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.

D/s Essentials

I haven't written much lately on sexual deviance. My guess is that my fear is not as many people can relate. However upon reading a blog this morning that I follow, I was inspired to write a little on D/s relationships.

I have been involved in BDSM since high school (80s). No, I didn't don a whip and chains at that early age. However I can trace behaviors back to then and even prior to that, that show me how and when this all came into play for me.

I wont bore you with how I got to being the Mistress/Top/Daddy I am now 25 years later. We all have our own stories. And honestly, I try to avoid the all too common 'lets top the top' stories of the lifestyle.

One thing I do find important to discuss, is the role older more experienced lifestylers have to the newer less exposed players. It is vital that we take the time to show them the right way to treat people, and the way to expect to be treated. It is essential that we allow them the knowledge to make safe and sane decisions.

Long ago, before the Internet, you had to seek out your community. Physically. That played a HUGE part in how you learned the lifestyle. I think its fantastic that we have resources now to read and look at, but many new players are missing the foundation that BDSM is based on. Its based on dynamics and energy exchange. Not profiles and pictures and reading something you 'want to try'. Its based on experience handed down from the previous generation. Its based on handing down lessons learned from mistakes we made. You had to 'earn' your spot in the lifestyle then. Today, you just show up. And while its fantastic that the community has grown so quickly and so large, it presents so many opportunites to fall into the hands of someone that is not qualifeid to hold your trust and physical safe being in their possession.

Those of you that are new to the lifestyle (and I mean less than 10 years), seek out your elders. Educate yourselves. Ask questions. GET REFERENCES!!! Dont just show up at an event and expect everyone there to know what the hell they are doing. There is never a time in BDSM that you know everything. There is never a time we should stop learning. And there is never a time that a true lifestyler would fault you for asking and admitting 'you dont know'.

Anyone can learn how to tie you up. How to use the tools of the trade. How to humilate you and use typical phrases. Anyone.

Few know how to dance. Few know how to exchange energy equally. Few know that the bottom in the relationship is the true foundation.

D/s is only as good as those you share it with.

Honor yourself, no matter Top or bottom, and find a suitable partner. This is not a lifestyle in which settling is an option.

Butch Status

As many of you know, I don't wear any labels comfortably. Not because I don't want to, but because they never seem to fit.

Over the course of the past year, several people have referred to me as butch. A couple of them were truly just ignorant in terminology and lifestyle. Straight outsiders that assume if you aren't a lipstick lesbian you must be a butch. Someone has to 'be the man' right? Those people don't bother me. I am just glad that at least I can be the lesbian I am in their straight world.

However a few people lately have refereed to me as butch that I know are clearly in tune with that label, what it means, and who carries it. When they utter the word, I know it is coming from a place of experience. But it still baffles me. I know I have my butch moments. Don't get me wrong. I own a ton of t shirts and Harley boots. I am very comfortable fixing the car, building things, and 'taking care of the little woman'. I am a Daddy. During those moments, I would agree...100% butch.

But I don't wear that label because I am not that all the time. In all honesty I think it is unfair to the butches of the world that I adopt their label only part time.

I can be very feminine as well. I wear corsets and leather pants when the time is right. I wear a lot of knee high boots that don't have thick polished leather and big soles. I wear make up every day. However no one seems to label me then. I guess I just fit what people assume I am supposed to fit.

Most days I am a combination of the two. Always tough and hard, yet surprisingly soft and gentle.

So I don't think I can fairly claim butch status. But am fascinated by those that think I can.

My Girl

Driving home, my mind is always on you.
I find myself reliving memories, past and recent.
I allow myself to find you in my thoughts.
I catch the smile on my face in the mirror.
A sinister feeling washes over me.
It excites me that the other drivers have no idea what I'm thinking.
I am enamored by the many sides of you, the woman, the submissive, the child.
I am empowered by your trust and innocence.
I adore the things you only give to me.
I worship the raw moments and the dirty little secrets.
The familiar sounds and whimpers.
It calls out to me, each and every day.
A place only you can take me.
With someone only I know.

Dissassociating

I suffer from panic attacks. Lately they seem to be occurring more frequently than usual. I no longer take medication for them, I no longer take any psych medications at all. They were causing more harm to my body than they were doing good to my head. I have spent many years with therapists and reading material finding ways to combat these attacks and move on undetected. For the most part it works. They aren't as debilitating as they once were, and most people don't know I even suffer from them.

A common symptom of a spontaneous panic attack is disassociation, which includes depersonalization and derealisation. There is little information as to whether a panic attack brings these on, or these events trigger the panic attack. For me, I can say with almost complete certainty, its the disassociation that brings on the panic attack.

When someone dissassociates, they enter a trance like state. It has been noted that this is considered an 'ability' not a reflex response. Most people who 'suffer' from this have been dissassociating since childhood, but never even realize it. Apparently this ability affords the child a defense to remove themselves from certain situations.

Dissassocaiting for me is scary. Many people embrace the ability, I run from it. Hence the panic attack that it triggers. Physically, depersonalizing is frightening. The feeling that you are not 'inside' your own body is not as much fun as it sounds. "Seeing" yourself from the outside is strange to say the least. Add to that the physical manifestations of derealisation, such as being in a dream, not being 'connected' to your surroundings etc, and it all becomes an awful experience for me. Tunnel vision, perceptions that your body is massively larger or smaller than it is, seeing stationary objects move etc, are all things that occur during disassociating. Ironically, I used to pay good money for drugs back in the day just to feel this same way.

The point of this all is to try to trace this particular 'ability' back to when I first realized it happened. And until I worked on the book I am writing, I would never have made the connection to the disassociation sensations and my childhood. However, now I can clearly recall many times (all fairly traumatic or memorable) that I used my 'ability' to escape.

I am unsure when the sensations began to trigger the panic. But through my writing and reliving, I hope to find out. I embrace the possibility of changing the effect it has on me, and once again be able to benefit from my 'ability'.

Tolerance, Caring, Consideration

I usually pick the inspiration for my posts from things I read or see during the day. A lot of times it comes during my commute to and from work. Equally, people's comments or blogs posted stir up thoughts that turn into blog entries. Today, it is a little of both.

I have noticed lately people's intolerance for others. And while it always has and always will exist, I seem to be particularly aware of it more recently. I think the sheer number of people I encounter during the day via social networking and commuting broadens the possibility of seeing either someone's act of inconsideration or another one's distraught due to it.

Each morning I pass an elementary school bus stop. It is on a busy corner with a traffic light. A crossing guard stands across the street. Every morning I arrive there at the same time after dropping my daughter off at school. And every morning there is a mother who allows her children to get out of the mini van, cross the busy gas station parking lot and wait at the light to cross the street to the bus stop. There are usually three children, with the oldest being maybe six or seven. The little girls stand at the corner watching the light for when they assume it is safe to cross the street. However on a busy corner during rush hour, people are turning in all directions. Essentially there is no safe time. The crossing guard apparently doesnt work that part of the corner, as she never assists these children. Neither do the parents that are standing waiting for the bus with their children. I dont get it. I have gotten out of my car and held traffic for these kids. I have yelled out the window for one of those parents to put out their cigarette, stop chatting and help these little girls cross. I have watched their mom go into the convenience store and get coffee while all this happens.

While driving, I notice the typical testosterone wars on the road. And no, its not a guy thing. Its just an inconsideration thing. No gender required. I have witnessed accidents happen, middle fingers thrown into the air, endless horn blowing and outright dangerous recklessness all because someone tried to merge onto the highway in front of someone else. Its absolutely absurd and inexcusable. Don't these people realize how much better THEY would feel if they did something good? If they allowed that person to merge in front of them? If they were afforded that gentle 'thank you' wave? Why do people insist on taking the route that leads to anger when they have a viable alternative?

As I read people's status updates and posts here on Facebook, it saddens me even more, to see the amount of exclusion that takes place within 'communities' that are vying for acceptance as a whole. People picking and choosing what and who fits the criteria and who doesn't. Exiling people because they don't fit 'their' mold. Not the communities mold, some individuals within it. When groups start to weed out people they only make themselves small and less visible. It seems counterproductive to be so exclusive that you essentially take yourself off the map. Communities and groups are supposed to serve an inclusive purpose. Too much tailoring and eventually no one will fit into it.

All three of the above situations are very different, yet all three are exactly the same. Examples of a lack of tolerance, caring and consideration. What are people achieving by acting this way? Why do they choose these choices first?

Swimsuit Dilemma

Summer is upon us again. Most people love the opportunity warm weather affords to wear less clothing. Less to put on, take off, wash and worry about it. Most people. Not me.

With summer comes added stress and anxiety. All year long I try to find clothes that 'cover' me up. Ways to hide the imperfections, both real and perceived. Ways to make sure I feel comfortable no matter which gender happens to surface throughout the day. It isn't an easy feat, but I can manage most days as long as I have enough clothes on.

I am going on a Hawaiian vacation this summer. A vacation of a lifetime for me. A week in paradise with my wife. Exploring the island and each other. I couldn't be more excited. And I couldn't be more apprehensive. What am I going to wear? It's hot there. There are a million beaches. The ocean. Swimming with the dolphins. It all screams, SWIMSUIT! I don't do swimsuit.

For starters, they absolutely do not make swimsuits for my body shape. Even if I was willing to wear a swimsuit off the rack in the ladies department, it would never fit. I am way too big chested and broad on the top and way too slim and tiny on the bottom. I could wear separates but we all know that is not going to happen. Bikini?....not. Tankini with my belly hanging out?....double not. So not only is it a frustrating thing to learn they don't make swimsuits to fit my body correctly, it just solidifies my poor body image even more.

I have decided that I need to buy board shorts. Bottoms I can always handle. What next. What do you wear with board shorts? Rash guard? No. Not trying to stuff my chest into a skin tight shirt that has a collar to boot! A T shirt? I could. However every time it gets wet I walk around in a soaking wet shirt plastered to my flaws. Not really an option either. Usually I just avoid the water situations and I solve this dilemma fairly quickly. I don't want to avoid them in Hawaii. I don't want to look like the party pooper. I don't want to not do things I truly want to do because of a swimsuit and my horrible self esteem.

I need some gender neutral ideas.

Before you Judge Me

Before you judge my hair
Ask me how bad it was when illness made me lose it all

Before you judge my sense of style
Ask me how well hand me downs matched when I was a child

Before you judge my distaste for labels
Ask me about the ones I unfairly wore

Before you judge my gender choices
Ask me about a family that only cared for boys

Before you judge my sexual deviance
Ask me about my childhood rape

Before you judge my abandonment issues
Ask me why my mother left

Before you judge my urgency for perfection
Ask me about being told I was never good enough

Before you judge me
Walk a mile in my shoes.

Gender in the bedroom

I have been fortunate for many years now to have a partner that is very in tune with my gender blurred reactions to things. This spills over into the bedroom. I know for me, there are key triggers that bring forth certain traits, be it masculine or feminine. Sometimes there are moments when I am truly 100% feeling both at the same time. (a particular favorite mind you).

After a nice long sweaty passionate end to the day yesterday, I was replaying our intimate moments in my head. I like to do that. I enjoy the little butterflies my tummy gets. As I was reliving the moments, I could see how many times my gender is influenced and altered during sex. I consider myself very lucky. As this way 'no one' gets left out.

My question is, how do people with gender identity issues handle the bedroom experience? Especially with a new or unfamiliar partner? If you are transgendered, or in the process of reassignment, or just identify as something different than your biological sex, how do you handle the intimate moments when your partner acts or reacts to you differently than you feel? Or do you just avoid those moments entirely?

I can remember the time before I became completely comfortable with being gender fluid, and before my wife knew how to respond. I remember the frustration at not being satisfied, the guilt for not being able to respond how she thought I would. I recall screaming out in silence "please just do this, or that", never quite comfortable enough to say it out loud. A big mistake.

While I am not completely comfortable with expressing my thoughts during sex, I have found ways to express where my head is (which can change in a moment's notice). Gestures, different kinds of touches, sounds etc, all cues. It works. But it has taken many years for it to work.

Honesty. That really is key. Being honest to yourself and what you want and need. Being honest with your partner, not just settling. Being brave enough to take the risk and put yourself out there. Its a big step. But an incredibly rewarding one.

BBQ Anxiety

I was invited to a BBQ yesterday evening for a co-worker/friend's birthday. It was a surprise party. The days leading up to the party left me apprehensive. Actually from the moment I received the invitation I was apprehensive.

If you ask anyone that has spent time with me in a social situation, they will tell you that I am a social butterfly. That I can find common ground with just about anyone that starts a conversation with me. That I am witty, charming, and a bit of a flirt. The irony on all of that is, I don't feel that way about myself at all.

I have always questioned why people would choose to spend time with me, or seek out my company. Everyone else always seemed to be the superhero. Me, falling short of even the trusty sidekick. I think being my own worst enemy keeps me from social situations that apparently I fit very well into.

When I received the invitation to this party, I immediately scanned the Evite to see who was invited and size up my competition. I needed to know how I would have to dress, what I would need to bring, what drink would make me look appropriate. There is a lot of stress and anxiety involved in deciding to go to something social. I don't think I am socially inept just way too judgmental of myself. So much so, I assume everyone else is going to spend all night judging me too. I want to make sure I do everything in my power just to fit in and get lost on the crowd.

Fifteen minutes after arriving, I am already feeling settled. I have sought out the first familiar comfortable face and gravitated to it. After a cocktail and some small talk, I work the room (in this case, the yard). By the end of the night, I am everyone's best friend. People hugging me, crying to me, trying to include me. It feels unfamiliar even though this is what happens every time.

I had a great night. Like I do every time I muster up the courage to put myself into a situation that my head tells me not to. I am learning that the terrible things my life experience has caused my head to think about myself is truly not what other people's heads think of me.

Too Comfortable to Write

I usually write when I am inspired. Inspired by overwhelming emotion, be it good or bad. Apparently I am overwhelmed most days, as you can see I rarely lapse in an entry.

Today I feel particularly OK. Not something I can say most days. This past week was a roller coaster. As I look back on my blog and recall the events that brought on the emotions that inspired the entries, I can understand why my head is pounding and my neck is a knot.

Yesterday I was finally able to rid myself of some bottled up emotion and enable myself to get past it and move on. I was able to appreciate my Friday at work, enjoy the radio while commuting and have wonderful passionate sex last night. All things that earlier in the week would have been near impossible.

I am not overwhelmed with emotion today, but that which I feel is very comfortable. A little too comfortable to inspire me to write.

Enjoy your day! I am enjoying mine. I'm sure I will see you tomorrow.

The Crazy in Me

Having a 'mental illness' comes with a lot of stigma. Mainly because the majority of people do not understand it. I place no blame on their ignorance. Most people only learn of it when it directly effects them or a loved one. To the masses, mental illness just means crazy. Crazy is something we try to avoid. Hence, those who suffer are often avoided.

I really don't find it difficult to understand the lack of compassion most have for the mentally ill. Just as I don't find ignorance and unintentional biases about anything difficult to understand. Its all relative and all a matter of exposure and life experience.

I suffer from borderline personality disorder. Yes, its a mental illness. No, I am not completely off my rocker(unless of course you ask my family). BPD is usually caused by a series of events in a person's life. And yes, I can probably tell you how it came about. But then I am placing blame. Is blame something I need to assign? I have never thought so. I have always just figured I was a victim of unfortunate events when I was young. I have always told myself that it is my responsibility to handle myself properly in spite of those occurrences.

To most people, I look like anyone else. I function like anyone else. I am visibly a little more moody than some but I don't think I am the topic of anyone's dinner conversation. At almost 42 years of age, I have managed to get through life and be fairly productive. But this has not come without a challenge.

My gender identity issues are by far the thing that give me the most run for my money. Not because I am completely uncomfortable in being gender fluid, but because the rest of the world doesn't see it, doesn't relate to me that way and doesn't understand it. It puts me at a severe disadvantage in a lot of social situations. It puts me at a greater disadvantage during an emotional crisis.

My wife is probably the only one that truly 'knows' my gender issues, but I can't say that she fully understands them. She accepts the flexible spaces and compliments them most of the time. However it is very frustrating when she misses a cue. Suddenly the dynamic puts us on opposite planes. I get frustrated. I wait for her to 'find' me and come to center. Sometimes that just doesnt happen. Sometimes I am left feeling very alone and very helpless.

Those with BPD suffer incredible amounts of abandonment issues. Most of them completely irrational, but real just the same. So when I am standing on the opposite end of the spectrum, in a space that is not being related to, the perception of being abandoned is unbearable. With this comes resentment. "why didnt you come for me?". Clearly it is not my wife's fault, but the feelings are genuine and raw none-the-less.

Eventually I find my way back. I have learned that if I dont, I will just remain lost; that it isn't someone else's responsibility to save me from myself.

Worth Meter

Earlier in the week I was listening to a talk show on the radio during my lunch half hour. The discussion ended with the realization that the amount of sex you have with your partner in a week has a direct correlation to your frustration and aggravation levels toward said partner. While I don't totally agree with this, I do agree that intimacy plays a big part in keeping the waves smooth in a relationship. More importantly it keeps your self esteem from diving to the ends of the earth.

This week my self esteem and worth meter is pointing drastically to the zero mark. My stress levels are high, I am hypersensitive, and I am just plain feeling out of sorts. This is usually nothing more than a temporary inconvenience for both myself and those around me. It passes eventually with most people unscathed in the process.

The other night I was reading a quiz in a smut magazine. Most things didn't pertain to me as they were geared toward straight women, but it was entertaining none-the-less. I decided to ask my wife to answer some of the questions. What the hell, it will pass the time. Most questions I threw at her, I really didn't even listen to the answer. Mainly because they didn't pertain to me. Or more honestly, they weren't a threat to me. However, a couple of the questions were answered in a way that I did take them personally and badly to say the least.

As a rational person, I can tell myself that I am being foolish. That these things don't truly effect me. But in reality, they do. I kept recalling the radio show and their correlation and realized that it applies to me. I do associate the amount of intimacy with feeling desired and wanted. And when you begin to feel replaced by the television and/or masturbation, it becomes a challenge to rise above feeling unwanted and inadequate.

And so goes my week. Feeling hurt. Feeling foolish. Feeling less than desirable. Feeling way too many things all at one time. I'm working to find my way out of this place. Its not good for me and I don't like it. I think I will start by canceling my magazine subscriptions.

Being Responsible

If you've ever been to a therapist, psychologist, psychiatrist.....you probably have heard that "people are not responsible for your feelings". To this I have always tried to look back on and adhere to. Trying not to place blame for my feelings on other people.

Today I think I am an idiot for doing so. While I agree that no one can 'make' you feel anything you don't want to feel, people you interact with are absolutely responsible for your feelings. I think the blurred line rests in what that responsibility is.

Responsible can mean two things. Responsible as in being liable for the action that causes the feeling. And responsible as in doing the right thing. Being responsible means you take claim for what you do and say. Being responsible means you do and say what is deemed appropriate. When someone fails to act responsibly in either of those manners, they ultimately have started the cause and effect that eventually ends up in how you feel. In essence, they are absolutely responsible for creating a situation in which you muster up a feeling response.

How you chose to feel about the situation is certainly yours to own. If you choose to feel badly about something someone has said or done, that is your choice. However it is pretty unrealistic to assume that if someone says something that feeds your lack of self esteem, it is not going to bring unpleasant feelings to the surface. It's easy for people to tell you to 'let it go', but saying it is a whole lot easier than doing it.

So we make choices. Choices to take the hurt with the good, when good seems to prevail in a relationship. But there are plenty of times when the hurt will surface from someone's actions. And you will 'feel' that hurt and you will react to it. And yes, the one that caused that hurt, in my opinion, is responsible. Maybe not responsible for how you reacted to their insensitivity, but responsible for being callous in the words or actions that caused the feelings in the first place.

Survival Strength

Most people have a story to tell. Most people can recall life changing events they have experienced and lived through. Most people come out on the other side. This is common. What isn't so common, is where we are when we do come out on the other side. What is that other side for you? Naturally circumstance and situation will play major roles in the effect a particular experience will have on you. However many people will agree that the old adage "what doesn't kill me, only makes me stronger" does apply. So I am choosing to write about that 'strength'.

When we speak of the strength we gain from living through an emotional experience, we speak of it in terms of pride. Proud to be able to say 'I survived'. And survival should be seen as a prideful event. But what happens when you realize that you haven't 'come out on the other side'? When you realize the 'strength' you are feeling isn't from surviving, but rather a constant survival tool you continue to live with.

For me my strength is a coping tool. A way to keep things at arms length. A way to keep myself from looking vulnerable. A way to make people believe that I have come out on the other side. But the truth is, I have used my strength to keep from feeling. Strength enables me to feel more powerful than my other emotions. This is not to say I don't feel. Because I do. Probably more than a lot of people. Which can explain why I use this technique for protection.

This defense mechanism works well. A lot of the time. However what happens when you want to be vulnerable? When you want to throw down the strength and allow someone to rescue you? The times when it just seems too much to rise above and the need to allow yourself to feel the pain becomes necessary? That's where the true meaning of strength emerges. When you find the ability to strip yourself of your shields and stand emotionally naked in front of someone, that's strength.

The strength to let go of the strength is liberating and often necessary in order to be true to yourself.

Senses Reeling

We all know we have five major senses. Some of us have the proverbial sixth. But do you truly pay attention to what your senses are telling you? Do you really appreciate the magnitude of their capabilities? I, for one, definitely appreciate my senses to their fullest.

Sight is probably the one sense I rely on the least for emotional attachment. Seeing things doesn't seem to evoke as much emotion as say, hearing or smelling. Actually I find that my sense of sight brings on more negative feelings and memories. My guess is that sight is used so much that we rely on it for most things. It has the ability to trigger judgment, on both ourselves and others, a lot more readily than the other senses.

Hearing is also used to a great extent. However one must hear something particularly disturbing to trigger a negative feeling. Hearing is much more apt to bring forth pleasant memories. This, by far, is the sense that carries me to many places, all in a single day.

I love music. Music has been very instrumental in my life. It has allowed me to escape, to express myself, to wallow in self pity, and to recall butterfly in my stomach moments. It enables me to associate with all the different parts of my persona. There is hardly a time when music is not available at my fingertips.

I was driving home from New Hope the other night and was listening to my IPod. I was noting how easily my mood and my personality could change when the songs did. I started wondering how something could have such power over me. How I have associated certain tunes and tones with certain people or times in my life. Its not just 'our song' types that trigger it. Its the melodies and tones themselves. Its the sound of the singer's voice or the genre of music. Memories flood into me quickly.

Unfortunately, as much as I appreciate my senses keeping me very in tune with my emotions, I equally harbor a distaste for the way it sends me reeling into head spaces I am just not prepared to be in.

If you have read my earlier blog entries, you would have noted that I suffer from borderline personality disorder and gender identity issues. Imagine how distressing it is to hear a song, be taken to a particular memory, settle into the feelings those memories bring forth, only to be flipped to somewhere else as soon as the next song comes on. And although most people can relate to music reminding them of a special moment in time, being taken between genders at a moments notice can cause quite a feeling of being unbalanced. Especially when I am not alone.

I relate to people on a certain level and from a certain part of my personality. Each person taps into a different space and I tend to associate time in their company with a certain dynamic. So listening to music in their company can bring me to a place that simply cannot be associated with them. Its frustrating and can even cause me to feel unfamiliar with my relation to them at that moment. I have, in the past, temporarily left a party, work, my partner or my kids presence, because I was no longer in a space they could identify with. All because of music.

So, thank you IPod, for making the 'playlist' option. You have no idea what a saving grace it has been.

Community

I have always been one to avoid any 'jump on the bandwagon' moments. For some reason I tend to muster up a distaste for the the popular things. Even if I really like them. It appears to most that I just refuse to give in to being part of the group. It doesn't matter what that group is. I would tell myself that I didn't want to look like a follower. That I didn't want people to think I liked things just because they did. Even when I knew I just plain liked it. In an effort to stay a nonconformist, I ended up isolating myself from things that probably would have been beneficial to me growing up and even as an adult.

I have identified as gay since high school. I never felt I needed any more validation than I had in myself. It was common to find me saying negative things about people that seemed to need community to feel good about who they were. I found it weak. I didn't understand it. Well thats what I said anyway.

I live close to several major cities. I have never been to a gay pride event. I thought it was stupid. I felt that coming together and drawing attention to yourself only solidified that you were different. Why, when the community seemed to be fighting so hard for equality would they feel the need to celebrate their differences? My mindset was, if you didn't make such a production, people that didn't understand it wouldn't either. I stood by these convictions, and will even voice them to this day. But in all honesty, I don't believe that one bit.

Now that I am in my 40s, I look back at this thinking, and realize it only came as a result of my own fears. Fears that people would not see me for who I was as a person, but rather lump me into a group with people. I would lose my individuality. And once you stand firm on something, it is very difficult to save face should you change your mind.

My feeling was that just because someone is gay, doesn't mean they are someone I would necessarily like. And just because someone was not gay, didn't mean they would dislike or not understand me because I was. I hate labels. I don't want to wear any. I think it puts a box around you that is very difficult for those outside to penetrate, or even want to try.

But by dong that, I have closed myself in my own little box. People are just wandering around it. All kinds of people. Some like minded, some not. The point is, without that group dynamic, I gave myself less opportunity to find people that truly related to me. In an effort to not look like everyone else, I became a no one. I became someone that people dont know how to identify with.

I have very very few friends. The ones I hold dearest are my kink friendly peers. Why? Because I embraced that 'community'. I didn't for a long time. But once I found the amazing energy this group enabled me to feel, I drew that community very close. Sure there are a lot of people that I don't like there too. But those I do, have become very instrumental in my life.

If only I would have stopped being envious of those that found comfort in groups. If only I had seen the possibilities in other communities, I think life would have been a whole lot easier.

Compartmentalizing

Today I stepped out of the comfort zone. I invited someone from my past into my world here. I am fairly certain it was a safe choice, and wouldn't have sent the invite if I thought otherwise. I found myself having a slight panic attack after doing so though. I went back and reread my blog entries to make sure something I wished to remain a secret from my past wasn't in there.

This moment is not new to me. I feel this all the time. I have constantly had to battle what I felt with what others would think of me. Its so easy for people to tell you not to care what others think. But honestly, that is just not possible for me. I am so critical of myself and assume others are just as critical about me as I am. I can probably trace this back to the lovely teachings of my mother, but it doesn't really matter how I got here anyway.

What matters is that I feel my life has to be so compartmentalized. I have groups of people that I interact with in different areas of my life. Most don't cross the lines. I do have a select few people that know me......all of me. Those people are all kink friendly people. Kink friendly people, to me, seem the most accepting group of people I have ever had the pleasure of being in a community with. I am completely 100% OK with being whatever and whoever I am with those people. Some of them I also call friend. That's where the line crossing stops.

I look around my work space. I am friendly with these people. Most know I am gay. A couple know I dabble in kink, but not to what extent. None know I am gender fucked. They are not privy to any more than my family. I spend the majority of my day with these people, and yet they know the least.

After I began this blog and my friend list on Facebook under this name grew, I found a staggering amount of young people that were suffering gender identity issues. And even though I do not feel as though I am the wrong sex, I can understand and relate to the pain and frustration they have and are going through. I don't completely fit myself either.

What astounds me however, is the sheer number of these people, many very young, that seem to have found the support and courage to make the life changes they want and need in order to complete themselves. I don't want to generalize because it is so individual, but I am speaking of body modifications mainly.

My question is, how did these people find the support they needed to achieve these things so young? How were they capable of addressing their turmoil with friends, family and co-workers? It just seems completely unfamiliar to me.

I had a hard enough time mustering up the courage to let someone from my past know I am gender fluid. I think panic alone would kill me if I had to present my plans for life and body altering changes to people.

Kudos to your strength. I wish I had some.

More Than a Memory

I remember the way you looked.

How, in a severely crowded space, I saw no one else.

Laying before me.

Completely vulnerable.

My eyes stroking your naked skin.

My fingers following.

The blindfold.

Not keeping you from me, connecting you to me.

Allowing your senses to feel me without confusion.

I remember the music.

The beat that seems to fill my senses every time I hear it.

I breathe deeply.

As if those breaths draw you closer to me.

My senses heightened.

I smell everything.

The metal, the leather, you.

An intoxication unlike any other.

The bag is open, instruments waiting.

You are open, willing.

It matters not where we go.

We are already there.

~MM

Gender Epiphany

I've been thinking a lot about gender binaries lately. I used to just be frustrated that I don't fit into any of them. But today I realized that my thought processes were pretty selfish. That my frustration is not mine alone. There are so many others out there that don't feel completely right checking one of those boxes.

I happen to live and work in a state that has fairly liberal laws regarding transsexuals. They are protected under a lot of our employment laws and laws regarding restrooms, locker rooms etc. I have seen 'other' on job applications and such. Its a step in the right direction. For them.

I am not a transsexual. I am not a future FTM. I am definitely an 'other' but not in the sense they see it as.

I know from my line of work and conversations with our legal advisers, that the laws here protect those that identify as a different gender. The lines are blurry as to how far you must be into the process of becoming the opposite (or correct) sex, but at least the protection is there.

I don't necessarily identify as a different gender than I look to people. I look female. I use the ladies room because people would certainly arrest me for using the mens room, and frankly, I don't feel like a man. I am not looking to be a man. I am very comfortable being my own gender. A little of both.

So I got to thinking, what provisions would I want to suit my gender variance. And honestly, I cant think of anything that has caused me undue stress other than my own self. People with gender variance are often misunderstood. I was not born into the wrong body, or into the wrong sex. I am my own sex. Sometimes my genitals are wrong for the moment, but I wouldn't want to change what I have. Ultimately I would be complete with a small functioning penis and a vagina. I don't want to remove my breasts, just make them smaller. I am so much of both sexes, I could never choose one over the other. But I would have liked to have at least been born to fit myself.

What this all means to me, is that I need to embrace myself more. I need to stop thinking that the world doesn't understand me. Even though they don't. I have realized that I don't need to change the way my world works, because the only person holding me back is myself. I am considering myself lucky today that I don't have to rely on laws and politics to let me comfortably be who I am. I can already do that. As long as I allow myself to do so.

The Traditional Family

I was reading an article today which included excerpts from a therapy session. The gentleman in the session was seeking assistance in hopes to change his gay ways to heterosexual ways. He had identified as a gay man for over 20 years of his adult life. He had several long term relationships. His decision to 'change' himself came from a burning desire to have a traditional family.

I found it sad that this man thought traditional meant heterosexual. While he admitted to finding stunning women attractive, he claimed he was more likely to find a higher percentage of men attractive. He worried about monogamy and how he would stay faithful to a woman when his desire for men was so strong. There were no other updates.

The word family is so broad now a days. It may be safe to say traditional in the sense this man was referring to, exists a lot less than we think. With heterosexual marriages failing at a staggering rate, traditional may just be 'product of divorce' or single parent. Add in all of the grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings etc, that take in children when tragedy strikes a family, traditional doesn't seem so black and white. And with the addition of adoption laws and medical intervention, homosexuals are becoming parents more and more.

With blended families stemming from finding the 'right' one the second time around, it is difficult for me to think that traditional family is anything other than a group of loving people that treat each other well and identify as family.

My children are not my partner's. Her's are not mine. Biologically. But together, all five of them are ours. We have raised them together for the past 13 years. We are their parents. No more than their biological fathers, no less. (OK maybe more). I think we are very traditional. Traditional in how we raised them. Traditional in the teachings. Traditional in the love we provided and still do. They were conceived 'traditionally' however traditional was not what either of us wanted.

I am sure the gentleman in the therapy session was very genuine and caring. But I cant help but feel sad for him. Sad that he felt he needed to pursue a relationship outside of his comfort zone to fulfill his feelings of traditional. He may just find his traditional family ending up being un-traditionally traditional in the end.

Forgive and Forget

Forgive and forget. We hear those words often. But how do we decide when we should forgive and how do we forget?

Yesterday was Mother's day. Facebook was flooded with warm wishes to the mothers of the world. It got me to thinking. Not everyone has or had a great mother. Not everyone has or had great parents/role models period. So what happens when you grow up, knowing damn well you were mistreated or that someone in that role turned a blind eye to someone else who mistreated you? I would assume in the thousands of Happy Mother's Day wishes that went out yesterday, someone has a history that was less than happy. How did they, or did they really, get past the bitterness? Were they able to forgive? Were they able to forget?

Maybe I am the one that is bitter. Maybe I am just someone that holds steadfast to grudges. I don't know for sure. But what I do know, is that I harbor a lot of resentments for those that caused me harm when I was young. Those that threw roadblocks into the normal path of growth. Those that caused me to question myself, even to this day. I haven't forgiven them and I certainly haven't forgotten. I have simply moved past. Moving past doesn't change what occurred. Moving on doesn't erase the past or miraculously change what occurred. I have learned to live with my past because what choice do I have? I don't obsess about it, and I don't use it as crutch. But I would be lying if I said it didn't effect who I eventually have grown to be.

So my question today is, religious beliefs aside, how does one simply forgive and forget? Or does anyone truly do that? Is it possible, knowing that your life was sculpted differently due to certain events in your childhood, to embrace those that hurt you? Or to honestly say you forgive and/or forget?

The Invisibility Cloak

I have been writing lately about whatever pops into my head. My intent of this blog was to cover the four main areas that many (meaning my family) would say were dysfunctional. I noticed when looking over my writings, that I haven't even touched upon addiction.

I am an addict. An addict of just about anything I do. I am obviously predispositioned to be easily addicted to substances, situations and people. While I no longer abuse drugs, I must admit that I am still an addict.

I spent a good portion of my life addicted to drugs. Cocaine was my drug of choice. I have used a lot of different drugs in my life time. It started with speed early on in high school. Gradually it progressed to marijuana, LSD and settling primarily on cocaine. I am not sure that any one drug was a gateway to the next. In all honesty, I did whatever was available. It wasn't until I was a young adult that I made the choice to purchase cocaine rather than other drugs.

I was always a 'functioning' addict. I held a job, a relationship, a car and a house most of the time. There were plenty of times that I believed I just did it for the recreational value. It wasn't until I became pregnant and couldn't stop using, that I finally realized I was a true addict, and that cocaine had truly taken over my life.

I journaled almost every night of that pregnancy. My fears for the baby, the hatred I had for myself and the disgust of my lack of will power. Each page was coded with a symbol so I could look back one day and see on what days I used and on what days I was able to overcome the desire. As I type this, the disgust and guilt is still almost unbearable.

I did not have family that I was close to during this period of my life. I was still pretty estranged from mother and the rest of my family lives by the 'out of sight out of mind' mentality. The people that loved and cared for me then, were the same ones I did the drugs with.

Don't get me wrong, these people were not typical junkies. They were all parents with children and held jobs etc. We were like some high society losers, putting our children at risk on a daily basis. That was all the family I had. I would purchase drugs several times a week, if not daily. My addiction looked obvious. It wasn't. I wasn't addicted to cocaine. I was addicted to having people 'care' about me.

During this pregnancy, I suffered job loss, homelessness, and car repossession. My cocaine friends put me up for while, fed me, helped with baby necessities and rides. I paid them back in drugs. It was win win until I got back on my feet and didn't need to repay them. What I found then was without the drugs, I was invisible. The same invisibility I had felt my entire life. I have always suffered with the invisibility cloak. I never seem to have enough to offer. People don't seem interested in who I am, just what I have. When the have runs out, so does their interest for me.

Since I have been drug free (nine years now), I have had a difficult time trying to shake the cloak. I still find myself feeling more interesting and important if I have something to offer. I shower people with gifts, and tend to put them first. I know its self destructive, but it makes me feel good.

As time goes by, and those that truly care for me continue to show me that they do, simply for who I am, I am able to sometimes accept that as fact. I still have a long way to go. I am still very much an addict.

Growing Up Queer

I am fondly, or not so fondly, remembering my youth. I hold the typical skeletons hostage in my closet and some not so typical. I can understand how those skeletons shaped me, or kept me from shaping myself. But in all honesty, I don't blame those early experiences for my choices or how I ultimately ended up. I think they all happened way before I realized the effects had already taken place.

What I do place some blame on, are my peers as I attempted to grow up queer. When I was in high school, being queer was handled by others in two completely different manners. You had the group of kids that accepted you, even wanted your attention, then you had the group of kids that were determined to hate, no matter what. I was fortunate that my high school was extremely small. Being eccentric and one of a kind was embraced. We were encouraged to think outside the box and be passionate about what we felt. And while this worked to my benefit coming out to my classmates, it also left the door wide open for those that chose to be passionate in their hate with little reprimand.

It strikes me funny how 25 years after high school the same people that spray painted 'lesbo' on my driveway have asked to 'friend' me on Facebook. The same kids that made up derogatory chants about my girlfriend and I for the football players to sing as they ran by my house, are the same ones that drop me notes like "Hey, how have you been?". They were very capable of moving on.

Apparently they have no idea how much their hatred has effected my life. Even to this day. My lack of confidence to be who I truly am in public has been largely effected. My need to hide myself from view is still very prevalent today. I don't hold my wife's hand and I cringe when she calls me honey in public. I wait around every corner for someone to start singing those songs, or humiliate me or my kids, or whatever.

I cant even say that it is a generational thing. I have heard plenty of stories from today's youth that prove, time has been slow to make changes. I feel sorry for all the tortured souls suffering. Not just the gay kids, but all kids. Homosexual or transgendered kids just seem to be easier targets. I fear for them. I lived many years suicidal, with several attempts. It breaks my heart to know these kids go to bed at night scared and alone and wishing they were anyone else beside who they are. Not exactly a way to gain the confidence needed to embrace life for all its worth.

Having resources for these kids is a wonderful thing. However, no amount of assurance spoken will make the 'feelings' being bullied riddles you with any easier. The words "get over it", "ignore it' and "people will pity you only so long" come at them with the best intentions. But when you fail to be able to change others by someone saying those words to you, it only sets you up for more feelings of failure. Definitely not what a young person needs that already feels helpless.

So my hat's off to you....all the people that give their time and energy in an attempt to create a safe environment for the next generation of kids that will have to endure growing up queer. The mentors, the motivational speakers, the authors, the screenwriters, the public that has listened and decided it was time for change.

We need more of you.

Who's Shopping Now?

Frustration comes easy for me, especially when I'm shopping. Considering myself a gender outside the box, I find clothing choices difficult. Usually my intent when I enter a clothing store is to buy whatever the 'need' is at that moment. Many times the need is work clothes. I work in an office. We are fairly casual. I wear sneakers everyday, but they are always perfectly white, all white, and get thrown out the minute they get dirty. The rest of the outfit truly depends on where my head is at.

When I enter the store, I usually go to the womens section. I have a mission to accomplish. I pick over the racks, see things I know would look fantastic....on someone else. I usually don't find a single thing of interest to me. It just looks too 'girl'. I don't feel like these clothes. Usually, my frustration at not being able to find something that suits my genderless self, I am pulled to the boys section as if it were a magnet. I don't usually buy anything there either. Not because I don't like the clothes, because I really really do. But because I know that no matter how awesome those shirts look on the hanger, they aren't made for big boobs. I feel angry, and envious of everyone that gets to wear them, and more frustrated then when I started. At this point, anyone that may be with me, knows to run and hide as my mood has just spun to an uncomfortable place for most.

Out the store I go. Nothing in hand.

For the most part, my outfit consists of cargo pants, a t-shirt, button down worn open and my white sneakers. It seems to be a good representation of who I am most of the time. But what happens when I am not in my most comfortable space. What if I am feeling more in tune with, say, my sadistic side? Now, that part of me is much more feminine. Its then I find myself looking at leather pants, corsets, thigh high boots. I might even buy something if I stay in that head space long enough. And if I am feeling my Daddy side especially strong, I will seek out new boots that are completely opposite of the last pair mentioned.

I am perfectly OK with having so many sides to me. I am happy to embrace them all and cater to them. None of them are bad or wrong, they are all me, and have a place somehow in my dynamics with people involved in my life. The problem comes when I have no control over what triggers which persona. People, music, environment,and energy levels can all shift my head from one place to the next. Shopping then, is impossible. There is absolutely no way an outfit is going to be put together. I will inevitably emerge feeling quite victorious with my purchases only to find that thigh highs, cargo pants and a flannel shirt just don't go so well when put altogether.

I am just glad that my clothes are not me.

Alone I Have To Die

Remember when we met. How the fireworks would fly. How every moment felt so good. We couldn’t say good bye.

We promised that someday. We wouldn’t have to be. Parting when our time was through. Crying silently.

Remember when we vowed. In front of those we knew. For better and in case for worse. Our love would still ring true.

We believed it didn’t matter. That our paper wasn’t real. Our commitment to each other. Representing what we feel.

I still recall the days. When the children were so small. Together as a family. We raised them through it all.

Though some days times were tough. We managed to survive. Unlike so many of our friends . Our love remained alive.

When people said it wouldn’t last. We proved that they were wrong. Still dancing slowly, smiling. Each time we heard that song.

We persevered though politics. The hate some threw our way. The constant battle in the world. That still remains today.

The memories that held us strong. Are all I have today. For even though you are my one. They will not let you stay.

And so I lay here quietly. No one to say goodbye. They say our love is not for real. Alone I have to die.

Echo Brooks 2010

you Are Not Forgotten

When you slipped down to sit on the floor beside me, you weren't just being obedient, you were making me proud.

When you remembered how I liked my coffee or the brand of Merlot I drank, you weren't just remembering, you were showing me I was important.

When you took the extra time to smooth the bed covers or make sure everything was in its place, you weren't just paying attention to detail, you were allowing me the extra time so I could appreciate you.

When you served my dinner guests for the evening, you were not just doing service, you were showing others how very lucky I was.

When you cleaned my boots you were not doing your duty, you were providing me with another opportunity to shine.

When you put all of your feelings aside to make sure mine were tended to, you were not being subservient, you were letting me know that I was that important.

When you stood for me, time and again, opening yourself up to the pain, you were not being a good bottom, you were enabling me to fly.

When you laid next to me in bed even after the punishment of denial, you were not sullen, you still desired me.

When you looked up at me, you weren't begging for me to please you, you were feeding me what I needed to please myself.

So I thank you. Each and every day. Even when you don't think I feel it. I have not forgotten. And I have gone no where.

Dysphoric Dysmorphic

A state of feeling unwell or unhappy - dyshporic

Characterized by malformation - dysmorphic

Body dysmorphic disorder. A psychological disorder that leads one to obsess about a certain real or perceived flaw with their body.

I want to say that I suffer from this disorder. Hell, I suffer from a lot of them. According to the criteria, I fit the profile. I am extremely obsessed with certain parts of my body that I just cant seem to deal with. I carry a few middle age pounds around the middle and my breasts are abnormally large for my frame. I seem a lot more uncomfortable than anyone else I know. I find myself dressing 100% to conceal my problem areas. I make sure to sit a certain way to lessen the obvious. I suck in my stomach so much I don't know how to let it out anymore. I wear my bras smaller then I need and squeeze my breasts into them so they look smaller. I don't wear a bathing suit and I don't undress in front of anyone (including my wife). I don't want to look like the models in the magazines. I am not preoccupied with others looks. Everyone looks just fine to me. I am not shallow, I do not judge others. What I do notice about others is that I do not look like them. Even those that people would find unattractive and undesirable, I can find reasons why they look better than I do. I tell myself that most people don't think anything about me. I can tell myself that I probably look pretty normal. But I obsess all day with thoughts of people picking out my flaws, judging me, talking about me when I am not in earshot.

This disorder is fairly common. Many people have parts of their bodies they aren't happy with. For those that don't, I salute you. I wish I were you. I wish I was the extremely heavy lady on the beach in a string bikini. She has way more feel good than I do. But why? What makes me feel like this. Why do large breasts and 10 extra pounds consume my thoughts all day long. Do you realize how stressful that is? Spending every waking moment trying to hide yourself?

I truly believe that my gender identity issues contribute a lot to this disorder. and although they claim that surgeries usually don't fix the problem, I think differently. My lower body has no curves. I am very boy like. I have no waist, no hips and a very small tush. That fits me. That feels right. My upper body is curvy and larger and very feminine. And although I am not interested in losing the female that I am, it is way too much female for me.

Body dysmorphic or body dysphoric? Probably a little of both.

Someday. I keep waiting for someday.