Today I feel like a woman

I responded to someone's blog today with the beginning sentence "as someone who struggles with gender....". I felt comfortable saying that. But do I struggle with my gender really? I think struggle is far too negative in this case.

I am as gender fluid as they come. I weave in and out of every variant there is, sometimes daily. I don't dislike any of it. I feel privileged to have the ability to feel, react, and do things from both sides of the street. Most days I am standing in the middle on the yellow line, waiting to see what comes rolling down the road and what side I will escape to. I like the flexibility. I like the protection it offers me.

What I truly struggle with, is my body. It doesn't have the ability to change with me. It fits so rarely, that most days I am plagued with the mismatch. When I stand on the yellow line, I want my body standing with me. I want to be genderless in shape and form as well as mind. I want to morph. But I cant. I could never permanently transition to something else, because no matter what I do to myself, I still wont always fit. I will always be missing one side or the other. Therein lies the true struggle.

But today. Today I feel like a woman. Today I fit what I own. I may not be happy with my body, but it fits. For as long as it lasts today, I will not have to stop my hips from slightly swaying as I walk. I wont have to constantly pull my shirt out to hang loosely on my chest. I can walk into the ladies room and not feel in violation of the women that belong in there.

I love being fluid. But I sure enjoy the break fitting the body I was born with affords me some days.

Nostalgia Lane

Yesterday I took a drive down nostalgia lane. Literally. I had to attend a wake near my home town. Actually I grew up in three different towns, but they were right next to each other. I took my daughter on a tour of places I lived and places that were memorable to me many moons ago.

The house I grew up in as a young child, until age eight, is by far the one I remember the most and would like to forget just as much. Sitting in front of it, I answered my daughter's questions about living there, while inside my thoughts, memories and feelings were reeling. Before I even looked at my house I looked at the neighbor's. THE neighbor's house. An overgrown tree prevented me from seeing the window that would eventually be the distraction that saved me.

I remembered the yard so much bigger than it was, the distance to my house seeming an eternity. I thought back to how I wondered why someone would let me go there unsupervised at such a young age, just turned five. Why the police would take me to a neighbors house up the street to speak to me when it was over. Why so far away? I now realize my going there was undetected because their back door was truly only twenty feet from my house. And taking me to the neighbors porch for questioning was simply to get me as far from that house as possible while they took him into custody. I still have no idea why it took them so long to find me.

I found it difficult to find happy memories from that street. In the few minutes I was there, I racked my brain for a time when I smiled, laughed, felt loved. I came up empty. A word that completely describes my childhood there. A time in my life that I was too young to control my surroundings. A time when I was unable to create my own reality, to rebel, to run away mentally.

I left that house in third grade. I was eight. I had a snow fort in the yard that winter. It was still standing as we prepared to leave for the final time. I hugged it. My snow fort. The only hug I truly gave all year. The only attachment to the first eight years of my life.

Wrong and Right

I think its accurate to say that when people do wrong things, we automatically think it causes a bad effect. When people do things right we associate that with good. Wrong is negative, bad is negative. Right is positive, good is positive. It makes sense.

Yesterday I was thinking about all of the 'wrong' things I have experienced, especially as a child. And honestly, as wrong as they were, they didn't all make me feel bad. In fact, some made me feel pretty good. That doesn't mean that they haven't effected me in ways that have been trying at times as an adult, but the feeling, when experienced, was not bad at all. Its no wonder people repeat certain cycles of abuse, especially when they are able to eroticize them.

I have a great disgust for those that preyed upon me. I find them weak and cowardly. I credit my morals and ethics for those feelings. If I were to allow my sensations to rule me, I may possibly have become one of them myself. We all have that choice. "I did it because it was done to me" is a cop out of the nth degree.

On the flip side, as much as I eroticize my past, I also find that what didn't feel so good then can creep up as an adult when it should be 'right'. Right doesn't always mean good. Someone sexually skilled with the best intentions has the unknown ability to toss a curve ball into the situation without warning. Most times it is simply a matter of the stimulation I need is just a little off the normal mark. So the curve ball may just result in boredom. However there are things that have happened in the bedroom that bring back moments that are not sexual at all but had a lasting negative effect. There are reasons I don't like certain sexual things, and reasons why I crave others. You might be surprised to learn that they have nothing to do with the experiences common sense would tell you they did.

Every connection we have is a direct result of who we are, where we come from and how we have processed the journey so far. You can know every factual thing there is about my past and have no idea how how I choose to use it. My mind has twisted, remembered, forgot and/or eroticized everything I have ever lived through. I have chosen to use those memories how they best suit me to live within the confines of my own morals, ethics and values.

Wrong isn't always bad. Right isn't always good. Its all in perception. How we choose to use it is what matters.

Internal Homophobia

I read the phrase internal homophobia yesterday. I found it pretty amazing that it was the first time I had even thought about such a topic, and more specifically how it does and doesn't relate to me. The definition is fairly blurred with so many people having their own experiences and opinions to base it on. But the concept in itself was very easy for me to understand.

I knew from a very early age that I was attracted to women. It took different forms throughout my growing up process due to situations and environment. I didn't truly understand the attraction and the need to be in a woman's company, since as a child it made no sense. I didn't dislike boys, and I don't now, they just didn't and still don't have anything to offer me emotionally.

As I grew to know that my feelings were genuine, no matter the reason, and that I was sexually attracted to women, I found myself very interested in the 'others' of the world. I had a keen gaydar and an even keener ability to pick out the straight ones that were approachable. I was drawn to the freaks of the world and loved the free spirit ways about them. I was drawn because I was unable to find that within myself.

I never thought that I was homophobic as I loved to surround myself with the most off the wall characters. I never hated that I liked women, so I had no fear of myself. What I was uncomfortable with was people being uncomfortable with me. I am still am. I want to blend in with the masses. I want to do what I do without wearing a sign. Not because I am ashamed of myself, but because I don't want to be different. I don't like being picked out of the crowd, judged and made opinions of, as they are usually wrong. I disliked those that were blatantly gay and 'stereotypical'. I always said it was because I didn't feel you needed to advertise, that it was fake. Now I realize that my feelings were dislike for my own self coupled with envy because I was not strong enough to be and do what I was and what I felt.

In a like crowd I am very outgoing, fun, loud, a leader. In a diverse crowd I am quiet, reserved and unsure. My comfort level determines everything, and unfortunately I am not usually comfortable. Am I internally homophobic? If I don't embrace my diversity within a group does that make me phobic of my own sexuality and gender confusion?

If fear is the premise that homophobia is based on, am I homophobic of my very self? If I choose not to take the risks of outing myself in every situation, or allowing my fluid gender to show, does that make me as bad as those that judge me when I do?

I love my complexities, my genders, my sexuality. I avoid those that cant love them completely. Is avoidance a product of phobic?

Euphoria

The air is heavy, the lights dim. A familiar smell of leather, latex and metal filling my senses. An atmosphere that allows me to walk with pride and confidence. As if nothing matters but who I am and who I am with. I feel no self consciousness parading through the crowd. Trying not to be an obvious voyeur, I glance at the scenes taking place around me. My hunger grows, even witnessing things of disinterest to me. Its not the scene that fuels my craving, its the connections I feel.

It seems my mind can race through a million thoughts in the amount of time it takes to cross the floor. What can I do to feed myself? Do you think they know how intense I am...or feel? Is there any way their submissive can connect on the level mine can? Who is feeling the energy exchange? Who is simply role playing? Will I be able to reach deep enough to achieve the dance?

The newer players stand out. Their excitement and desires obvious and uplifting. What they lack in experience, they make up for with anticipation and willingness. The older players more subdued, concentrating on honing skills and finding deeper connections. I relate to some, envy others. I wish I had a little of both within me. I miss the eagerness the most. Even before I make it to the other side of the room, I have replayed my most memorable moments. I recall the intensity, the desire, the wantonness. I picture the eyes looking up at me in pure adoration.

I allow myself one more scan of the dungeon. The sights and sounds intoxicating me. The painful cries, the primal moans, the marks that accompany them. I focus on the bottoms. For the skill set of the top is of little interest to me. Its the bottom that has control. The bottom that runs that show. The bottom that fills me with lust and things there are no words for.

I watch you set the bags down. I wait for your silent "I'm ready". When I hear this. Feel this. Somehow the room that filled me with such desire disappears. You become the euphoria.

MM

Paradise

I was recently on vacation in Hawaii. It was beautiful and laid back with perfect weather. It was filled with obvious tourists, but didn't seem inundated. The locals seemed genuine and willing to talk about, explain, and direct to the same things they probably do on a daily basis. Some times it was difficult to pick out on the beach who was a 'local' and who was on vacation. It seems that so many people that now call the island their home are obviously transplants and not native.

Its obvious why someone would chose to relocate to Hawaii. Its weather is amazing, and its atmosphere is guaranteed to make you lose your stress. There is little room for snobbery, and dress up means a newer floral print shirt than the one you had on yesterday. But what brought these people there to begin with? Was it a realization of love after a vacation there? Was it just a no-brainer? Who knows.

What I do know, is that these people have and had a lifestyle that allowed them to pick up and move to this paradise. A lifestyle that through lack of work, a flexible job, and/or little responsibility, afforded them the opportunity to pick up and go. I admit I was envious. And the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I regretted my life path. I pictured what life would have been had I been selfish and lived just for me. I thought about never having lived carefree. About how my responsibilities took hold of me way before my time, and have never ceased.

Then I thought about why I chose the path I did. How I like to take care of my family now that it is a choice not a mandate. How I appreciate my accomplishments and responsibilities. How I like the pride that goes with it. I thought about how incomplete I would feel if no one depended on me, especially emotionally. I remember how I gave up friends and good times and replaced them with children and work. And how much deeper one touches you over the other.

Yes, I would love to live with absolute freedom from life's quandaries. But I have realized my life's quandaries are not responsibilities or emotional attachments. Those are the very things I live for. I will stick to vacations in paradise.

Accidental Soldier

Accidental soldier. A phrase I am sure I have heard before but apparently never paid much mind to until about a week ago. I was at a music concert and that phrase happened to be in a song I hadn't heard before. I was very tuned in trying to 'hear' the words, since I felt the melody very strongly. Perhaps that is why the phrase grabbed hold of me. Accidental soldier. Yes I am.

An accidental soldier, to me, is someone who has had no choice but to fight in life. Someone who has been drafted into battles from which they must choose to live or die. Someone who wears scars, seen and unseen from situations they would never have chosen to put themselves into. Someone who fights for themselves and ultimately for others, known and unknown.

A soldier is not a victim. A soldier rises above. A soldier gives all they have to ensure the welfare of themselves and those they are fighting for. A soldier understands sacrifice is sometimes necessary, and entitlement is nonexistent. An accidental soldier is no different. A soldier by chance, but a soldier nonetheless.

As an accidental soldier, I have lived through my own battles. Taking them as they came, fighting to remain who I was and come out on the other side. I have won many, lost some. I have never asked to fight, but fought when it was necessary. I struggle with my scars, but appreciate what they represent. Survival. I wear my conquers with pride and dignity, but most times where no one can see them.

Accidental soldier. Proud of the victories, heavy-hearted from the war.

Phone call

The other day I was having a phone conversation with my mother. I sent her a picture text and being that she is old and cell phone challenged and near sighted, she thought it said she missed a call from me. So she called me 'back'. Hurray for me. I was not in the mood for a superficial conversation. Usually her calls entail passing judgment on someone or just obviously false terms of endearment. This particular conversation involved a woman that administered my mother's motorcycle road test many years ago.

My mother has pretended for quite some time now to be OK with my relationship. I know she isn't. She probably truly wants to be, but she isn't. So I hear the false tone in her voice that most people don't pick up on. The "Oh it's great to see you" comment translates to, "now I have to wonder if you are going to embarrass me". I am well aware of her fake demeanor, and honestly I no longer care. I think she thinks she has come a long way.

During the phone conversation regarding the motorcycle test lady, I mentioned that she must have passed my mothers friend Robert and not her because he was such a stud muffin. Those of us who know Robert, know he is a wonderful guy, but far from a stud muffin. My mother's reply, "That woman would have had a hard time even getting the attention of Robert......". She could have stopped there. I knew it was typical Robert teasing, and I got the point. However the comment continued..."or a woman for that matter. It wouldn't have mattered what her orientation was or wasn't."

Now I ask you, what was the purpose of that part of the comment? I am sure it was her attempt at showing me how 'cool' she is with gay people. Or perhaps it was her way of stating that even in the worse case scenario (gay) this woman was going to stay lonely. Her comment reminded me of the racist comments some of my elderly family members made long ago. They never quite understood that by adding "He was a nice guy THOUGH" or "I know SOME I really like" or "I went to school with ONE" you don't neutralize the rest of the racist comment. And its no different with my mother. By trying to 'add' in a gay reference where it doesn't need to be, it just says to me that she is still ignorant and does not accept me entirely.

I cant say that I spend too much time worrying about what my mother has to think anymore. Her thought processes have caused enough damage to my life already. However, I will keep diligent on whose calls I answer next time.

Mechanically inclined

I was putting together a new scooter last evening. It was shipped disassembled but with assurance "it is only a matter of two bolts." Cool, no problem.

After spending 45 minutes just disassembling the steel frame it was shipped in, I noted ten separate pieces, a couple bags full of various bolts, nuts, washers, and screws, and no instructions. Hmmmmmmmm.

Now, I am a pretty mechanically inclined person. I can fix most common things on a car and I have many years as a motorcycle enthusiast to know the basic mechanics of those as well. This is why I chose not to pay for assembly. Ultimately, after thinking, sorting, thinking, sorting, I finally figured out what pieces belonged to what bolts etc. In the end I prevailed and after a couple of hours I was able to take my first trip around the block. Wheels stayed on, nothing fell off, electronics did their job. I was proud of my accomplishment.

I'm really not writing about my mechanic skills however. I wanted to write about how I felt putting that scooter together. Typically I am very self conscious about everything I do, wear, say etc. But when I am engrossed in my latest butch project, I don't feel any of that. I love the sweat, the grime, the pride in fixing something. I am not aware of my hair or how my T Shirt is laying on my big breasts. I feel very untouchable and capable of anything in those moments.

I wish I was able to understand what it was that happens during those times that enables me to remove myself from the constant self judgment I do. I would love to feel that big and strong and confident and unaware of my flaws all the time, not just then.

Maybe I am just more comfortable in a more masculine role. That maybe my self consciousness is the female in me. Perhaps my lack of fitting the societal norm for 'woman' keeps me from ever feeling comfortable. And when I am working, and dirty, and being more masculine in activity, it fits more of who I really am. I am a female that is able to problem solve and think, and a male who is physically capable of handling the task at hand. Perhaps it is in those moments that I am neither male or female, but my own gender. The one that is me.

Fish

I have no idea how fish operate. I don't understand their behavior and have never looked into whether or not they even have genuine thought processes. However, I do not need to know how they operate scientifically to appreciate the relationship I sat and watched last night in a giant tank.

The tank sits in the waiting room of my doctor's office. Ten years ago there were about a half a dozen pair of fish. Each having a mate or friend or whatever of their species or breed. It looked very balanced. Today, many of those fish have been replaced. Three of the originals remain and are quite large. They no longer have partners. As a matter of fact, none of the fish have a matching species in the tank. The tank didn't appear as aesthetically pleasing with the mismatched fish, and if at that moment I thought fish could actually have feelings, I felt sorry for them.

I went from simply watching the fish to almost studying them. I could pick out who ruled the tank and who didn't. I was able to see what part of the tank each had chosen as their own domain. I watched other fish trespass and the owners balk. I still wondered if these were actions from thought processes or simple instinct.

There was a gourami fish that was small and must have been relatively new to the tank due to its size. Another new addition was some sort of goldfish with a mouth that remained open in the shape of an 'O'. It appeared that both of these fish had claimed the same territory as they appeared to take turns in each others spot.

As I watched these two fish it was very apparent they were actually interacting with each other on purpose. They seemed to be 'playing'. One would coax the other in a very childlike fashion to come near. They spent a lot of time 'kissing' each other. The gourami seemed to be more in control with the goldfish seeking the attention. If the gourami swam away, the goldfish looked for it. It really looked like this goldfish was smitten and almost needed the gourami to share its space. If I didn't know better, and actually I don't, I would say this was indeed a love affair of a very innocent kind.

I was very touched by the attention they gave each other. I have never witnessed fish paying what looked like adoration to a fish that was not its species. Perhaps it happens all the time, I have just never seen it. Either way, it just made me very aware of how even the simplest of animals in our world have the ability to see past the obvious differences in each other.

Its saddens me that the most complex animals, us, cant seem to get past the most simplest of diversities.

Soul Mate

In two weeks it will be 18 years since my best friend died. I have a particularly hard time dealing with it since the anniversary date falls on my birthday. I also still live with the guilt that I, albeit not responsible for his death, could have very well prevented it. However, this post is not about guilt and what ifs. Its about the relationship I shared with him and how it forever changed my viewpoint on what a soul mate truly is.

Most people, when asked, would say soul mate refers to two people sharing an intense unusual love, including sexuality and intimacy. We all think that soul mate refers to the one person who you can be yourself with no matter what. We view the relationship in terms of marriage or permanent commitment. What we don't usually acknowledge is the fact that soul mate doesn't always have to be about sexual relationships.

My best friend Richard was indeed my soul mate. On the outside our friendship seemed that of convenience, both of us taking what we needed from the other to push on through a very troubled time in both of our lives. But that very convenience is what connected us. Each one of us relying on each other for an incredible amount of things, both tangible and emotional. Richard was gay, as am I. We had absolutely no desire to 'be' with each other. Yet we shared a bond that went beyond what intimacy usually brings to the relationship.

As much as I loved Richard. As much as I needed him. He drove me crazy. It was like always having to be with myself. And I didn't necessarily like myself very much. Richard was a junkie and a drunk. We was loud and rude and flamboyant in public. He was embarrassing at times and would let his passion over rule his common sense. He was violent at times. His behavior an unfortunate side effect of drugs and alcohol. And I knew this. I was the only one capable of seeing who he was, who he was hiding behind and what he had to offer. A gentle sad soul lost in a world that didn't fit him. That is where we connected.

I received a call from Richard the night before my birthday. He was drunk and loud. He wanted a ride to my house to crash. I refused. The baby was asleep and frankly I didn't want to deal with him in the sober state I was in. He hung up on me. The next morning I received a call saying he was dead. After the phone call with me he allowed someone to shoot him up with heroin at the party. It was a lethal injection.

My heart still aches for him. There is hardly a day that passes that something doesnt remind me of him. There are so few memories of the behavior he displayed that people avoided at all cost. What memories I can still recall are the tender moments. The vulnerable times. The need we had to balance each other out. We were soul mates. We walked the same path inside. It was difficult to breathe alone. We shared a love that didn't include sex and obligation. It was genuine with no strings attached.

I learned a lot from Richard. I learned what I needed in my life and I certainly learned what I didn't. I learned that love and connection don't come in the form of sexuality. That sexuality and intimacy are a by product that don't truly dictate how your soul feels.

I have photos and trinkets that still link me to Richard. But I will always have a hole in my soul where he used to belong.

Striped Shirt

In a reply to a post I wrote last week, a friend refereed to those not fitting the societal norm as "others". And how we, as others, rarely have the opportunity to be who we are without some political stigma attached.

Keeping emotions aside, when I am in a group, as I often am, with no other 'others', I tend to try to fit in instead of allowing myself to be who I am. I don't feel it should have to be my job to familiarize who I am to people. I dont think that throwing my diversity into their faces helps them find tolerance. I think it puts me in more of a compromising position than I was to begin with.

Why does being who I am have to be about my pride, about representing something. Why do I have to constantly fight for my position? You don't hear people greet each other normally as "Hi, I'm Bob, I'm straight. Just wanted to get that out there because you will hear about it later". However that is exactly how I feel I need to be. I come with a label and a disclaimer. "Pleased to meet you. Yes I am a lesbian. And yes I look a little gender confused. And no, you don't need to hide your wife or worry that I am undressing you with my eyes".

So most times I say nothing and feel half of my whole. It seems easier than being a freak show. Even in the most gay friendly group of straight people, someone is talking about you, even if only in their own head. I understand its intriguing to some. I understand they are trying to see what makes me tick. But honestly it is exhausting. I am so conscious of everything I say and do in a group setting in order to minimize those thoughts.

My presence is all about my sexuality. There is hardly a time when my presence is about who I am. I am my sexuality and my preference, the rest of me comes after that. And while I have absolutely no problem with people knowing who I love, I have a real problem with that being who I am to most people. "You know, the lesbian over there." Instead of "You know, Bob, the guy in the striped shirt".

No one ever sees my striped shirt.

Chicken or the egg

While I was traveling over the weekend, I had the opportunity to do a lot of thinking. As usual I was playing my IPod and allowing myself to mentally go from space to space as the music changed. I started to wonder if people would be interested in the effects music has on my brain and its ability to make me switch. I thought maybe I would pursue a research or study team to check it out. I find it fascinating, even if no one else does.

The act of what I refer to as 'switching' can be looked at from many angles. I suppose the most notable might be the possibility that it is a product of mental instability. That its a manifestation of post traumatic experiences and borderline personality disorder. A simple case (well not so simple) of personality identity disorder. Another strong possibility is that I truly am both genders and physically there are multiple sides to me.

Since music has such a big influence on my emotions, I began to wonder if the fluidity I experience in gender is emotionally based or physically based, or both. It is very apparent that emotionally I am in different places when in different spaces. And it is also apparent that I am physically in different places as well. I have noticed that my hand writing, my driving style, the way I walk or carry myself, is all dependent on 'who' I am in that moment.

Do my emotions change the physical state or is a physical change (eg: brain chemical or neuro activity) changing my emotions? Rationally I would think that most things are emotionally based and therefore behavioral, but I am not so sure I am ready to give in to rationale on this one. I can say, with the utmost certainty that I truly believe I am both genders. I have way too many characteristics to say otherwise. Characteristics that are not just behavioral. And being able to trace these attributes back to childhood well before I would have taught myself to behave differently just makes me think I am not just a girl.

So my research project would be to see if there are chemical or neurological changes that take place when I 'shift' from one gender to the other. And then to decide if emotionally I can cause those changes (if they exist) or if those changes are causing my difference in emotion.

Certainly not your classic chicken or the egg experiment.

What Can I do For You

I am dealing with a particular situation within my relationship. Not a bad situation, quite the opposite. We have made a collective decision to find a common dynamic between us that seems to have found its way to the back burner. The dynamic was what brought us together in the first place. It was who we were to each other, who we grew from, who we experienced many firsts through and who we truly are as people deep down. Unfortunately it is the easiest dynamic we share to overlook. Most likely because they are the pieces of us that need the least nurturing. However, out of sight truly is out of mind. Out of mind means neglecting who we are as a whole and allowing pieces of us to fall by the way side.

My role in this particular dynamic is quite dominant. I make the rules, I make the decisions, I dictate what occurs. Well one would assume that to be the way things unfold. In actuality, it is much more complex than that. I, as the dominant force in the relationship also have the responsibility of self humility and humbleness. It is my job to find what works for everyone. Being a bully is not an option. Brow beating one to fit my desires is counterproductive. As the dominant one in the relationship it is my job to see that everyone is taken care of.

Yes, it is my way or the highway. And yes, I can be very demanding. But always. And I mean always, those demands are made in a way that my needs are met and so are those providing for those needs. The dynamic is intricate and particularly difficult to share within the realm of every day life. Those that say they live this way 24/7 are probably not being completely honest. There are some that can manage, but with jobs, family, children, chores etc, it becomes exceedingly difficult.

I have seen many relationships start out very deeply committed to their D/s dynamic. I have also seen most of those relationships die. Many times vanilla life becomes something they cant overcome and usually don't wish to share together. My situation is different. We were very committed to our D/s relationship. For many years. But we did grow to add everyday life as well. And I do wish to share that as well. But we have let life take over and that original commitment seems to be a memory. A memory I am determined to add to.

I am the dominant. I am the Ma'am, the Daddy, the Mistress, the Sir. I am the boss. But I am humble and gracious and nurturing. I want you near me. I want to give you a reason to want that too. And so I ask, what can I do for you?

The Wedding

I attended a wedding this weekend. A young family member on my partner's side. No one in actual relation to me was there.

Weddings are bitter sweet for a lot of people I think. You go there, expecting to be elated for the couple, and instead find yourself questioning your own life. Some people looked genuinely happy to be there for the couple, some looked miserable because they just realized they aren't in love, some are just drunk fools, and then there's me.

We were the only (that I know of) gay couple that attended. And while the bride's family (and blood relatives of my partner) are well aware, accepting and welcoming of me and our relationship, I cant help but feel like the red headed step child.

I know "its 2010" and people are "cool(er)" with gay people, especially the ever popular and trendy lesbian. However, I had many reasons why I didn't wish to be the 'token' anything at this wedding. Some of it is fear from decades ago. Some of it is the fear instilled by my mother that I reflect poorly on my family. And a lot of it is simple respect drilled into my head as a child. I was brought up that if there was a possibility you, your actions, your clothing, whatever would offend someone in some way, you don't go, do that, or wear it, etc. This didn't just teach me respect, it taught me to loathe myself and fear every single situation I encounter that is new. But this piece is not about my mother or my self esteem. Its about the deep sadness all of that creates.

I have been with the same woman going on 14 years. That is longer than the majority of people at that wedding could say about their relationships. I share a very passionate love with my partner and have wooed her continuously since day one. I am a hopeless romantic and spend an uncountable about of time choosing and making gifts that are meaningful. I send flowers and chocolate dipped fruit to the house just because. There is hardly a time I walk into a store and leave without something for her, even it is just the Peppermint Patty she likes. I choose to spend my free time with her, and have happily given up nights out and friends for that time. We always go to bed together at the same time. We still brush our teeth together. We have 'our songs' and 'my song', the one even she doesn't know is for her.

As I sat at my table during the wedding, I watched. Watched all the young couples and a few married couples interact. The mood in the air at a wedding brings out more lovey behavior in most people. None of them seemed to share the deep connection we do though. However, they shared the one thing that I deperately wanted to but couldnt.......a dance. As I sit here now I can feel the tears well up at the realization that we probably loved each other more than most people in that room, and yet I was unable to share a moment that they all took for granted.

Could I have danced? Sure. Would it have been the end of the world? No probably not. But I have seen and felt first hand the possibilities that can exist. I have felt the stares, heard the whispers and have even been removed from the premises because I took that chance before. I have lost family, friends and invitations to return.

Being the romantic in the relationship, I may be the only one that shares in this sadness. The question "did they even play any slow songs?" was asked of me. My reply, simply stated, "yes, a lot of them". What I didn't say was, "they even played my song".

Owned

According to urban definition, owned refers to what is otherwise known as embarrassing or beating someone, and calling attention to the 'epic fail'. I don't speak urban anything. I speak middle aged pompous ass sarcasm mostly.

According to good old Webster, owned can mean a variety of things. Most commonly, it means to have or possess as property, or being had or possessed by someone, having an owner.

My idea of owned is probably a little risque for the average Joe, but I assume the average Joe isn't reading this so I will share.

Ownership in my world isn't about staking claim to someone. It isn't about an opportunity to puff up my chest and say "MINE". It isn't about finding someone to crawl behind me. The only things those own is a title of cowardly bully.

Ownership for me is about finding a connection with someone, a trust so deep that their soul screams to belong to you. A connection that makes me only half a person without it. Its about learning everything about someone's psyche. Its about getting into their head, their mind and peeling away the layers until you reach the raw core.

Being owned is not about being a doormat. Or about being taken advantage of and demeaned. Its about being held highly with the utmost respect and allowing someone the gift of owning you. Its about knowing although you don't control the time and place, you do control the energy.

Ownership is unfortunately given up way too easily and with little regard. Ownership is also taken unjustly and abused all too often.

I am not really sure where I am going with this today. Maybe it is just my round about way of thanking someone for knowing who they were, what they deserved and allowing me to receive that gift. My acknowledgment that submission is a sign of strength and not of weakness. My gratitude for making my journey possible through you.

Owned. Never taken for granted.

Nurture the Entire List

In light of some positive writing feedback, vivid dreams, and questions from a friend, my head has been inundated with the thoughts, and the missing of sadomasochism in my life.

A wise man once told me that you should never allow your D/s relationships to die under the pressure of vanilla life. Apparently I am too stubborn to listen to wisdom. In all fairness, it takes two to tango, and I am not the only one to blame for the diminishing desire, but I certainly didn't have to go along with that plan.

In the twenty plus years I have been involved in the dark seedy world of kink (that was a joke folks), I have had times when the lifestyle came dead last on the priority list. Not because I opted to place it there, but because other perceived essentials ranked higher. However, we seem to neglect things that make us different before we neglect things that we as a society deem normal.

When we allow society to dictate what should be important to us, we short change ourselves. We pretend to believe that our needs and desires for anything else should not over shadow our 'normal' life's expectation. And this holds true for all things different, not just kink. If its been oppressed or put in a taboo box, it should end up at the end of the nurturing list. And until today, I might have agreed with that.

Yesterday I wrote about hair pulling. It flowed out of my fingertips like lava. It came freely and intensely hot. It was written in about 2 minutes (or as long as it takes me to type that many words). I had to put zero thought into that post.

The day before I had a friend seek intimate advice from my dominant viewpoint. Again, no thought necessary. The answers came quickly and easily. I enjoyed the conversation, the memories and the offering of my experience. In fact, I was a tad bit envious that it wasn't me.

Last night I dreamed of woman standing, restrained and beautifully marked. I remember thinking how beautiful she looked. Not because she was pretty, because I could not even see her face. But because she was so eager and hungry and marked with the most delicious signs that only a masochist is willing to wear. Her sounds made me sad. Sad I was not sharing in the moment.

In a very mundane moment yesterday, I remembered my wife, my submissive, and a moment we shared together long ago. It wasn't about pain or play or sex, it was a simple moment of trust. A trust that is capable of giving me butterflies when I think about it. I suddenly felt a huge appreciation for who she was and what she gave me. I wondered if she would do that today. I reached my hand out and rested it on her back. She, having no idea where I was in thought, most likely thought nothing of it. I was hoping she would 'feel' me.

I know life has changed for me. But only because I have allowed it to. And perhaps my days of hard core heavy play is behind me. I am not getting any younger or any stronger, but its never really been about that for me. Its been about allowing who I am, at my core, to surface and be received. Its about not taking pieces and keeping them stuffed out of view because it doesn't fit in with the rest of the 'list'.

A wise man also once told me that I should listen to myself. I think this time, I will allow myself to hear the wisdom.

Hair Pulling

Thats the thing about hair pulling. Simply put. It's hot.

I am a big fan of hair pulling. It gets someone's attention, no matter in what context you use it. No, I am not a violent person. No I don't do it because I am angry. No I don't use it just because I can....wait...yes I do.

Gripping ones hair in your fist speaks louder than words. At least when you use it with someone that understands the language. For me, grabbing a fist full of hair says, "I am in charge" or "I am feeling very aggressive, and you are about to find out just how much". Its pretty easy to tell if this tactic is effective or not. You always have the "Just kidding" scape goat if not.

During sex hair pulling is a great tool for restraint. You can keep someone frozen in whatever position you choose the minute your hand wraps around their hair. You can direct their head if thats your pleasure. From behind, that handful of hair makes a great leverage tool or handle if you are a little unsteady in your technique.

All those wonderful things aside, hair pulling for me is really about energy. My energy transferring to another. Its full of expression and meaning. Its a way to take someone to my energy level enabling me then to feed off theirs. Its a raw gesture but very effective. The breath that inevitably escapes someone's mouth when you grab hold is a major turn on. Quick and sudden, it can spin me from an 'eh' time to an incredible one. Its not just about me taking over, its about transferring power and energy. Its about sharing a raw space.

Hair pulling....its not just for the play ground anymore.

Obsessive Relationships

I was thinking (odd I know), about how much I have changed over the course of the past couple of decades, even though I don't feel as though I have changed at all.

I still feel young and vibrant despite my age and the illness that kicks my physical ass on a regular basis. I am still driven by compulsions and manic behavior. I still make stupid decisions. However I seem to have grown into those behaviors and found a way to handle them at a more mature level. They are much less damaging to my life and relationships. As a matter of fact, most of my manic episodes go fairly unnoticed by anyone other than me. I disguise my short comings well.

This morning I was recalling my past. Particularly my 'relationships' if you will. I put that in quotes because a true relationship is shared by two people equally. Only now have I really found out what relationship means.

My adolescnce is full of one sided obsessive relationships. My addicitve behavior spilling over into my desire for people. Couple that with abandonment fears stemming from my BPD and what you have is a gender confused, obsessed, hormonal and mentally unstable young person vying for attention that is usually not reciprocated or even taken notice of.

I, not so fondly, remember stalking, creating shrines, stealing clothes, changing looks, and wanting the same things as the women I became fixated on. Many times they were older, always straight and usually unavailable to the likes of me. Sometimes I would luck out in my conquest, but only with those that recognized my relentless pining for them. Most time I went undetected and therefore found myself angry, frustrated and hurt but their lack of returned affection. I simply was unable to rationalize these women didn't even realize how they were effecting me. Perhaps I was just hoping they would come to me, validate that I was desirable without me having to put the idea in their heads.

Back in the day, when my addictions controlled every aspect of my life, obsessive relationships filled a void just as well as drugs. It enabled me to focus on something other than the pain I was feeling. Little did I know how painful those obsessions were to me. The residual effects I live with even to this day. Unhealthy relationships, even the ones others were not aware they were having with me, paved the way to even deeper self esteem problems, confidence issues, and feelings of being undesirable. I live with those feelings still.

Today I am not chemically addicted anymore. But I cannot say I am free of my obsessive relationship style or my manic behavior. I have learned how to fine tune it so it isn't as obvious to everyone else. While I am manic, I am happy. While I am obsessed with something, I don't have time to let negative thoughts in. I still feel as though I need to give a million percent to deserve even a small portion of that back, but I am working on that.

I have learned that obsessive behavior is not what defines your desirability. And that I will never, and should never have someone see me from those eyes. I have learned that obsessiveness is not healthy. What I cant seem to learn is how to stop wanting it.

You are admired, I am judged

Its never a good idea to let yourself envy others. Or so they tell me anyway. I cannot help it. I have always been envious of others. Not for what they have, or who they know, but for what they possess emotionally and who they are.

Contrary to popular belief, I am not a confident person at all. I am brassy and bold, loud and the center of attention. However all of those qualities come from fear and shyness, not confidence. I don't know how to be comfortable with myself. And it seems everyone else does.

When I look at some of you I see very brave people. People willing and able to be true to themselves. People honest in what they feel. People not afraid to do what defies everything they were taught. People willing to sacrifice almost anything for that honesty. For that I am truly envious. And apparently a coward.

When you walk down the street people look at you because you exude the true "I am what I am" air. They feel it, and most are OK with it. I walk down the street and people look at me because I don't fit in, I am shaped a little odd, and its obvious they know I am gender confused. You are admired, I am judged. This is how I feel.

I know this is not reality. I know you too have more than your share of self conscious moments. I also know that there are people that do feel my air and do respect who I am. Rationalizing is easy. Feeling the rationale is much more difficult.

I wonder where you got your confidence. Where you got your strength. When you realized that it just didn't matter what the world had to say about you. I wonder how you braved the journey you have taken and crossed the line from judgment to admiration. I should not envy, but I do.