On Knowing Someone First

I think I'm going to stop having sex with people I don't know well. Or, well, I'm going to stop having sex with people I don't specifically and individually desire a lot at a given moment. I finally recognize that this desire happens more often once I know someone.

There's a person I've met several times at a big kink and sex event. We had mutual friends, one of whom recommended me to him as a play partner. He's something of a big, scary dom and sadist, which appeals to me generally, so when he proposed that we set up a play date I said yes. We talked about the specifics: he suggested using a gas mask, evil stick, cattle prod, and a few other painful things I don't remember the details of. We set the time and place. Then, when that time rolled around, I just didn't feel like it. I basically chickened out, and told him I wasn't up for it.

This happened twice.

Last week, this guy messaged me to suggest that, rather than trying to set up a play date, we plan to get together during the next event to just hang out and talk and/or cuddle and get to know each other. He said he still thought we "might have some heat," but that we might need to get acquainted to really create friction.

I felt so relieved, and then I felt surprised at how strong the relief was. I hadn't realized how uncomfortable I'd been at the thought of playing, particularly as a bottom, with someone I didn't know well or feel generally comfortable with. He's reasonably attractive, yes, and he has a solid reputation. I didn't feel unsafe with him or repulsed by him. Neither, though, did I feel especially attracted to him or comfortable with him. I'd initially decided to play with him because, "why not." I didn't think to ask, "why him."

Now, I do badly want to bottom more. I miss that in my life. I've felt that way for a long time, and yet I still haven't been doing it. I know lots of people who are good tops, who have good reputations and who I think are cool people. What's been missing is that feeling of "I want you."

I've had sex with men before who clearly were more interested in having sex with someone than in having sex with me. This didn't feel good. I've known that for a long time, but I hadn't really applied it to my own behavior.

The reality is that I almost always to some degree want sex and/or BDSM play. At any moment. If I'm on a date with someone new and it's clear that I could have sex with them, the predominant part of me has so far thought, "Well, I like sex. I could have sex with them. Might as well do it." This, I think, has been a repeated mistake. I've had a lot of mediocre (and bad) sex because of it.

I've decided I'm done with that. Sure, I do like sex, but I'm also uncomfortable having it with people I don't know and want for who they are and how they make me feel. I don't need to ignore the latter in service of the former. It's just unnecessary. It's easy enough for me to have sex with my boyfriend or one of my established lovers, anyway.

I guess what this means is I'm becoming a two or three date girl, rather than the usual first date sex seeker I've been forever. It feels weird, like I'm somehow submitting to The Rules, but I think it's better. I'm honoring my feelings and what I actually want, and that's what's important.

Friends Without Benefits

I have a bad habit.

I find it much easier to meet new people through sex and dating than through friendship. Whenever I'm in a new city, the first people I develop new relationships with are people I bang. Sometimes those relationships turn into friendships later (or are just friends with benefits going forward) and that's great. But I have a much harder time pursuing and maintaining friendships without the hang-out motivator of sex.

This means I don't have all that many friends I don't sleep with. If you narrow it to friends I've never even made out with, not to mention people with whom I feel no sexual tension or chemistry, I'm pretty sure that's a number I can count on just one hand. Maybe two.

I would really like to have some of those friendships that aren't about sex at all. I think it's gotten even harder to find since I've been spending most (read: all) off my time in the kink/polyamorous/sex positive community. Sex is a persistent background, even if it's not something I'm having or planning to have with any given person.

Now, this isn't so bad. I have lots of wonderful friends. I just miss the kind of friendship where I could be really intimate with someone, be physically affectionate with them and spend lots of time with them and talk about everything, without having to constantly enforce a boundary that the friendship won't turn sexual. I’d like that boundary to feel a little more natural.

In a lot of the platonic friendships I have now, I feel like not having sex is a line I'm drawing and not something the other person would necessarily choose if I weren't. They might be okay with not fooling around, but they’d also be happy if we did.

I can't quite explain why that's an icky feeling. It's sort of like I'm constantly having to reject people I care about, like I'm constantly being asked for something I don't want to give. Even if the asking is a subtle or sub-conscious, I'm aware of it. I also sometimes start to feel like I'm not valuable except in my sexual attractiveness and skill, which is obviously not much fun.

I would love to have even just one or two friends who are here, in New York City, who are not attracted to me at all. Not one whit. And to whom I am not attracted in the slightest, either.

Perhaps I need to think of this the same way I’d think of dating. It seems normal to me to go on dates and do things one on one when I’m considering a romantic or sexual relationship with someone. I surely can do the same thing, make a point to spend alone time with someone I think I’d like, when I want a sex-free friendship. And maybe do it with someone outside this sex-focused bubble where I spend my time. I guess that’s a plan.

A Serious Relationship

I’ve been dating my boyfriend for almost a year now. (It’ll be a year in mid-October.)

If I’m honest, he’s part of the reason I haven’t been writing here. Not because he doesn’t support my blogging or writing in general. One of the things that he did initially that I liked was read what I’d written here and talk to me about it. It means something when a person takes an interest in what you have to say.

I haven’t been writing because I’ve felt weird talking about a budding relationship, especially one that was quickly becoming intimate and seemed like it had the potential to last me for a while. If I’m going to talk about my relationship with him, it’ll be with him and not to the internet.

Of course, this blog has been a lot about my love life. I’ve at least spent a significant portion of time writing about my thoughts on relationships, if not the ones I was actually having.

I still don’t want to write about my primary relationship, except perhaps to report things we’ve decided together or discoveries we’ve made. I can tell stories about what we’re doing, etc. I just don’t want to muse about it here the way I do about other things.

Suffice it to say I’m in a solid primary relationship with a boy who I love and who loves me. We’re polyamorous in the sense that we play with and date other people but do not (so far) have actual relationships other than the primary one. He’s kinky, he’s smart, he takes care of me and I take care of him. He listens when I talk and shares himself with me. We’re in similar life stages, and maybe even have similar goals for the future. (Although part of this stage is not being totally sure of those goals.) Things are good.

Back in November, I referred to him as Roy G. Biv after our pube-dying date. It’s a code name he made up, and I think it’s what I’ll use to refer to him here (if I do refer to him here). But I probably won’t do it that much.

Things Change

Things can change a lot in a few months.

Maybe it's just because I'm 23 and that's an age where life moves quickly and there's a lot of growth. Maybe I just personally invite that because I'm not satisfied with stagnancy or even really stillness. There will always be more to work on.

Anyway, because I haven't been writing here for all the reasons I mentioned in that last post, this blog no longer really reflects what's going on in my life. That's fine in its own way, since I've been actively deciding not to post, but it's also strange because I still link to it from social networking sites and dating sites and it's still a way I represent myself to the world at large. It's just not accurate anymore.

For instance, in one of the last posts I wrote about my love life, I was dating six people and feeling overwhelmed. The time constraints inhibited me from developing intimacy with any one of them. I was dissatisfied with this.

Now, I'm seeing primarily one man, the sixth one with whom I started going out in October. I called him Roy G. Biv in this entry and that seems as good a blog nickname for him as any. He's awesome and fun and attentive and right along with me on polyamory and I feel very close to and comfortable with him. It's a bit far from that last entry.

I'm still figuring out whether I can change my writing here to adapt to the ways my life and work have changed. There is something appealing about a more narrative structure, to try and tell the stories of what I'm up to. It's some fun, interesting, sexy stuff and might be worth sharing. I just need to check in with my lovers and with myself and figure out more how I feel about that. But there might just be a way.

D/s

I've been feeling dissatisfied lately with my play as a bottom. I thought for a while that it was because I keep having these short scenes at play parties that only tease me, getting me into a nice head space only to be over as soon as I arrive there. I still think that's part of it, but I've realized it's not the whole story.

When I was in San Francisco, I visited with the lover I met and spent lots of time with at Dark Odyssey Summer Camp. We spent most of the day just hanging out, and we fooled around for maybe twenty minutes. This was just as brief as the scenes that have been frustrating me so much, but for some reason I found it more satisfying.

The difference, I realized, is that rather than just straight up beatings without frills, the dynamic I have with this lover is much more D/s. The physical things we do together aren't even all that "kinky." It's mostly just sex stuff, with a little hitting here and there or he'll put his hand over my mouth or move me by the hair sometimes. What makes the difference, though, is that he'll talk the whole time and tell me what to do in a calm and expectant way, call me baby girl and get me to call him Sir, and tell me I'm a good girl when I do what he says.

I crave this. Playing with him, however briefly, made me realize that the power exchange is what's really been missing in my recent life. The dynamic I have with this particular guy is nice, but it doesn't have to be exactly that. I'd just like to be submissive in some capacity, rather than just bottoming for pain.

I want that feeling of giving over control. Beatings are good, but the real reason I like them is that they help bring my mind to a submissive place. I'd rather the pain be in a context of D/s than D/s kinda sorta be a part of things because there are beatings happening.

This desire is a little harder to realize than just wanting to be hit with things. So long as I know somebody has the skills and isn't a total creep, there aren't a lot of prerequisites to beat me. I feel pretty casual about it. D/s, on the other hand, requires that I trust someone enough to hand them not just physical but also emotional control. There's a more delicate balance of what excites me and what could trigger me. It requires more specific compatibility, since I like certain kinds of submission and not others. It's more complicated.

I'm going to see what I can do about this by both talking to the people I've been spending more time with, and trying to schedule some time with the play partners who I know can take me there. I'm quite happy with just about everything else going on in my relationships, so if I can get this one desire met then my life will be overall awesome sauce. It just takes some doing.

Poly Times Six

Another reason I've been a naughty blogger lately is that I've been going on dates (I could say "dating" but dear god, people read a lot into that) with six people. Yes, six. I see them all regularly. And I like all of them. This doesn't leave me with a lot of free time.

The thing is, see, six really is a lot of people. Even for me. I've been poly and single for years now, but usually I level out around two or three regular lovers. I've been having a great time and enjoying the company and connections, but in the last couple of weeks I've suddenly felt a bit dissatisfied.

The problem with seeing so many people is that it doesn't leave me with a lot of time for any particular one. It's hard to develop deeper intimacy with someone when I only see them at most once a week. And it's hard to see someone more than once a week when I've got five other people I need to keep up with. As fun as my relationships are, and as much as I do really like all the people I'm seeing, my schedule keeps things superficial.

What I didn't realize until a couple of weeks ago was that, as much as I had theoretically been wanting a more serious relationship for a long time, I hadn't really been ready for one. For the last several years, I've been dealing with huge transitions: graduating college, living on my own for the first time, moving across the country, etc. I was also in a very emotionally complicated relationship and I hadn't realized how little energy that left me for anyone else.

For most of the past year, I felt very much in need. I needed physical comfort from sex and beatings and cuddles, a safe place to go that wasn't my apartment, someone to feed and take care of me while I was caring for my roommate, somebody to advise me on how to be an adult, emotional support while I dealt with the stress and changes. I was a big bundle of longing and I didn't have that much to give.

This is not a very good place from which to approach a relationship. Outsourcing those needs to several people, spreading out the load and doing a lot of work on my self by myself, worked really well when I felt this way. It kept me from feeling lonely while giving me the space I needed to figure out my own shit.

Now that I've settled into my adult life, live in a comfortable and safe place, and have "broken up" with my old roommate, I'm suddenly feeling more self-sufficient. I actually feel pretty happy, and like I've got the time and energy to focus on someone else and to take the risk of letting myself truly be seen. I'd like to explore the deeper intimacy that I haven't experienced since I was with my ex two years ago.

Of course, I can't just say "Okay, I'm ready for a relationship now!" and then magically I'm in one. But I am carefully setting a new intention and sharing my new desires with my partners. The time limitations are still tricky, but at least with this new intention I'll be able to base the amount of time I spend with a particular person on the extent to which we're developing deeper intimacy.

This all amounts to another transition, but with this at least I feel prepared and deliberate. And I'm excited about the future and the possibilities.

Autumn, and Changes to go with the Season

Woo boy, it has been quite a month.

Things for me have been changing so quickly it's a little hard to keep up with myself. I mentioned moving in my last post, but didn't even scratch the surface of what that's meant for me. Being in a new place has given me not only new roommates but also new goals for my immediate future and desires in my relationships.

I moved to New York City just over a year ago to live with one of my best friends, a woman with whom I've had a long and complicated relationship. (I've only alluded to it here). Over the five years we've known each other, we've had sex a couple of times, we've stopped being friends for six months, we've each fallen in love with and then been rejected by the other, I've been more livid with her than I'd been with anyone in years, and we've been at times inseparable. She's someone I deeply care about, but she's also a person who is very hard to love. She invites chaos into her life, and supporting her through that treads dangerously close to enabling.

Finally moving out of our apartment felt like a break up; while our relationship hasn't been sexual since we've lived together, I've realized it was essentially romantic. I was committed to her, and to a degree of taking care of her. In describing the situation to my friends and lovers, I've sounded like a chick lit divorce book. "The reasons we were together just aren't there anymore, and even though we care for each other, we've got too much baggage to work through."

I've made a very serious effort to be compassionate and supportive with her through my departure. I want to stay friends now that we're apart, but it's been a big transition. I suspect it's been hard for both of us.

I'm also miles happier in my new place and with my roommates than I've been at home for a very long time. It was difficult for me to feel safe or serene in the apartment I just left. (Example of why: A friend of my roommate's who was there nearly all the time cut her with broken glass and stole $500 from me.) It's tough for me to feel comfortable in my parents' house. And a college dorm is only partly a home. This, I think, is the first time I've felt truly comfortable in my space, like I belong there and it belongs to me.

It's huge. Without feeling stressed at home and drained by a dysfunctional relationship, I've got so much more emotional energy. Now I can devote myself to my own growth, to deepening my relationships (which I'll write more about in my next post), and to thinking about and planning what I'm doing with this here life of mine. And of course to writing here, which I'm going to try and do more of now that I'm settled.

Poly and Single

Tristan Taormino wrote about "solo polyamory" in her book Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships. She describes solo polyamorists as those who are "dedicated to polyamory but...choose not to have a primary partner." She writes that they're a group of people who intentionally deviate from the cultural expectation that "everyone wants to be and should be part of a couple." (Pg. 87)

Looking from the outside at my life and how I spend my time, it could seem like I'm a solo polyamorist. I'm currently dating five people (if we don't count the folks who live far away and who I see when we're in the same time zone) and none of them are primary partners. There are a couple of people I've been seeing for a few months, one who I've known for a bit but just started dating, and a couple who are new. I'm different degrees of serious with all of them, but there's nothing I'd put into the "committed" category. I spend a lot of time on my job and on learning things for myself, experimenting. I live alone. I'm financially independent.

I think, in fact, that when I say I'm polyamorous a lot of people assume that means I'm not looking for a relationship. It's kind of a rare thing to find someone who's polyamorous and single. There are far more halves-of-couples and determined bachelors (of all genders). Not as many folks are single in the "more traditional" sense of not being in a partnership and looking for one.

But that's what I am: poly and single. I'm not in a committed relationship, not in a couple, but I want to be. I want a primary partner. It is, in fact, near the top of my priority list. I came to this polyamory thing on my own, not as part of my journey with anyone specific, and I'm looking for someone to share it with.

That's not to say that I'm trying to force every relationship into a primary space. I strongly believe in letting things develop organically and letting every relationship grow into a place that feels comfortable. That's one of the major benefits of polyamory: I can have different relationships at different levels and it's all okay. I am hoping, though, that one of my relationships turns more serious, and I'm ready to nurture anything that goes in that direction. I want to fall in love.

I think these desires give more depth to my meaning of the word "single." When I have the option of saying I'm a solo polyamorist and instead choose to say I'm single, it's more meaningful. I'm not just saying "I'm not in a relationship with anyone right now," I'm saying "I'm looking for a serious relationship along with the other less serious relationships I already have." Which is different. That's all.

This Week In Priceless Online Dating Messages

To contextualize this note, you should all know that I'm 6'1 and say so on my OkCupid profile. This provokes, occasionally, some interesting responses. For instance:

so sorry if this question is a little forward and this is totally not a pass at you (though i do find you very attractive) but have you ever had sex with a man who was shorter than you? say my height? (5'8")

My reply?

"no"

Which is actually a lie, but can you blame me? It was just too easy. And it wasn't a pass at me after all, right? *snort*

Online Dating

I've been using internet dating sites in one form or another since I was sixteen. I started with the teen quiz and meet-people site eSpin.com known at the time as eSpinTheBottle. When I used it, you'd click on a picture of a bottle and it'd pop out a random teen near you. I gave blow jobs to one boy who went to high school in the next town over and (unbeknownst to me) had an identical twin brother who I later ran into. Now THAT'S an awkward story for another time.

I've used AdultFriendFinder, I've used eHarmony (long ago and very briefly), I've used Craigslist. When I went to school in Rochester, I posted an ad in casual encounters in the women-seeking-men section. All women's ads were flagged for some reason, so the ad was only up for about 45 minutes. I received 150 replies. Out of those, I met one guy with whom I had lovely sex and spankings. The variety of emails I got were mostly hilarious and the endeavor was worth my time even just for the lolz.

These days I highly favor OKCupid, the entirely free, a little bit nerdy, and very well-done dating site. It's inclusive of queer sexualities and open relationships, which is a huge plus in my book. (The next step is gender inclusivity...hint, hint, nudge, nudge.) Also, there are lots of hot people in my age range on there, which helps.

In this age where we do so much on the internet: social networking, sharing pictures, chatting with friends, everything, it kind of makes sense to date online. I much prefer it to picking people up in bars or clubs. (Although the whole friend of a friend at a party/dinner/whatever thing still can't be beat; they're pre-approved!).

I like the fact that we all get to have a profile, so there's something more than physical appearance upon which a first contact is based. In a bar, I know for sure that someone's only approaching me because I look hot. If they're writing me a message and engaging with something I've written about myself, starting a conversation that's relevant to me, I know they're interested in more than my appearance. And if the message is just about how I look ("hey, ur gorgeous, wanna chat?") then I can ignore it without worrying that I'll be harassed or insulted for turning the person down. If someone is a douche online, I can just block them. It makes the weed-out process so much easier.

I think most people who use online dating feel similarly; it's all in the approach. If you're an online dater and want to send successful first messages, it can seem like mastering a delicate art. (Sadly, the burden of approach online is on men just as much as in real life, which I of course fly in the face of, ha!) I think it actually comes down to the same principles that apply to all approaches: be polite, engage with the person's profile and stated interests (in real life, engage with someone's humanity not just their body), and ask questions that can start a conversation.

For really good tips and info on online dating, and on human relationships in general, check out OKCupid's blog OkTrends. The very nerdy-cool people behind the site like to sit around and aggregate all the data from the site they've got at their fingertips. They've come out with some really fun and interesting info on how people date and what's most effective in terms of first messages and profile pictures. It's a very, very fascinating body of work.

Derailed

In News of the Last 48 Hours of Paradox's Life, I had a bit of romantic catastrophe that's left me reeling and rethinking many, many things. A lot of which I want to write about.

I've got some kind of gigantic post or series of posts coming about gossip and abuse and responses to abuse and public domain information and personal responsibility for the safety of others and how all of the above relates to the BDSM/poly/sex positive/whatever community. Which is going to take me a couple of days to sort out.

I just wanted to write something down here to be like, whoa, some SHIT has been going down and I have THINGS TO SAY. That is all. More to come.

Inadequate Language for Play Partners

I really struggle with what to call the people I'm dating when I'm referring to them in conversation. I really dislike the terms "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" because they imply all kind of things about commitment levels and monogamy. I don't want someone I'm talking to (or dating!) to think that I'm unavailable because I'm referring to someone else as my boyfriend. It just comes with too many expectations and connotations.

Calling someone I'm wildly attracted to and dating and fucking regularly my friend, though, is a little ridiculous. And the linguistic contortions that I've tried so far all have a bit of a silly note. "Partner" sounds like a business acquaintance. "Sweetheart" sounds sappy and old-fashioned. "Fuckbuddy" is too crude and doesn't give enough credit to the friendship/intimacy part. "Special friend" is way too euphemistic. "Lover" is the one I'm most inclined to use, but even that sounds pretentious and a little goofy.

There's also the issue of being in that space where you've started dating someone but don't have commitments yet. . . But you might be moving towards that. . . But you don't want to jump the gun or give people wrong ideas before you're ready to embrace a relationship. Kind of like how people don't announce a pregnancy in the first month because it's likely to miscarry. Silly in a way not to tell anyone, and it doesn't give enough credit to how sad and how common it is to have a miscarriage, but you don't want to have to repeatedly explain what's happened to everyone if it doesn't work out.

One of my coworkers calls her most important partner her "jellybean," which is pretty cute. I suppose that could be the answer: an otherwise meaningless word that you can then explain to mean whatever your relationship status happens to be. I wish there was something easier in our language, but I guess that's what poly pioneers and rapid progress are for! Anyone else have any great ideas?

Energy Exchange

I had really great, actually satisfying sex the other night. (The purpose of this post is not to brag, I swear!)

I got to do lots of fun things with my newly frequent play friend, like brief blow jobs in the back room of a Brooklyn speakeasy and rooftop fucking and bottoming like a good girl, and that was certainly part of it. I mean, I love getting to do the things that reallllly get me off. Of course.

One of the things that's been happening often, though, especially as I get better at expressing and asking for what I want, is that I get so excited it's really hard for me to come. Once I'm flying that high, it takes a bit of a push to bring me over the top so I can find my orgasm(s). I still love it even without the Big O, but it's nice to have the body satisfaction and endorphin release and all of that.

Well, this weekend, I was well into that state. I had a vibrator on my clit and my friend was doing naughty and scary (and therefore hot) things to me with this little claw thingie he's got and I was dangling off a roof over a fire escape and it was just very exciting. And I simply could not get myself to come.

But then we moved, and he positioned himself so I could look at his face. As soon as I could look into his eyes and feel him watching me, feel his excitement and see him feeling mine, as soon as I opened myself up to him on a more energetic level, everything suddenly hit home and I finally came.

I think that sometimes when someone's doing things to give me pleasure, be it going down on me or fucking me with hands or dick or just helping me use a vibrator, I close myself off in an attempt to concentrate and come. I hold my breath (a bad habit I'm trying to break). I close my eyes.

It's easy for me to be energetically connected when I'm doing things for someone, tuning into their body and enjoying their pleasure, but it's much harder when I'm receiving. But of course, everything feels so much better, so much more exciting and fulfilling when I let the connection happen and let my pleasure be attached to it. For someone as independent and (sometimes) emotionally skittish as I am, it's a challenge to be open, to relax into that, but one that's clearly worth embracing.

Shy?

So, while I've gotten better at this over the years, I've always been kind of bad about expressing my desires - be they sexual or for objects or especially emotional. I've gotten to a point where I can talk about them, but only in a detached, logical sort of way. Like I'm reporting on something external to myself.

It's easy enough for me to say "In general, I need regular physical contact and cuddling to be comfortable in my life," but much harder for me to say "Please hold me, I'm feeling sad."

This is something I've been struggling to overcome for years. It's kind of stereotypically feminine of me, and it's one of those ways I fit my gender role that drives me crazy. I'd like to be the first one to lean in for a kiss. I'd like to be able to simultaneously want and admit to wanting for something. As opposed to waiting until I don't feel it as strongly to admit to it.

I think I feel like my desires are so strong that I can't let them out while remaining at all in control of myself. I'm also afraid that if I admit or show the strength of any desire, the person I'm interacting with will be overpowered by it and bow to it regardless of their own needs. This may be irrational, but I also really don't want to impose on anyone else.

There are lots of reasons for this involving my upbringing and probably, yes, my gender role. But that's not as important for this post.

What I've started to think is that maybe I can approach this in a different way. Reframe it, if you will. Instead of thinking "I'm repressed about my desires" or "I'm incapable of expressing myself clearly," I could just think "I'm shy when it comes to desire."

It sort of changes things, doesn't it? Shy is not necessarily a positive or negative thing. It just is. And there are things you can do to deal with it, to live with it. It can even be cute or endearing.

If I can give myself permission to be shy with my desires, then I might even be able to, tentatively, physically express them in a way that doesn't make me uncomfortable. The gentleness of a shy expression of desire takes away, in my head, some of what I fear about it. It makes it manageable. It's a small step.

I haven't really tried this yet (I'm being celibate, remember?), but I'm hoping it will help.

What/Who I Want

So, the result of my last two posts has some pretty specific implications for what/who I am looking for in a partner.

Male. Feminist. Dominant. Polyamorous. Queer.

Do I even need to say that these people are hard to find? Especially the ones who I'm, incidentally, also attracted to? Yeesh.

A friend of mine suggested I find poly events to go to, as poly people are often also kinky. Sometimes they're queer, too, although lord knows how I'm going to find or negotiate that overlap.

Maybe now that I've figured out so much more clearly what I want, I'll feel more comfortable in the sex positive community. It always felt a little overwhelming and I never felt like I had enough of a handle on my own sexuality to communicate about it freely with the well-informed participants in that culture.

I always felt very young, inexperienced, and out of place there. Yes, it was very welcoming and they're kind people, but I'm a person who likes to have a handle on things before I jump in to participate, so I still felt like an outsider. Perhaps all this soul searching will mitigate that issue.

Does anyone else have this problem, of too narrow a field of prospective datees? What do you do to meet people? Any suggestions for me to find my kinky, queer, male, poly feminist? I'd very much welcome them.

P.S. I'm not letting go of the whole "bisexual" thing entirely. I still like women and having sex with them. I think there are just more men out there to whom I'll be attracted than there are women. Like, I'm a Kinsey 1.6: predominantly hetero but a bit more than incidentally homo. So I'm going to acknowledge that and just let it be.

Vulnerability

When I was last in a serious relationship, with my ex M who I dated for four years, I was extremely devoted to the relationship and making it work, helping it last. It was an open relationship for almost the whole time, and through it I began to explore polyamory. Within that, though, we were very close and very dedicated to staying together.

Since I broke up with M, I've certainly dated and I've had short-term relationships. I was seeing a girl when we broke up, but that fell apart soon after because we couldn't reconcile our monogamous and polyamorous goals. I had one boyfriend who sort-of-accidentally moved into my room during my junior year of college, but he left school after we were together for a semester. I've had a couple of summer lovers, but nobody in the last few years who lasted more than a season or a semester.

I've handled all these breakups and growing- or moving-aparts really well. Some have been harder than others, but I've stayed friends with each lover and moved on fluidly. I'm very mature about it all, usually calm and forgiving. I've felt good about all the relationships ending, in fact. I cried over some of them and certainly a couple were hard, but I always saw it as a learning experience.

I wonder, though, if that's just because I only allowed myself a certain level of depth in each of these interactions. I have been in love with maybe one person since M. That loss was certainly the hardest to deal with, but I did it. We'd never promised each other anything, and I let it go.

It's been a very, very long time, though, since I made any kind of relationship commitment. When I decide to be in a relationship, when I make promises to somebody and make it a priority, I throw myself in. I feel very strongly and I work very hard to make it go well. I like it when I can be submersed in that way. It feels good.

I'm also really, really scared of it. To be committed like that puts me in such a vulnerable place. I don't think I'm wrong not to throw myself into that; I do need to trust someone before I give them that power over me. It takes time to develop that trust.

I just wonder if I'm missing out, or if I'm limiting my own happiness by being so guarded. I'm having an opportunity to commit, which I'll likely write about soon, and I'm considering a big shove to my comfort zone. The opportunity, and my resulting anxiety, just made it totally clear to me how long it's been since I opened myself up in any real way. It's a long-forgotten feeling, and we'll see how it pans out.

On Being Assertive

So, my current professional and personal life goal is to learn to be more assertive in my flirtations, my rebuttal of others' sexual attentions, and in the bedroom.

As a domme, it's professionally essential that I find a way to be comfortable with topping these men who come in and want to pay me hundreds of dollars to do so. They want me to call them sluts and worms and dogs and whatever, they want me to step on them or beat them and humiliate the shit out of them. There's a very large part of me that goes "Eek! But that's mean!"

I'm starting, though, to embrace it. I can see the change in the rest of my life, too. I went out clubbing the other weekend at Webster Hall. I had no idea where I was going - I was just along for the ride - but apparently this is a too-well-known and therefore sketchy place to go dance. LOTS of men who will throw themselves at you. And they did.

But I told them to fuck off! Well, not all of them. I was a little kinder to a few, but I routinely and calmly rejected them if I didn't want to dance with them. I just danced with my roommate, and when I did finally find someone attractive, I made out with him. And then left. It was altogether awesome because I felt fully in control of the situation.

My goal for the next while is to strike up one conversation each day with someone I don't know who looks interesting or attractive. If I go on any dates, I want to be the one to initiate physical contact, even if that just means holding hands. If I see an interesting profile on OKCupid, I will in fact message the person. These sound like little things, but they're challenging to me and I intend to conquer them. A few baby steps, and I'll be there. Whee!

Stripping and "Hating" and Dating Men

When I first started stripping, I heard from lots of my coworkers and a few of my friends in the industry that the job would make me hate men. They said that when you do sex work, you see the worst in men and so it is inevitable that you start to dislike them at least a little. I didn't write this off entirely, as of course they had experience at that point and I didn't, but I hoped that it would be different for me.

I was, I rationalized, doing sex work for different reasons than most of them. I didn't need the money, I just kind of wanted to see what it was like to dance naked and get paid for it. I figured this privilege would protect me from making some of the compromises they might have had to, would protect me from a changing opinion of men. I knew the industry would definitely alter me, as everything in life does, but I figured my compassion could hold up to it in that regard.

Well, my compassion is certainly still there. I feel sorry for men much more than I hate them. But things have definitely changed in my feelings towards them.

I've been thinking about my recent heterosexual trend, wondering why my attention has been so much more on men than on women. It hasn't been for lack of physical attraction to women; it's just that when I meet a nicer (and attractive) man, my focus zooms in on him immediately. He stands out to me. This hasn't been happening much with women.

It occurred to me that I've got a little reaction formation going on when it comes to men. (Wikipedia: In psychoanalytic theory, reaction formation is a defensive process in which anxiety-producing or unacceptable emotions and impulses are mastered by exaggeration of the directly opposing tendency.) In this case, I'm very uncomfortable with and somewhat dislike men, so I've been dating them.

So I certainly don't hate men, but I do hate a lot of the things a lot of them do. I don't much like being objectified without my permission. (Accepting money for it is giving permission.) I don't like it when they assume I'm sexually available or feelingless based on my orientation or relationship style or job. I feel almost paranoid about being imposed upon by them, pushed into ways of being or thinking of myself that I don't like, and it affects me from day to day.

So I'm very defended against them. In order to protect myself, I have to be paying attention to the men around me at all times. I'm expending an enormous amount of energy and attention on making sure I don't interact with men in ways that will hurt me. I'm super up front about my job, orientation, and relationship style so that I can immediately avoid the men who objectify them. Putting up barriers like that takes a good amount of effort and so I'm always very aware of men.

What this means is that when I do find a guy who's nice to me, who doesn't do those things I hate, I've already been paying oodles of attention to him in order to find that out. It seems notable, remarkable, that he's not going to be sexist towards me. I appreciate him a lot. I date him, if he's available. There you go. I'm not as afraid of women, and so this happens less often.

(As a side note: I don't claim this is a rational reaction to anything. These are feelings and my attempt to understand them.)

Now, back to stripping. Stripping didn't force me somehow to have these feelings towards men. It's not even that men act much differently at a strip club than they do in general. In fact it's just the opposite, and that's the problem. Stripping commodifies the sexist interactions that exist every day, everywhere. It puts a monetary value on them and so it makes them very, very obvious.

As a stripper, I have to trade somewhat in misogyny, to play off it and manipulate it so that I can get lap dances and tips and avoid groping and slurs. It's something I simultaneously like and hate about the job. I've learned oodles about gender roles, particularly about what's dysfunctional in masculinity. I like learning. However, this knowledge makes it hard to move comfortably in a world that's so full of sexism. I'm just so aware all the time. I can't really sit back and accept it, learn to ignore it, bite the harness and move on like women have been doing for centuries. I'm psychologically fighting it out most of the time.

I'd like to try to shift my focus a little. It's probably unnecessary and certainly draining to be so defended all the time. I'd like to learn, in my day to day activities if not my scholarship and activism, to brush off sexist men. I don't want to let them inside my head, let them affect me, which is something I do have control over even when I can't change their behavior. It'd be nice, even, to spend more time with women and live more in a sisterhood community where I can feel safe. Focus on safety, on whom I am comfortable with rather than on whom I'm not.

I suppose it's a lesson for me as an activist. I want to keep working to change the things in the world that strike me as unfair and wrong, the things that make me angry and hurt me. I need also, though, to focus on healing from that anger and hurt. It's just as important.

Kissing (and my first HNT!)

There is nothing I like more than kissing, whether I'm fucking, making love, or just sitting around enjoying it for itself.

I am a hugely orally fixated person. I love oral sex, giving blow jobs and going down on women. Sometimes when I masturbate, I put my fingers or a dildo in my mouth because it feels really good to me to have something there. These things are great and I wouldn't want to do without them, but my favorite thing to do with my mouth and my time is kiss.

Kissing turns me on more than any other sexy activity. I cannot have sex without kissing; I won't be into it and I'll get frustrated and annoyed. Kissing is what makes me wet, and I could do it for hours before getting to anything else.

More importantly, it's what really makes me feel close to whoever I'm with. A kiss causes an instant release of happy bonding chemicals in my brain. It's like insta-bond. Even just a quick peck from a partner as we go about our day keeps me happy and prompts small swooning. I really just like the feeling of someone else's lips on my own.

I haven't had lots of good kissing in almost two weeks. (I know, I have a low tolerance for abstinence from anything.) I want some.


Kisses in bed, anyone?

Bisexuality and Dating Men

For the last couple of years, I've dated only men. I've slept with plenty of women, but all the people I've seen consistently or seriously were men. I wouldn't say that I've done this on purpose, but it's been a pretty obvious trend.

I think a lot of the reason for this is simple convenience. There are a lot more straight men scattered around in obvious places than there are queer women. They tend to approach me more often and I end up with them just as a matter of odds. In the past six months or so, I have been on more of a hetero kick, but that's not unusual. I've always gone through cycles of leaning one way or the other every once in a while. I had a lady cycle three years ago, and now I'm going the other way. Woo, fluid sexuality.

This trend of male-dating, however, puts me in a strange and slightly uncomfortable position. I'm a bisexual person who has been very involved in the queer community. In college, most of my female friends were queer. I was part of the leadership of the Gay Straight Alliance. I went to gay bars. Most of my jobs were in specifically queer-friendly or queer-oriented places. I tied a lot of my identity in with queerness.

And yet, most of my relationships were heterosexual. Straight, if you will.

Of course, the fact that my relationships are always open does allow me to sleep with women. That doesn't change the fact, though, that people assume I'm straight when I go out in public with a male sweetheart. It's sort of like the queer part of me is hidden inside myself.

I don't like feeling hidden. I end up questioning myself a lot because there is pressure from both sides to define and present myself as either queer or straight. It's not always an open or spoken pressure, although I've heard my share of "choose already" jokes and not-so-jokes. It's more often a pressure based on the fact that the queer community is so close and clearly-defined. There's a norm there, and there are great rewards of community and support for following it.

I do have a strong desire to be recognized for who I am and to fit in with a group. I'd like to be more independent, but part of my identity is based on how others see me. I suppose that's my own cross to bear, but it makes the bisexuality particularly hard when it keeps me separate from what seems to be such a fun and close-knit group. I'd like to be a part of it.

I'm not letting identity issues stop me from dating whomever I like (or love) or dressing how I want or making friends with whomever I want. It does cause me some angst, though, when I feel excluded not only from the straight world which kind of turns me off anyway, but the queer community that appeals to me.