don't want to see, because I really do. I love to look at her movements, her facial expressions, and me entering her. All things that will cause the tingle during recollection. However my own body image issues keep me from wanting her to see me. Even when I know she loves what I look like. I feel vulnerable and way too out there. I have not found a way to find my true spaces and be visible at the same time. It feels like performance anxiety or stage fright when I know I am being watched. And not being able to perform like I do would be a big dissatisfaction to both of us.

In the dark, I am able to be whatever I want, and need to be. I don't have to worry that my body doesn't match who I am. I don't have to worry about having large breasts and being called Daddy. I don't have to think that it truly is strapped on and not a part of me. All things that divert my attention from what I am doing.

However, in the dark I can drink in the touch, feel, sounds and delicious smells. These, many times, are the things I draw on when I am looking for that residual feel good the next day. The whimpers, the words, the obvious excitement, the climaxes. The smell of sweat, natural lubrication, my magnum and the hint of leather, all arousing and able to carry me back.

Our senses tell us all something different. While I prefer the dark, my wife prefers to see. My insecurities most likely prevent her from experiencing the triggers and enjoying the butterflies days later. I cant imagine being slighted and denied those experiences. I truly enjoy them. I think its time to take another step out of the comfort zone and allow her what she has afforded me.

Today I will be shopping for a very small very weak candle.

Impressions

Some days I sit and wonder what people think of me. Not whether or not they like me, but what impression do they get? The people I work with have no idea (as far as my sharing any information) that I am gender fluid, that I am kinky, that I am perverted as all get out. Most people don't even know I'm a lesbian.

There are a few people here that are comfortable with my sexual orientation and have become more friends than acquaintances. Then you have the straight woman that equates her worth with how many people she can get attention from. I am no exception. I pretend not to notice. I refuse to be someone's conquest.

I work in a fitness environment. I go in and out of the locker rooms all day. I see all kinds of people in there. I am a lesbian, not a pig. However some days I feel very uncomfortable in there. Not because I don't feel I fit gender wise, but because I fear people will know I am gay and assume I want them. I dealt with this in high school with friends when they found out. All of a sudden the same people that were getting dressed in front of you for years hid in the bathroom. It makes no sense but people do it. When I detect someone has accurate gaydar in the locker room, I scurry in and out making no eye contact and feeling very apologetic for making them uncomfortable.

Then you have the straight women in there that decide its fun to shower with the curtain open or talk to you while blow drying their crotch hair. I am not sure if they suspect my orientation or not, some days I think it looks obvious, other days I think no one would know even if I wanted them to. Regardless, the awkwardness of those moments is excruciating.

Then you have the women that know I'm gay and flirt with me. Can you say uncomfortable? Probably sounds strange coming from the perpetual flirt. However I use flirting as a means to connect to people, to establish friendships and most importantly boundaries. Its usually initiated by me so I feel I have control. When a woman flirts with me first (in person mind you), I become a total adolescent and duck for cover at the first possible opportunity. Maybe I just need more practice at receiving those types of advances. That must go hand and hand with compliments, something I am equally not used to and get flustered by.

So being as multifaceted as I am, and able to connect to people on so many different levels, it does make me wonder what people think of me in the moment, whatever that moment may be. I know where my head is, but do they?

Perspectives

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are" - Anais Nin

When I was a child I dealt with life from the victim's perspective. I always had someone to blame for my poor choices. I certainly had enough people to use as a scape goat if I needed, and back then I needed to. As I grew into my teens, I not only rebelled against the world, I rebelled against my victim ways of thinking. I was determined to be strong and be an advocate for others needing (in my opinion) that strength. I still find myself getting annoyed at people that cant seem to muddle through. I can admit that I have little pity for those that cannot find the ability to help themselves. Strength and determination can take you a lot farther than your mind and body says you can go.

I became a parent in my early twenties. I was in the throws of addiction, financial crisis and homelessness. Somehow I persevered. I was able to get myself a place of my own, a job, and what I needed for the baby. Today she is almost nineteen and an amazing person. It is bittersweet I assure you. I am very proud, yet still riddled with a lot of guilt. I refused to feel like a victim during this time, as I probably only could have blamed myself anyway.

Now, after forty something years, 2 kids, a bunch of relationships gone bad, and one that finally went right, I am at a place where Anais Nin's words make perfect sense.

Even if the same exact moment occurred to two different people, their accounts would be different. Maybe not in the context of what actually happened, but in the way it effected them. We allow ourselves to be effected by using our life experiences as the tool. What scares you might be highly stimulating to me. Even if its the exact same thing.

I can look back on my life and see how what I was, or not so sure of what I was, had a huge impact on how I viewed life. Obviously its human nature to do so. However now I am able to step back, assess things from multiple perspectives and make a choice as to how I am effected by the situation. I try very hard not to give in to knee jerk reactions. This enables me to see the world a little more for what it is, and not just from who I am.

Quietly Passionate

I found a phrase today. Quietly passionate woman. I found it as intriguing as the woman it described.

I am a passionate person. I love people that are passionate. Passionate about their values, their interests and their desires. Naturally I am drawn to women that are passionate about their passion.

Sex is just about anywhere you look today. Too many people equate sex with passion. And while passionate sex is preferable, one doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the other. Maybe my age and my upbringing has led me to have a distaste for what most find sexy, but I am just not turned on by a bunch of scantly clad women grinding their hips against a pole or wearing slutty booty shorts. I just don't understand how women think that by making themselves look cheap and available makes them sexy and worthy.

My idea of sexy is in the way a woman carries herself. There are times when naked or scantly clad women are very sexy to me. But its the woman that is sexy, not necessarily her body, her lack of clothing or her attempt to exude sex.

Quietly passionate women are those that you can just feel their sexual overtones. They capture your attention by being who they are. They make you wonder what they have to offer, instead of putting it all out there to begin with.

Experience has shown me that these are the most erotic sensual lovers. When a person saves their sex and naughty nature for when its truly appropriate, the experience is extremely rewarding. Maybe I just enjoy the thrill of whats to come opposed to the obvious that I have already seen.

My desires don't long for the half naked ass hanging out on a dance floor. My desires long for the quiet, classy woman with charisma hanging on the sidelines.

Boobies

I asked my wife for some inspiration for today's post. I didn't really need inspiration, as my head is reeling nonstop most days. However, I thought she might come up with something intriguing that not only would get me thinking, but give me some insight as to what she was thinking. This is what I got. She says "Boobies". Yes Boobies.

I have never been a shallow or superficial person when it comes to looks. If someone were to ask what my "type" is, I would say nothing relating to the physical body. Sure I can appreciate a beautiful woman, and I can even find a lot of excitement in the first encounters with said woman, but when the passion ends, she better be smart, funny, witty, classy, charming, and someone I can admire.

This being said, I do have a very found place in my heart for boobies. Depending on where my head is, boobies have different effects on me. But I love them always.

When I was younger I was fascinated by my mothers breasts. I cannot recall one time when I actually saw then uncovered. She was well endowed and had exceptional cleavage in her Playtex bra. Life and Separate...for those of you old enough to remember that. As perverted as it may sound, I spent many an hour looking at that cleavage.

As I grew older, boobies were less fascinating to me. I actually preferred women with small breasts the majority of my young adult hood. One of my first memorable relationships was with a small breasted woman. I liked her, so I liked her smaller boobs. Pretty simple concept.

My wife has had both small and large boobies, depending on her shift in weight. And while I love the smaller boobies, I absolutely adore them bigger. Do I like bigger boobies in general? Probably not. I just like hers. They are warm and welcoming. They are a great place to rest my head. When I lay on them, the world just seems to slip away. When I am feeling aggressive, they offer my a sizable amount to grab or use as handles. They look marvelous covered in wax or bound in leather. They are all purpose boobies. Yum.

So while I am not a shallow person and base little on looks, I do have my preferences apparently. Chalk another one up to Freud I suppose.

Thanks for the inspiration honey. And the boobies!

Fetishes

Fetishes are quite common. I would think its safe to assume that a lot of vanilla people have fetishes as well as those of us that embrace them within the BDSM community. I think thats what differentiates us from them in the fetish world. But this post is not about who handles their kink in the best way. I really have no reason or right to say any one way is better than the other.

What has been plaguing me is the correlation to childhood experiences and the fetishes that we carry as adults. I cannot say with any certainly or scientific proof that one has anything to do with the other, but from a psychological standpoint, I can't imagine that it doesn't.

For me, what excites me in the S&M world is sometimes a recreation of past experiences, twisted to suit me, as well as complete opposites of my experiences. Let me explain. I am a top, a dominant, a sadist, a Daddy, a whatever you connect with me as. I am fueled by the control, the pain, and the helplessness I deliver. I am sexually stimulated by the sights, sounds and smells of someone's submission. But where does this come from?

Looking back, I remember experiences, that if I were to eroticize them now, would put me in a very submissive position. The bare bottom spankings, the overpowering mother striving for perfection, the childhood bondage and rape. Most people I know who have been victims of such occurrences tend to relive and eroticize these moments from similar perspectives as adults, in a safe and controlled way. I, however, seemed to have taken on the role of my predators.

When I am in the throws of a S&M scene or finding myself in a D/s moment, I am reliving and romanticizing my childhood experiences. When I demand proper protocol and perfection, its because my experiences have taught me that my worth depends on it. And when I take my time to meticulously restrain someone, it is because my own bondage experience took hours and was looked upon by eyes of desire and adoration. When I incorporate kink into my sexual encounters, it is because the rape was long and deliberate and felt kind and caring. When I administer sensory deprivation, I am remembering the loss of sight, sound, time and place that have occurred in many different scenarios as a child.

Have I become a predator? A part of the viscous cycle of abuse? I don't think so. I believe for me, my kinks are directly related to my experiences, and I am reliving them. I could probably conclude that my reliving them from the dominant position enables me to deal with them psychologically but not physically. There have been times in my life that I was granted the forgiving moments of handling these experiences from a more vulnerable spot. It was very rewarding mentally albeit very uncomfortable to who I naturally feel I am. Sometimes I wonder who I would be today if I had allowed myself the true vulnerability to heal.

Roles

Last night I watched a film from 1977 called Word Is Out: Stories of Some of Our Lives. It was an unscripted story by 26 different people talking about gay life in times past and their present. I missed a considerable amount of the beginning, but found myself riveted to the home movie feel of the documentary.

I was only nine in 1977. And although by that time I had already established myself as the neighborhood sadist, the girl who wanted to be a boy, and the child infatuated with older women, I had no idea what queer was, that I was one, or what they went through trying to be themselves.

I came to my full awareness in the 80's. And although times had changed considerably since the 50's, 60's and 70's the documentary was based on, things were not so hot in the 80's either. There was still a lot of negative stigma associated with being gay then. Heck, there still is now. But the roles seem more relaxed, even if the world doesn't.

One woman in the movie was talking about their roles back in the 50's and early 60's. How butch and femme were your options and each had roles as such. Understandably this makes sense since the entire world was based on male roles and female roles at that time. Today our roles as male and female are drastically different and mingled. And while women are still finding their way out of oppression, stepping out of traditional gender roles is normal. Women in business and men raising children are examples that roles are not as defined.

This got me thinking about the roles I have taken on in my life. Honestly, the word role is unfamiliar to me. While I agree that certain personalities lead people to categorically fall into a dynamic within a relationship, I don't feel that roles are an accurate term if you are being honest with yourself and who you are. I am certainly the more masculine part of my relationship. And because of this I tend to be the handyman of the house, the mechanic of the cars etc. However, I also share the housework load, do the cooking and defer spider killing to my wife. She is the more feminine piece of the puzzle we call us, but is the one that tends to the yard work primarily.

I can remember a time, when I was young, that I felt the need to fit a mold more than I do now. That if I were the one to wear the pants in the house, I was the one that took the responsibilities of the traditional pants wearer, the man. I believe this to be handed down unspoken rules of the time period this documentary was portraying. I am unsure if those roles were expectations lesbians had of each other, or simply an attempt to replicate the roles that people were familiar with. Were the roles pacifying them, or an attempt to fit in with society?

Is the world more comfortable with us now? Or are we more comfortable with ourselves? Has leaving some of the traditional roles lessened some of the hate? Has creating our own dynamics with each other allowed less comparison from heterosexuals? I think perhaps having less in common leaves less room to pick out the differences. Creating our own roles has lessened the competitive nature.

Tolerance for doing something completely different seems to be easier to find than tolerance for doing something familiar 'wrong'.

Tegretol

Today I was recalling the trials and tribulations of dealing with my mental disorders, specifically the medications I used to take. Although I am still certifiable, I no longer take any psychological medications. The reasons I stopped medicating my head were numerous. The weight gain, the dream like state, the amount of medications I had to take to combat the side effects of ones I was already on, the cost, the stigma, and the aggravation. I am a very intelligent person and capable of rationalizing what is occurring in my head, even when it makes no sense or speaks to me in strange native tongues. I keep reality close at hand and although sometimes it feels like work, I am perfectly capable of living without medications.

During my stroll down medication lane, I tried to recall all the different medications I have taken over the years for every different crazy label they had me wearing. Most were ineffective in what they were supposed to do, which is probably why I had so many diagnoses over the years. Most of my issues were not things that medication could change.

I took the drug Tegratol for a while in combination with other anti psychotic drugs. I distinctly remember this drug because it had a very altering effect on how I perceived myself. During this time, I was more in touch with my feminine side than I had been all my life. I didn't pay much attention to it, I just noticed it. I question any time when I swing to the gender extreme for any extended period of time. I cant say as though I recall the changes when I switched off Tegretol, and honestly it never really mattered then.

Many years later, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Many things about this diagnosis brought sense to who I am. The gender identity issues, the abandonment issues, the lack of gray areas in my relationships, the disassociating etc, all made sense.

I was asked to write a book on BPD and gender identity. In researching medical references regarding the topic, I became aware of the use of Tegretol for people with BPD. It seems the use of Tegretol has been documented to relieve its sufferers from gender identity disorder. It seems that upwards of 50% of people with BPD that were seeking sex reassignment as an option, decided against it after taking Tegratol.

So this brings a million possibilities and questions to the surface. Since a large majority of those that suffer from borderline personality disorder have gender identity issues, is it the disorder that makes one question their identity, or the other way around. If indeed its the disorder, what is the BPD and ultimately the Tegretol changing that would alter someone's gender perception? Or is the medication simply finding its way to a part of the brain that is blocking the true awareness? Should this medication be given to people questioning their gender just to 'make sure' sex reassignment is the right answer for them? What happens if someone has sex reassignment surgery then ends up taking this anticonvulsant that could potentially be prescribed for a multitude of conditions? Would they suddenly be faced with the dread of making a wrong decision?

I believe Tegretol does reduce gender identity issues. But only by reducing a person's awareness levels. I don't believe that I was who I 'was supposed to be' while I was taking it. I don't recall missing the other sides of me, but in retrospect, I think I feel a tad slighted.

Unapologetic

The words "I was unapologetic" stood out today while reading a blog friend's post. I thought, wow, all of what this person says I can relate to in a lot of ways. However, that line....that phrase...."I was unapologetic", sums up everything about where I am right now in my life. A place it took me until now to realize I have always been.

I will be 42 years old this summer. I have been around too many blocks to count. I have been so many things in my life. I am a parent, a wife, a sadist, an accountant, a recovering addict, a poster child for psychological misfits, a girl, a boy, and everything in between. As life has strung me along, I have had to find ways to compensate for my shortcomings, for my not fitting in, for my poor choices, and for my sanity.

My way of thinking has evolved just as many times as my transitioning self. I have been rebellious, carefree, unconcerned, sexually out of control. I have been caring, mothering, passive, obsessive. I have been relentless, powerful, demanding and controlling. I have been all that and much more. However, the only thing that has always stood true is my ability to be unapologetic through it all. I have always been OK with who I was and what I was doing. Even through the aftermath of some very poor life choices, I have always known that the true me, deep inside, is real, honest, and sacrificing. Those that have been fortunate enough to see who I am have walked away feeling rewarded.

Today I am comfortable. And while I still battle with gender identity issues, at least they make sense to me. In retrospect I think they have always made sense to me, just not to everyone else. And while I don't really care if the world embraces me or not, I needed to find a way to fully be who I am and still mingle with the masses. I have a way to go with this, but I no longer silently apologize for who and what I am. I am starting to see that putting aside those fears and uncertainties allows a lot more room to let people in. The more people I let in, the more confident I can feel. The more confident I feel, the more people I attract.

Self awareness and acceptance has been a long time coming for me. And I have a long way to go. However staying true to myself and learning how to love that self has solidified the importance for being unapologetic. I owe no one safety from their own fears. It is not my job to make sure I don't make others uncomfortable by being who I am. I am only responsible for myself, my own emotions and my own character.

Activism

I am not an activist. For some people, that makes me sound like a bad person. I admire and encourage activism. I do believe there are changes to be made and I do believe those that stand up for change do make a difference. I am passionate about my opinions, and if I really feel my voice can help, I will speak up. However, when it comes to personal struggles, I have never been one for screaming for change.

I am a lesbian. Sure, I would like to be able to comfortably love my partner in public and with the federal backing straight people are warranted. I would love my commitment to be recognized by more than just me. And yes, I do hope that future generations don't ever have to say "I wish". I support the people that fight for that right. However, I don't put myself on the front line. Does that make me less of a person? Maybe to some. Does it make me a hypocrite? In certain people's eyes it might. But those that refer to me as such do not know me.

I am gender fluid. I don't fit into a gender box. I don't feel completely comfortable in either gender. Should I demand there be a box for me to check? Should I demand access to both restrooms, to both locker rooms, to both dressing rooms? Maybe. But I don't.

The reason I don't has nothing to do with what people would assume. Most would say I am lazy. I am expecting others to fight for my cause and pave my path. That I am happy and selfishly OK with others doing the work and me reaping the rewards. That couldn't be further from the truth.

The true fact is, I am OK with who I am and honestly I don't feel overly discriminated against. I know I am different. But to me different doesn't mean people are treating me as less, it means I don't fit and they don't understand. And while I agree that all people deserve to be treated equally, I also believe that realistically there is no completely equal. There will always be people outside of the box. Boxes are based on commonality and greatest percentages. As life progresses and we learn who is outside of that box, sure that box should get bigger to fit everyone in. But honestly, I don't feel oppressed and I don't feel terribly slighted because I am a minority in my sexual orientation and my gender identity. I just compensate to do the best I can to fit in. I truly don't expect the world to change to make sure it includes me.

I know passionate activists that might read this would likely want to choke the living you know what out of me. That they would point fingers and say "That's why we are getting no where". But I say to them, "Keep fighting your fights, you do make a difference. But please don't judge me because I am comfortable".

I think after 40 plus years of fighting myself, I have come to a place of peace. And maybe I am just too tired to fight the rest of the world. I am content and happy. And my hope is that everyone can find that for themselves. I cant help but think that the world would change on its own if everyone worked to find inner peace first. That people who are comfortable with themselves would eventually attract others who were comfortable with them. There will always be opposition. In everything. I don't feel I need to make them want to love me. Nor do I feel my hate for those that hate would make me any better.

Transitions and relationships

I watched a movie yesterday that was long, boring and not worthy of mentioning. However I can find writing inspiration anywhere, and this was no exception.

We all continue to grow throughout our lives. Personal growth is never ending. We are constantly evaluating and shifting ourselves to better suit who we are, what we want to be, and who we end up with. Sometimes the transitions we go through are small, sometimes they are huge. Sometimes they are even physical in nature.

I got to wondering about how transitions effect relationships. I, for one, am very lucky to have a partner that has grown and embraced my diversities as I have found and made peace with them. My transitions have mostly all been awareness in nature, and no physical changes other than clothing, hair styles etc have taken place for me to feel complete. The physical changes that I do plan are really more alterations and not exactly changes. Those I cannot see having any negative effects on the relationship. If anything it will make me more comfortable and that can only make things more positive in my relationships.

However I have concluded that this is not always the case. I am sure there are people out there going through transitions that have a devastating effect on their personal relationships. If someone loves you for who you are, and you become different, albeit physically or mentally, is it fair to assume your partner is going to love you the same way? I know it sounds shallow to think naught, but I am a realist. I cant imagine the amount of strength it takes to support someone while they change into something completely different from what you have come to know and love. And maybe I am not speaking only of the physical changes one might be going through, but also the amount of time, money, and mental exhaustion making life altering changes takes. I cant help think that a partner's role in those changes would be equally exhausting and maybe not what they signed up for.

In the case of transgendered people, I would think the transition period must be very intense for a partner. Even if a partner has known about and supported the changes from the beginning of the relationship, I can only imagine the changes they go through are equally mentally taxing. Not only will their partner physically be different in gender characteristics, but the transition also changes both parties sexual orientation. And while I am sure there are many success stories, I cant help but think there are a lot of disaster stories. And while the transitioned person will ultimately come out on the other side with a new sense of self and feel good, a loss of partnership doesn't come without pain.

Personal growth and transition can be defined as anything. It can be sexual orientation, battling addiction, shifting genders, changing career paths, becoming a parent etc. All of these, and more, are huge changes in someone's life. And all of these can effect an already established relationship. And if that relationship gets put on hold during the transition, is it possible to get it back? Is it possible to find common ground again? After all, its the people we fall in love with ultimately, not their gender, job, or status.

I would be very interested to hear people's struggles, successes and failures on this topic.

Blame

There are times in our past that we look back on and cringe. Events that should never have occurred, or things that should have and never did. We all carry ghosts and sadness in our closest. Everyone has some story to tell.

Last night I was thinking about how envious I am of people with families that so obviously love them. I have no doubt that my parents loved me, but it always felt more of an obligatory love as opposed to a genuine one. There were no kisses or hugs. I cant remember an "I love you" that wasn't provoked by gift giving or a special occasion. I don't remember ever feeling a time that I thought the people closest to me in my life truly wanted to be with me or have me near them. I suppose its possible that my recollection is somewhat skewed by my hurt and poor memory. And surely my parents would conclude that I am completely off target, even though my siblings can attest to the recollection.

I realized last night that I place blame way too easily. It seems so simple to say "I blame you" when I probably should be saying "I wish things had been different". Just because something didn't turn out the way I wished it had doesn't necessarily mean someone is at fault. And although the events in my past have shaped my life as it is today, it has always been my choice to work through the pain and the ghosts, or allow them to control me. Unfortunately there are things that have occurred that have made that task extremely difficult. And yes, there are times when someone was to blame for the direct pain. However even those people are not to blame when it comes down to how I have handled coming out on the other side. They are to blame for creating some of my psychological issues, but not for how I have managed those issues as an adult. Do I wish I had a better childhood? Sure most people do. I wish I didn't struggle daily with the effects of poor parenting. But I am the only one that can decide how things effect me. And although I find it so easy to blame others for contributing to a life time of struggle, I also find it rewarding when I can overcome. Sometimes I am even proud of myself, even if no one else has ever told me they were proud of me.

Childhood Sadist

When I was younger, elementary school age, I showed a lot of dominant behavior toward other children in my neighborhood. Most kids called me mean, I called myself clever. I had an uncanny ability to dominate just about anyone if I chose to. I had no idea what the desire was then, I just knew I derived intense pleasure from being able to make kids do what I wanted them to do. I found it extremely pleasing to know that I could force someone to do something they otherwise wouldn't without having to use physical force. I was tiny. I still am smaller than most. But I was bigger than them all when it came to mind games and ability to control. Perhaps my lack of size gave me Napoleon complex. Perhaps my wicked mother and/or my childhood rape created the monster in me. Or perhaps I have always just been wired this way.

I recall some instances where my domination was simply mean. The more I disliked a neighborhood child, the more pain accompanied the torment. The kid I liked least on the block got thrown rocks at. I don't know why. That didn't even feel good. The next in line was a little boy that had some challenges. Back in the 60's and 70's everyone that had an issue wasn't necessary classified. This kid, David, was a great target. He was submissive by nature and would do anything I asked. He was not slow and I didn't feel like I was taking advantage, he was just eager to please and I allowed it. He seemed to enjoy the torment. It always made me smile, which in turn made him smile. We had a bond the other children didn't seem to understand, especially when I lit firecrackers I had stuck in the peeling sole of the front of his sneakers. I'm sure it hurt. But he always giggled, and I always felt high.

John John was a strange kid. He really liked me. He followed me everywhere. I didn't particularly like him. I used to manipulate him into doing things that would end him up in trouble with his mother. Back then trouble meant spanking or something physical that usually took place wherever your parent was able to catch you. The front yard was no exception. The result of my controlling his behavior was witnessing these spankings. I enjoyed watching the beatings as much as controlling his behavior.

My art of domination has changed significantly since those days. I have no interest in playing with men. I have no interest in being mean for the sake of it. However the core of who I was then and what was turning me on is the same today. I love the mental challenges S&M relationships present. I love being able to control people and situations just by being me. I have never been a fan of physically forcing submission. For some thats their kink, for me its not. I enjoy knowing that someone WANTS to be submissive. That they ARE submissive. That they DESIRE to be ultimate in their position. I want my energy to help them feel theirs. If I have to make you do it, you aren't it.

As an adult, I have educated myself and learned who I am and why I do what I do. However as a child, my sadistic behavior was purely fueled by the fact that it excited me, made me powerful and just plain felt good. Even then consent was usually there and I didn't go too far above my presumed areas of expertise and safety. The end result was sexually stimulating and made my self love later very satisfying. Life then was filled with naughty erotic moments. Makes me wonder why I was in such a hurry to grow up.

Ambiguity

Yesterday someone affectionately referred to me as ambiguous. Its a common word, and a commonly used part of speech. As a matter of fact, I use its ability in my sarcastic speech frequently. Ambiguity has many meanings. It can be a help or a hinder. It has the ability to blur lines and confuse. Ambiguity is found in many life situations, music, math, visual arts, religion etc. It is used, often without intent, to essentially put ideas into peoples heads that really aren't there to begin with. With intent, its a great tool for politicians and salesmen. With all that said, do you wonder why I referred to the reference as affectionate?

Ambiguity means being able to be interpreted in more than one way. It means leaving the door open for someone to interpret the situation as it suits them. And on that level I absolutely fit that definition. I am not textbook anything. I do not fit any label or any mold completely. I am flexible, fluid and ever changing, both in personality and gender. I also have the ability to blur lines and confuse. Not because I am being deceptive, but because I am multifaceted. Most people tap into only a small portion of me. I have a certain dynamic within my relationship with that person. At that moment, there are no lines being blurred or confusion. However when more than one person is with me at the same time, the chances for those dynamics to shift from place to place is much more likely. And while each person may very well recognize me in the context they have grown to know me, they may not necessarily recognize behavior patterns I show toward another. And while I go out of my way to keep these groups of people separated, sometimes they overlap.

Since my wife is in tune with all the pieces of me, she is fairly capable of 'running with the ball' when I am in a group. Though most likely unaware, she often slips into a dynamic with me that is best suited for the group. I am fortunate that no matter where my head is, she can compliment it. This is certainly not the case with others. There are many times when I receive furrow-browed looks from people that just simply 'dont get' me at that moment.

Being ambiguous means I have no defined lines. That you are free to relate to me in a variety of ways. That I can be seen in more ways than one. That I am ever changing and unpredictable. It means opening doors to situations and thinking outside of the proverbial box. It means opportunities to grow, learn and love a wider range of people. So yes, ambiguous to some may mean vague and unable to make up their mind. But I am choosing to accept it as a term of endearment.

Environmental Gender

I had a epiphany last night. Well actually I drew mine from someone else. An obvious gender bending young woman had a moment to tell a group of people in a communal living arrangement a little about herself. Her body language showed her discomfort in talking about herself, although her clothing and brassy personality were deceptively trying to show confidence. She was a lesbian.

She was speaking of how when she was young she wanted to be a boy. I think a lot of us can relate to wanting to be a boy. For me, I thought perhaps I just didn't fit completely as a girl. I still think that. For her, she rationalized that wanting to be a boy was a result of wanting to be with girls. It was a simple concept, yet one I had not entertained in my 40 plus years on this earth. It makes perfect sense that even though we don't have sexual awareness at a young age, we do have an understanding of relationships. We know from early on that boys like girls and vice versa. Young gay children have no idea yet that their attraction to the same sex is sexual in nature. So if someone was to find themselves drawn to the same sex, they must be the opposite sex of what they are.

In hindsight, it is very obvious that I was always a lesbian. It just didn't play out sexually until I was of an appropriate sexual age. I can remember being drawn to certain women and older girls. I worshiped them. I would do anything to be in their company. I had shrines of things certain women touched. I stole clothes they wore and slept with them. I was easily obsessed. I had no idea why. This was very lonely and tormenting for me. If only I was a boy, it would have made sense.

As I thought more about this girl's epiphany, I started to question my gender identity and my sexual orientation. Not question what it is, but how it got that way. Was I so tormented by the lack of understanding of my sexual orientation that questioning my gender has remained even after my orientation awareness? Or is it that I am truly gender neutral or both genders? I have to wonder.

I believe we are born with certain predispositions sexually. I also believe that we are all born with characteristics of both genders. However I fully believe that environment solidifies what we become. Abuse, misconceptions and a lack of sexual awareness have all played a part in my gender identity issues. Did I truly not fit my gender when I was young or was I looking for a way to explain my abnormal attraction to women? Was my constant questioning the environment that created the identity turmoil I live with today?

Quick Observation

Today I was leaving a gas station convenience store. I turned when someone called my name. Sitting in a car was a woman that works off site for our company. I do know her by name and obviously she me. She stops in the office on occasion for paperwork and to speak to her supervisor. I do not know much more about her.

I stood next to her car making small talk. I was glad she had a dog with her, as petting the dog and making stupid cooing noises to it, kept me from having to make up conversation or eye contact.

My car was parked right next to hers. After saying good bye I opened my car door and got inside. "did you get a new car?" she asked. Indeed I had a few months back purchased a new vehicle. I told her I had and bid farewell. As I was driving, I got to thinking. How did this woman know I had a new car? Quite frankly I was surprised she even remembered my name.

This triggered me to wonder just how invisible I really am, or am not in this case. Could it be possible that people do know me? Care to know me? That someone I only see several times a year would notice that I am driving a new car? Or that I drive at all? Could it be that my insignificance truly is just in my mind? That I do matter to an extent to people outside of my immediate circle?

I felt good for a few minutes. I felt bigger and more confident. For an instant I believed I had something to offer. Perhaps if I stop avoiding social situations I may just see that people enjoy my company. That maybe I wont always hear "Who are you again?".

Self Indulgent?

I haven't written in a couple of days. Life at home has been hectic and full of surprises that are not only taking up my time, but are draining me emotionally. I figured no one would care if I didn't post. Heck, I'm fairly certain not many people go out of their way to read this blog.

However, the other day someone mentioned that they related to my words. And while she is not the first person to say so, she was a very surprising one. This woman is someone I truly know. Maybe not as well as I once thought I did. But I know her, and frankly she was one person I would have said had nothing in common with me other than we shared some moments many years ago.

The messages I received made me feel very grounded. I found myself wanting to write for her. To find things that might be comforting to her. To expand on the topic she was drawn to and hope she finds some safety in it. I was inspired and hyped to write. But I didn't.

I questioned myself after the initial excitement wore down. I started to question my writing intentions. I started asking myself why I felt such a powerful urge to write when I knew she was reading and relating. I realized that maybe I am not just writing for me. And that made me feel narcissistic and needy. It reminded me of the struggles I have had all my life. Of only feeling important if I am making someone else feel good.

I am not a professional writer. I write because I feel. I feel a lot. I struggle a lot with those feelings. Writing helps me rationalize, compartmentalize and organize those emotions. It helps to keep me centered and productive. For some reason I thought that what I had to say could be useful or even just entertaining reading for others. I know there are people out there afraid to express themselves, or be honest to themselves, or unable or willing to find anyone like them. I was one of those people. And I wish I knew one of me during my most trying of struggles.

I chose this forum because its very available and I do not have to censor myself. I chose a fictitious name so I could write what I truly felt, not what I would want my grandmother to read. I have learned a lot about myself from these writings, and each one brings forth new things I want to understand about myself and share.

Taking all that into account, I am struggling now with my motive and if it feels sincere. Am I writing for me? Am I trying to help others or is this self indulgent? Does anyone even really want or need to read this? And is it OK to run with the amazing amount of inspiration I get when someone does relate?

I fuck from my soul

I usually refrain from talking about seedy sex in a public forum. I suppose I don't want to offend anyone. But if I am to be honest with myself and any readers I may have, I need to fully put myself out there.

Sex is a big part of who I am. I am extremely sexual in most things I do. I definitely don't exude sex. It is unlikely that anyone would ever refer to me as sexy, and I don't feel particularly sexy either.

My sexual existence is derived from raw power. I am aggressive, controlling, uninhibited, in tune and ever lasting. I can make love and I can fuck like no one's business. I can convince you to do things you probably would otherwise never do. I have extraordinary female ejaculatory abilities. I can promise a hot, sweaty, messy time.

Sex wasn't always good. I could only derive pleasure from pleasuring someone else for a good portion of my adolescence through my young adulthood. I was very submissive in my love making back then. I just wanted to please. My self worth was calculated by how many times I could satisfy someone else. I don't recall ever feeling slighted. I really just believed I could never be wanted with the same adoration I was willing to give to others. And I was OK with that. If I could satisfy someone for an hour, I had a purpose.

Today it is much different. While my drive is still very much to make sure my partner is being pleased, I have found ways to make sure those actions are what please me as well. What I do for you will surely be pleasing to me. I allow people to touch me now, not because I owe it to them, but because I have found things and ways that actually feel good. I have taken my vulnerabilities and incorporated them into steamy, hot situations. I have allowed taboo into the bedroom through role play, S & M, talking and intense thought. I have embraced vulgarity, naughtiness, and ownership of a very large phallus which I lovingly call Magnum. (I wear it well)

Never again would I accept waiting in the wings for someone to come around for a piece of me when they get bored of their mundane sex life. I am pleased with who I am and what I am capable of in the bedroom. I am multifaceted and pretty talented if I do say so myself. I fuck from my soul, not just my crotch.

Embracing myself

Since I began blogging this past May, I have had a lot of people reach out to me, identifying with parts of what I write. I take the comments people make seriously. I go out of my way to look at their profile, learn what I can from them, and appreciate the similarities and the diversities.

I have always loved trying to get to 'know' people. I read people well. I have an uncanny ability to know people's true personalities even when they are portraying a completely false one on the outside. As a young lesbian I was able to know what straight women were willing to experiment. I am a great judge of character.

From looking over the information my Facebook friends share, I see a common thread amongst a lot of them identifying with gender issues. I see a lot of vulnerable souls. I see a lot of denial and then relief. I also see a lot of delusions of grandeur being used as a safety net. I don't know these people personally, but I 'feel' them.

I am finding comfort in knowing that I am not alone. And that people crossing gender boundaries, even if just in their minds, come in all shapes, sizes, genders, backgrounds, and sexual orientations. They have all different life experiences. That although the most prominent community members seem to fit the general population's version of stereotypical, most are anything but.

I truly believe that all people are coerced into their gender identification based on the genitalia they are born with. I don't think people are truly unisex or asexual, but I do think that people have tendencies that span the gender spectrum. For me it is a little more pronounced. But maybe that is only because I choose it to be. I enjoy feeling androgynous. I like the edge I carry. I love the variety of sex it allows me.

The more I read, the more I identify and the more I share, the more I am embracing myself and being honest with myself. And the more honest I am with myself, the more comfortable I am with others, especially those close to me. So thanks to all of you supporting my journey and I encourage you to continue your own.

Predator and Prey

Each night before I go to sleep I indulge in some self love. Primarily I do it to help me fall asleep quicker. That and the fact that I have the raging hormones equivalent to a 13 year old boy. If I didn't, I would probably back up and explode. I have done this since I was a very young child. Apparently I wasnt always very modest with the behavior as it was not so lovingly dubbed my 'habit' by my over bearing, over prudish mother. She kept tabs on my self pleasure, probably even had a journal. But those are sick stories for another day.

During the five not so thrilling minutes it takes me to accomplish the task at hand (no pun intended), my mind races like a whirlwind. I am one who prefers something visual to get me going. The event is so quick, it makes no sense to invest time loading a video or seeking out a book. Not to mention the added disturbance to my wife laying next to me. So, I use my head to conjure up pictures and situations. They aren't what I would deem fantasies, just arousing situations.

The first minute or so is very frustrating since the images fly all over the place. I wait patiently for my mind to settle on something that matches where my head space is at the time. Being so complex and diverse, what turns me on changes from day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute. Sometimes several times a minute! What excites one part of me has no effect on other parts of me. What I have noticed though, are the two ends of the spectrum that I seem to find arousing. Predator and prey. Not much in between. What I find really interesting is that I have dual genders in both categories.

In my mental time travels, I am trying to recall when exactly I started switching genders while indulging myself and why. So far I have come up empty. I don't recall a lot of my childhood. There are memory blanks that span up to a year at times. Makes me wonder what happened in those time periods that, when coming out on the other side, gave me an opportunity I now eroticize in some fashion.

Maybe I dont want to know. Not only for my sanity, but it may just ruin my five minute material.

Complete When Intact

Taking quizzes about ourselves seems to be a great boredom buster for a lot of people. I'm sure you will agree that the only ones worthy of your attention or posting on Facebook are the ones that seem accurate, or your perception of accurate anyway.

The other day I was reading an article on a 'medical advisory' website that had personality type quizzes. I must have spent a good portion of my afternoon checking how I fared in the jealousy, self esteem, sensuality and many other areas. While I don't take these quizzes to heart, I was surprised to see a common pattern.

Almost all of the results were opposite of what I had expected. According to this site, I have normal jealousy issues, I have an appropriate amount of self esteem, I have minimal attachment issues etc. The list went on and on. A couple were accurate but those were based primarily on sexuality and passion.

I started to wonder. How could I possibly get results that were so far off from what I thought of myself? Is it possible that I am more well adjusted than I give myself credit for? Or did it depend on which part of me these quizzes were tapping into? Surely where my head was would alter the results. But I don't consciously know 'who' was clicking at that moment.

It is true that my different personalities alter how I deal with people and situations. I am sure that's why I have them to begin with. Most of the time I switch my head space to help me fit in better to a social situation or to change an undesirable mood I may be in. I am very well aware of changing head spaces and I don't recall feeling anything other than 'just me' while I was engrossed in these quizzes.

So my hypothesis is that maybe the real me is more well adjusted than each of the little pieces of me. That separated, they don't function as well. It made me realize that I am much more complete with components intact, genders and all.

Sometimes Good is 'Good Enough'.

In a world full of craziness. It's sometimes hard to see the good that happens around us everyday. We are inundated with images and stories of our failures as human beings. We are judged and compared to those perceived better than we are. We are constantly reminded that what we have to offer each other, the earth, and the universe is potentially toxic to ourselves and those we love.

The feel goods we all strive for on a mutual level in our day to day lives is seemingly overlooked. It is rare to turn on the television and see a happy ending. It is rare to read an article about every day people doing every day good. Even Facebook statuses are usually full of fuel and fire, in regard to someone else or self hatred. Unless you are a hero or a villain, you are hardly noticed.

Its no wonder that people go above and beyond to be noticed. In advocacy, in hatred, in sex, in everything. We have created an existence that caters to the extremes.

It concerns me when simple good deeds are no longer appreciated or noticed. That there seems to be little pay it forward any more. People seem to carry a sense of entitlement with them. Kindness and caring are taken for granted. Help is expected not warranted.

With access to an unlimited audience, vying for attention is easier than ever. For celebrities, corporations, hate groups, and the public in general. Its no wonder making decisions on who to support, who to help, even where to look are so difficult.

The world is losing its ability to see the everyday ways we can help and appreciate. We need to remember that we don't have to conquer the world. That charity starts at home. That the small things do make a difference. That you don't need to be a superhero to effect someone. That simple courtesy goes a long way. We need to remember to teach our children that their value isn't based on how many Facebook friends they have or You Tube views their video has received. That asking for help doesn't make them weak. And that helping someone else can make them stronger.

In a world where the biggest, noisiest, squeakiest wheel gets the grease, its hard to remember that sometimes being good is good enough.

Thing I've Learned Since Passing 40

Things I've Learned Since Passing 40

~It is better to have a few true friends

~Boobs really can reach your waistline

~Laughing until you cry cures almost anything

~Sex gets better every year

~Mentally removing yourself from toxic relationships is as important as physically removing yourself

~Looking, being, feeling, doing better than everyone else doesn't really make you better

~The grass is definitely not greener on the other side

~Everyone has a story

~One bad apple does not mean all apples are bad

~Self pity is unproductive

~Appreciate those that care for you, they don't have to

~Spandex looks good on no one

~Parenting never gets easy, it just gets different

~Gray hair, wrinkles and fat mean you are wiser and more experienced

~Taking time to smell the roses doesn't just work for greeting cards

~Don't take anything for granted

And most importantly...

~Always love like it is your last day together

eb
2010

The Human Pony

Driving to work today my mind wondered to one of my favorite kinks. Pony play. I am a human pony trainer/owner. I got to wondering what people that have not been exposed to this particular fetish thought about it. Have you ever seen a human pony? Have you watched one? Have you ever pet one? It is all fabulous.

Pony play is such a different experience than your typical BDSM play. While it can incorporate many aspects of the traditional D/s dynamics, it doesn't have to. Or it can bring a whole new dimension. I have been involved in the BDSM lifestyle for about 25 years. My partner and I have been exchanging energy together for the past 15 years. Over the course of the years we have shared many 'firsts'. Pony play is no exception.

For us, pony play is a way to let go of some of the rigid positions we hold within our relationship. However it also allows us to find new connections to each other. The traditional roles of top and bottom are blurred, permitting behaviors and expressions outside of the norm. Being a pony affords my girl freedoms not normally tolerated in a typical submissive role. Being a huge stickler for protocol, pony training actually allows me to let go of a lot of expectations and enjoy the energy and fun.

Fun. That is absolutely the first word anyone involved in pony play will describe it as. It still holds intense elements of the BDSM lifestyle and for me it is HIGHLY erotic. However the air surrounding any group of pony players is simply put,fun.

For anyone involved in the kink world, I encourage you to seek out pony players. Not only are the dynamics fun to watch and rather beautiful, the people you will meet are by far the most humble gracious lifestylers.

This year we have decided to fore go our annual 'camp' trip. 5 days with the kinkiest people ever. 5 days with the largest pony play community in one place. This year we have decided to spend our time sharing other dynamics with each other. I am thrilled to spend our summer differently this year. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss 'camping'.

Comfort Zone

This weekend I stepped out my comfort zone a few times. It doesn't really matter what I was doing that causes me to say that, what matters is why I did it and how I mustered the courage to do so.

For a lot of us, the first recollection of stepping outside of our comfort zone begins at home. When you first realized that you were queer or kinky or transgendered etc. Telling family is usually an uncomfortable situation and the anxiety high. Not knowing how people will react, and always assuming the worst, we prolong the event until bearing it alone causes more pain than the potential rejection.

For many of us it goes fine and the relief is overwhelming. However for some of us, the assumptions and anxiety we carried become validated. The immediate feeling of abandonment, loneliness, humiliation, and fear aren't easily forgotten. In fact, those moments may shape how we handle conflict and confrontation, self expression, confidentiality and trust for the rest of our lives.

At some point, we all need support. Family seems a no-brainer, but for many that live outside the box, family doesn't necessary constitute bloodlines. Eventually we find a comfortable place to be ourselves. Maybe we mold a little to fit in. Maybe we aren't always 100% honest in who we are. Maybe we hold back the things that don't seem to meet the criteria. Many people can live just fine this way. Some acceptance is better than no acceptance. I lived this way most of my adult life.

I am a very complicated and multifaceted person. There is no way that any particular group or community could understand and support me completely. I simply fit too many molds and none at the same time. I have coped just fine. I live inside my head a lot. I don't share thoughts and feelings with many. Not because I don't wish to invite you into my world, but more because I don't expect you to understand. Nor do I want to put you in an uncomfortable position.

However, there are times when my head screams out for someone to hear me. Listen to me. Understand me. Allow me the privilege to be myself completely and comfortably in a safe place. It is at at these moments, that I must force myself to step out of the comfort of my own head and test the waters. Having a partner, friend, family, insert whatever here, that supports you makes this process a whole lot easier. They dont need to relate to you. They dont need to be the same as you. They dont need to have experience in what you are living, they just need to offer you a safe place to be yourself.

Only when you know that you truly are not alone, can you step out of the comfort zone. What you find on the outside is sometimes as amazing as the realization that someone cares enough to allow you to experience it.