Heart Full of Black, for me, has served its purpose.

See, I think everything happens for a reason. Everything. Sometimes I look back at the paths I’ve walked in my life, and I can see how each thing led to another thing, everything finally bringing me closer to where I am now, where I’ve needed to be.

See, I’ve always know, deep down, that I was meant to be a healer. As a child, I was empathic, and had an intuitive, though unstructured, idea of energetic healing. But, I was an Indigo child in a very non-indigo home, so I tamped most of it down.  And I didn’t think I had it in me, so, I took a vastly different path. I went to work with the dead. And even there, I had the chance to help people heal, though in a vastly different way than I ever expect.

Now, its time for me to go down that path. I have come into a wonderful sense of calmness and assurance the past two weeks, after several months of spiritual confusion – particularly since a deity had shown up in my life and requested attention. I had posted on twitter, a few days ago and had a conversation:

” Hm. In my head, lately, I feel like woo-things had been fighting for my attention. It seems like they’ve stopped. Either I’ve settled on a path, or things are about to spring up again. A few weeks ago, it was pretty intense, and I’ve had no revelations. :-/”

Anon, my sweet, lovely brilliant fiance said “you don’t need revelations to have a meaningful spiritual experience. Simple awareness is usually enough :)”

Me: “true, but I feel like im waiting for something to happen”

Anon: “i have felt that way most of my life. What i learned is that you the anticipation you feel is real but it could just be the universe that is in anticipation of you”

He’s right. The universe has been waiting for me, and now I’m ready.

Odin also manifested in my life as well. He showed up in the flesh, three days in a row in September. I dreamed of making spears. I had a vision of a dedication to Him, and his name and image kept popping up in my daily life.

Now, I’ve come to understand why, I think. I have always loved Norse mythology, though it was never a spiritual path that I followed, though I have a great attachment and attraction to many of the stories. I’ve been planning a tattoo of His ravens and a quote for some time. He is someone who I would most definitely notice, and would definitely pat attention to, because in my experience, he is not someone I would imagine would come to me (though, I don’t generally imagine anyone would come to me.)

I had though that He had wanted my direct service to him. But I never got a sign or feeling that that was what He wanted. I think He showed up as a remind to me that, as I felt, it was time to make a choice and walk my path. I couldn’t ignore Him, after all!

I’m done with my massage training, at least what I need to satisfy the state. I have worked to the satisfaction of my Sensei, and its time for me to go forth and do Shiatsu, and to continue studying the healing arts. I’m ready, and that is the time of life I am at.

It is also time for me to focus on the semi-neglected spiritual part of my life, because that is entwined with my healing path.

Now. This does not mean that I am leaving the scene, because I am not. I’m still a pervert. I’m still going to have kinky sex with Anon. Still going to have fun poly sex. Still going to events, still gonna be on twitter. I’ll still teach, if people want me to teach. Hell, I’ll even probably be blogging, just not here anymore. I’m going to leave this site up until the domain expires, but then it will be gone.

See, this sex blog helped me learn and grow and become the sexual person I am. It helped me meet wonderful people, and have wonderful experiences; I grew as a top, I grew as a human being, and because of this path, I had the chance to meet Anon (according to him and his Guides, several years before we were supposed to meet. Now, we’re walking down these paths together, which is more than I could ever have dreamed of.

And I’m also tired. I’m tired of blog drama and catty sex blogger fights and people acting like assholes to each other. Tearing each other down, getting inflamed over the slightest stupid thing. I’ve got to say – life is much more shiny and fun on this side of the fence. Just sayin’.

But now, I have Reiki to learn, and more classical Chinese medicine to study, and who knows what else. I have a business to build. I have even more people to meet and to learn from. I have a new city to move to and settle in, and I’ve got a person I want to build a life with. I’ve got so much in front of me!

—–

I have another blog, where I’m sure I’ll be posting stories and such – tales of massage, musings on whatever I want. But it will be a personal blog, not one just focused on sex. Here.

I’m also going to keep up my tumblr blog – sexy photos, cute stories, quotes, and pictures of adorable animals.

I’ll be on FetLife too, as Wendy Blackheart.

So really, this isn’t a goodbye for me. Just a goodbye for this blog – you can’t get rid of Wendy Blackheart that easily!

Recently, I have been dealing with the fall out of my assault being re-triggered.

These are related, trust me.

I have also been reading quite a bit about ethics. I’m reading a book for school called ‘The Ethics of Touch‘, a book about ethics and professionalism in somatic bodywork therapies. It is the basis of much of the Professional Development material taught in my school, which I was also re-reading lately. ‘The Ethics of Touch’ is an excellent book that covers many topics related to bodywork. Its funny, to me, how many of my BDSM and poly skills translate to BDSM. The first thing they taught us was reflective listening, and how to talk in ‘I’ statements. We spend lots of time talking about boundaries, and consent and other lovely things that more people should talk about.

We also talk about the ethics and professionalism required for working with someone who has a history of sexual trauma, as I mentioned in the last post. This is difficult for me most of the time, because *I* have a history of sexual trauma, and while it wasn’t difficult discussing it last semester, after the bullshit of this summer (which I will eventually write about, but for now, it will be vague and confusing. Deal.) it has been difficult getting through the material, though I find it valuable both for my profession, and for myself

Something about it stirred up the memories of that stupid three way.

It was a party, at my house. St Patrick’s day – basically a bunch of us, twenty or so, hanging out and drinking excessively. We were all over 21, so my parents were find with us drinking in the house. It was better, they figure, then being out at a bar and having to get home. We all lived within walking distance, and there were some non-drinkers as well.

My friend M and I had been having a weird flirting thing going on for years, since we were in middle school. We hadn’t seen each other for a while, due to a stupid fight involving a boyfriend of mine, but it was high school, so eventually we got over it. Our sort of friend, sort of guy that we couldn’t stand, but who had some sort of weird friendshippy type connection with us all, and who was at the party, also had a flirty thing going on with her. We’ll call him A.

He had appeared back on our radar during a weird, post-graduation summer, when M was home. He and I didn’t really like each other – at least, I didn’t like him. Before this party, M and I had gone with another friend, J to a goth club one evening, and A was there (and it turns out he was there with another guy I had a brief fling with. Awkward!) A kept trying to touch me, and eventually got close enough to put his face in my cleavage, and bit my breast. I tried to put my cigarette out on his bald head, but J stopped me and got him off. (I was slightly crazier at this time, and trying to put a cigarette out on his head might have seemed like a reasonable response)

At the party, it came to a head, and he and I were getting rather competitive over our flirtations, particularly as it didn’t seem like M was all that interested in him either. I know I was rather drunk – much of the night was rather fuzzy, but a good fuzzy. M was drinking as well. I’m not sure if, or how much, A was drinking. But I think he realized he had an advantage.

The party was split between my living room, where the TV was, and my bedroom, where the computer was. M, A and I were in there with a few other people, when A managed to shoo them all out and lock the door, locking M and I in. I was not pleased, and tried to unlock the door, but he blocked me, and then M when she tried. He was not violent, but he would not let us leave my room. I don’t remember what happened in detail after that, but eventually M and I realized we weren’t getting out of the room unless we had some sort of sex with A. So we did, and we went back to the party.

I realize, looking back, that that was icky, wrong, unethical, and very, very bad. Regardless of the fact that we, several times after that, did it again, does not make that first time any less fucked up. It was coercive, and M and I were in no fit state to consent. We weren’t even in a fit state to think that, if we banged on the door, or caused a scene, our friends outside would make him open the door.

I’m not sure if I should call this sexual assault, but I do know there was much sublimated anger in towards A. It didn’t help that, eventually, he came to treat me as a sexual accessory, while M and I considered ourselves all equally involved. It all ended in about a month, at a party M had where there was more drinking and sexy times, though all the sexy times I engaged in at that party were both fun, and consensual. M found out A had a girlfriend who he’d been cheating on, which pissed her the fuck off. Now, by that point, the three of us were no longer having sex. At some point, A tried to food around with me, and I said no. Then he tried to kiss me, and I punched him. After that, things were pretty much put to bed. We had an awkward car ride home (the party was at her school, several hours from where A and I lived) and after that, he and I never spoke again. M and I lost touch for a few years, and now keep up with each other on facebook.

I’m not sure how to process this all, except that it sucks, and it happened, and perhaps I stuffed it down, down, down. Oddly, I’m not angry about it now. I’m not upset, I didn’t cry writing this, and I feel only antipathy towards A. Though this is likely why I tend to dislike MFF three ways.

Its odd, because I am still full of so much rage towards Marcus and his actions. Maybe its because I was older, or because it was more recent. Likely, though, I think it has to do with the face that I was mentally healthy when Marcus assaulted me, where as when things happened with A, I was not medicated for any of my issues. In one case, I was starting already kind of broken, and the other, I started whole. I have a feeling that might be the key, and that may be why I harbor so much rage towards Marcus. He didn’t just take away my agency, he didn’t just violate me, he took away something I had worked so, so hard to build, which was my sense of self as a whole, healthy, happy person.

As it is, I am in my last semester of school for massage therapy, where I am working on honing my Shiatsu skills, as well as taking a focus on Western style work.  The scary thing is, its such a big huge world of information and skills, and I’m a little daunted at the idea of trying to compile it and put it to practice. Plus, I have a strong feeling my semi-formal education isn’t over yet, as I would like to continue studying Reiki and Rising Star Healing systems, as well as continuing to take as many classes in Shiatsu and TCM as I can – to say nothing of continuing to work with my Swedish skills! Oye!

But, winter is the proper time to be doing all this – its a time of quiet and gathering and preparing for the bloom of spring, when things are new and growing!

It is also the time for planning other things – at DOSC 10, Anon and I got engaged (after participating in a Tantra ritual – explain that one over dinner with your parents!) and I’m going to be moving to Philadelphia (and trying to get my license there, oy vey. I’m a busy girl!) when school ends, likely at the end of December. Though I’ll be here lots in January, since I have tests to take, and classes to take to prep for the test. However, I’m looking forward to making Philly my new home, and may be starting a new blogging project related to the move, which I’ll mention when it happens. I’m also looking forward to building a life with Anon, who is full of buckets of awesome!

I have also been in a weird emotional place. Right before Floating World this year, though unrelated to it, I had a huge triggery unpleasant episode related to my past sexual assault, which I had thought I had put to rest. Silly girl I am, because I thought I could deal with this through sheer force of will, and boy was I wrong. I have been unable to find a therapist in NYC that is 1) kink friendly, 2) versed in PTSD and sexual assault and 3) that takes my insurance or that I can afford. I’ll be looking again for someone in Philly, since I will also be working then.

Its rather frustrating, because lately things have been coming up and getting right up in my face about that. Its like a spiritual clue-by-four whacking me over the head and say “Deal with this shit now!”. I can’t be an effective healer if I am still broken. I can be an effective healer, having been broke. In fact, I think that will make me stronger. When I have progressed on my own healing path, I can help others.

I’m not saying I can’t be an effective massage therapist while I’m dealing with my issues – I can, and I am. I am finding more and more that I’m not just good at what I do, I am very good at what I do. And I can continue to be very good, and get better, at what I do. And I want this.

But there are many things I want. First and foremost, I want to build a private Shiatsu/Asian Bodywork practice. I want to learn Reiki. I’m considering Rising Star Healing as well, after more research. (I got a treatment, and it was AMAZING!)

But while I was reviewing my notes for Professional Development classes at school, I was reading through the chapter on working with survivors of trauma and abuse, and of course I was all upset because it was reminding me of things I didn’t want to think about, but it also made me think – these are the people I’m supposed to work with. This is where I can do some really good, meaningful, work. There is extensive training needed for body workers who want to specifically work with trauma survivors, but I think, once I’ve gotten my own shit together and sorted, I can, and should, do this. So we’ll see what the future holds.

Ah, Scarleteen. I can actually remember a time before Scarleteen – they started up in 1998, when I was in 8th grade. See, I went to a school where 99.9% of our sexual health information was from an abstinence only program.

The school sex ed actually started out ok – in grades 3 and 5 we had health classes where we learned about the human body and how it works. In 5th grade, we separated out into groups of just boys and just girls, and got some of the details of puberty and what would happen to our bodies. We learned where babies came from and all that before the abstinance only programs were started.

By high school, however, we were not getting much in the way of good information. We didn’t learn about birth control at all – it wasn’t even mentioned, not even in a negative way. We saw lots of photos of what STD’s can do to your body. But nothing I would consider really useful. Very little mention of alternative sexualites. Very little information on how to deal with interpersonal relationships. I can remember the anger from teachers, some of whom I had as teachers in my past sex-ed and health classes, at not being allowed to teach properply. I’m pretty sure that one of the teachers, who continued to push the envelope, was fired or quit, as she disappeared shortly after.

Hell, my younger sister went through the same program right behind me, and she didn’t even know that blue balls wasn’t a real thing that she needed to be concerned about. She gave many an un needed blow job before one of her boyfriends set her straight.

People argue that schools shouldn’t be involved in sex education, and that it should rest on the parents of children to teach them instead, but this has problems too. When I, at a young age, found a copy of an age-appropriate book on where babies came from and started to read it. I read *everything* at that age. (I think I was about 6. I started to read quite early.) My mother found me reading it, took it away, and slapped me.  My later maternal sex education included gems like “You don’t need to go to the gynecologist, you don’t need to go until you are married” (At the time, I was 2 weeks into my first period, which would last for another 2 weeks. I probably should have seen a doctor). At 22, she told me that I shouldn’t do something until I was married (she made weird hand gestures explaining this). Generally, all sexual health questions were answered vaguely, incorrectly, and with anger.

However, I, even as a youngin’, tended to be extremely pro-active about things I wanted to know about. I rode my bike to the library, and got whatever the current new edition of the Teenage Body Book, and other sexual health text books. I had been given an adult access library card since I had already read my way though most of the age appropriate fiction and had moved on to adult fiction by then. Thankfully, my mom was tired of having to go to the library to check stuff out for me on her card and got me my own.

So, I have always been a big fan of outside research for sex education. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t know half the shit I know today, nor have the skills to find them out.

Scarleteen was the only site I found on the internet at the time that I trusted. They gave honest, accurate information in a relatable, understandable non-judgemental day.  By the time I was checking the site regularly, most of the information was already known to me, but it became, for me, the gold standard of websites. When people came to me for information, I sent them to Scarleteen. When they had a question I didn’t know the answer to, I sent them to Scarleteen. When I needed to give someone information about something, I sent them a link from Scarleteen. All of my youngest sister’s friends used Scarleteen, because part of my drive-by sexual advice (I used to wander by and drop a tidbit off ‘Never use oil based lube with latex condoms!’ ‘Some antibiotics make birth control pills less effective!’) was a link to their website. Because no matter how cool of an older sister I was, there were still things they didn’t want to ask me yet.

To me, the idea that we had to go looking for this information was so sad. I sincerely wish that schools were all required to have honest, comprehensive sexual health information. This is information we all NEED, to be healthy, effective adults. That fact that we don’t have this is a sad thing – but thankfully, there are resources like Scarleteen available to kids and teens today to get them the information they need.

I’ve noticed, at least in my own little bubble, differences between the kids who have access to this information and those who didn’t – my sister and her friends are much more pro-active now about maintaining their sexual health, and dealing with issues with their partners. So far, none of them have had an unwanted pregnancy, which is not something I can say about my graduating class. They are willing to talk, and ask, and question in ways my generation wasn’t quite ready to to yet – and this is only an age difference of seven years.

What also is important to me is the fact that many of these children are LGBT, Queer, or questioning, and they have a fabulous resource available to them while they figure themselves out, again, something my generation was only just starting to have.

Scarleteen was an important stepping stone in my sexual education. Because of them, I was able to go into my early sexual experiences with knowledge and agency. I was able to make good decisions, and I was happy with the decisions I made. Actually, I waited quite a while before I finally had sex, and again, was able to go into this experience physically and emotionally prepared. These are Good Things. All kids should have that opportunity. (The Sex Readiness Checklist was a great resource for that, BTW. I think it should be given to anyone who ever may have sex, ever.)

We’ve made leaps and bounds in a remarkably short amount of time in non-standard, alternative sexual education and information, and the accessability for those who need it to find that information, and that is a beautiful thing.

However, unsurprisingly, this takes money. Scarleteen does not have any federal, state, or local funding. The majority of their funding comes from private donors, and to continue to provide such outstanding service, they need donations! Scarleteen has always managed to provide outstanding information and outstanding services on a tight budget, and I can only imagine what they could do with more. They’ve done such good work for so many, and I for one want to see them continue to do this work!

So, if you can, I encourage you to donate to Scarleteen! They do so much good for so many kids and teens who need it. That’s all I can say – donate if you can. Hell, in a few more generations, we might even be able to get good sexual health information back into the schools, if we can educate enough of the kids today who will turn into the administrators of tomorrow!

So last week was probably one of the top five most awful weeks of my life, peaking with a crying breakdown in a classroom at The Floating World. However, The Floating World itself was a fucking awesome event, and a really wonderful way for me to end the week on a high note – I had great scenes with my boy and with friends, I had my classes go fantastically, I watched my boy make out with another girl and was totally cool with it, and basically, had good times.

I will be writing about them soon. I will also eventually write more about the icky times I had last week – but first, I want to write about face pissing. Pissing in generally, really.

Lately, I’ve found that I enjoy doing things that are a little humiliating to Anon. (Speaking, if you are going to Dark Odyssey Summer Camp in September, and either are a friend, or identify as female-type, join the “Pee On My Boyfriend!” invite on the DO Attendees site!)

Something about pissing is both fun, humiliating and very, very sexy, especially when I do it to Anon when he isn’t expecting it.

Sometimes, I have Anon help me get off, but I don’t let him get off – this is particularly mean and humiliating after I’ve kept him in denial, and he really really really wants to come sooooo badly, but I’m being super mean and saying no.  The last time I did this, about a month ago, I had a super awesome orgasm, and then immediately dragged Anon into the bathroom.

I tossed him into the tub, and had him start jerking off while I pissed on his face, grabbing his head by the hair.

I must say, the combination of all sorts of fluids, combined with the obvious humiliation at having to masturbate to orgasm while I’m pissing in his face was quite delightful to watch!

I did this again over the weekend at the hotel  during the Floating World. The pissing in his face bit, not the making him jerk off bit. Though I did get off a whole bunch first. We had some thoroughly lovely morning drilling me into the mattress sex, which ended with Anon getting a face full of messy pee after I had a bajillion orgasm from Anon’s penis. Good time.

The best part of peeing on someone in a hotel is that when we’re done, and about to take a shower and forgot the towels, I don’t mind getting out and trailing a bit of pee from my feet through the room because hey, its not my room! I don’t care if pee gets on the floor!

Remember that next time you’re staying in a hotel.

For men AND women!

Yeah, that’s what Tabu Toys says right on their website’s description of the Nexus Gyro Extreme, which I fucking love! I love when toys aren’t marketed as just for men or just for women when they can be used by pretty much anyone. I love prostate stimulating toys, and there are plenty of men who love vibrators!

So kudos for Tabu for saying we can all use this butt toy! (I always say, the asshole is the great equalizer – we all have one!)

Curvaceous Dee had done a review of the Extreme, and I mentioned in the comments how yummy they looked and how much I wanted one – and somehow, she managed to magic one up for me! (I assume that all New Zealanders are full of magic.)

The Nexus Gyro Extreme is definitely not a first time anal toy. Its rather big, and rather intimidating looking at first. But once you get it out of the box, you find it’s made with a very yummy silicone that has just enough give to be firm but pliable, and its really a rather simple thing to get in your butt!

The curves and bumps on the toy go in easy, and feel *very* good, at least for me! I found that the shape hit all sorts of fun parts inside me while I rocked on it.

I, too, found that sitting directly on the bulb and trying to rock wasn’t the easiest, sexiest way for me to play with this toy. Normally, when I masturbate, I’m sitting on my (rather hard) computer chair (What?! All the porn is on the computer!). If I put something in my butt, I keep it in by sort of wedging it between the chair and my ass. This also usually gives me some leverage to rock against it. Generally this works well, since most of my butt toys have a flat base.

The base of the Gyro Extreme is more bulbous, as it is actually designed to be rocked on! When I pressed down against it on my chair it was *waaay* to much pressure for me to be comfortable moving on it. However, when I moved to the bed, it was much easier. I was able to sit up better, and since the bed has enough give, I was able to use it to rock against the toy, which was *very* yummy. Very, very, very yummy. Meow.

Anon, however, was able to sit on the toy more directly, and very much enjoys the rocking motions – I think this is one of those situations where the individual make up of your body comes into play, particularly inside. I had though, since I’ve got so much junk in my trunk, I’d be able to sit on it directly with my ass as a cushion, but that didn’t work out. Meanwhile, Anon, who has much less ass than me was able to rock on it more easily. Go figure.

But hey, this is an *awesome* toy! I love it! I’m keeping it forever and ever and ever. In my butt. (At least, when I can get it away from Anon! You know, when we met he wasn’t even that into anal. Now, he’s a freakin’ asshound. Go me!)

One of the things I love about attending Sex Positive and BDSM events is the truly amazingly wide variety of people you meet – I have had the opportunity to meet people from all sorts of different spiritual paths, BDSM paths, sexual orientations, genders, states of being, ideologies, relationship constructions, you name it, and I know for a fact that my life is richer and more interesting for knowing each and every one of these people, no matter how long we met and interacted, even if we don’t interact much now.

That we can all come to one place, whatever that place is, and be accepted is a beautiful thing. That whatever we are can be treated with respect, even if others don’t understand it, is a beautiful thing.

Now maybe I was weird when I was young, but I never thought the BDSM/SexPos scenes were going to be any different from the rest of life. I figured there would be a wide variety of people there. People older than me, people I was attracted to, people I wasn’t attracted to, people that I wanted to bone, people that I would never want to see naked under any other circumstances, people that I would want to be friends with, people that I couldn’t stand, scenes that I would find super hot, and scenes that would totally gross me out, all that sort of thing.

So, I put on my manners, and I went with an open mind, because I’m an adult who knows how to act in public, and who knows that if I don’t like what I’m seeing, I can just move along.

That, my friends, is the key to going to an event. Maturity. If you think you might be freaked out by seeing people you don’t find sexually attractive being sexual, and don’t know how you’ll react, then you either need to get the fuck over it and go, or simply not go until you think you can deal with it.

If you’re going to be all judgy about people’s bodies and the way they play, then I wouldn’t want to be at the same event with you anyway.

People aren’t perfect – we are going to have our own thoughts and ideas about what we like and find attractive, and that is *perfectly* fine. We all have our body types that we inhabit, and we all have types that we like. We may even find someone kind of sexually icky, and that’s fine too. You don’t have to find everyone else sexually attractive in this world, and fie on anyone who says you do.

But there is more to hotness than body. I think every time I’ve described the attendees of Dark Odyssey events as anything, its been as awesome, hot, cool people with good energy. Same goes for most of the events I attend – for me, its more about attitude and energy than the way people look.

One person mentioned their discomfort with events by saying that they think of kinky events as being on a date with everyone there, and getting weirded out if there are people they find icky there. (Which, by the sheer number of people involved in any scene attended any event, is pretty much inevitable. There is such a broad spectrum of people that you can’t help meet both people who get you hot and squishy and people who do the opposite. Its just, that definition is different for everyone.)

Part of this way of thinking, to me, is the idea of thinking you are on a date with everyone there – because you are *not*, and in my opinion, it is presumptuous to think so. The idea of thinking of everyone at an event as your date, because you are at that event? Not cool.

I had another person tell me the reason they didn’t want to attend a particular event was because they ‘heard’ (because they never attended, so how would they know?) that it was filled with old, unattractive people being naked and having sex. IMO, also not cool.

I’ve heard people complain about there not being enough ‘hot’ people at events.

I’ve heard people complain, and even had them complain to *me* about their being too many fatties at events. Or too many ‘old’ people. Or too many of whatever, or not enough of whatever.

Maybe this whole topic gets to me because I have personally encountered this kind of douche baggery from people, as I have been a fat chick, but it bothers me no matter what the particular focus of their whine is.

The people attending an event are *people*. People who are there to attend classes and learn, to meet new friends, to make use of the dungeon facilities or the orgy rooms, or to skinny dip or whatever and who are there to have fun, and to do all this in what they hope is a fairly open, accepting environment where they can let their hair down, relax, and express an aspect of their personality, or their lives, that they may not get to express publicly most of the time.

The assumption that these people are there and playing for your entertainment, titillation, or are in any other way doing anything that is related to you unless they specifically state they are is kind of presumptuous and jerky. Nothing someone else is doing, or being,  is about *you*.

The idea that its gross for older people to be out there being sexual is ageist – and eventually, god willing, we’ll all be old and boning one day. The idea that its gross for non-attractive people to be out there being sexual is offensive (And besides, who sets these standards? I always love to recall a slogan I’ve seen on t-shirts at lots of events ‘I’m somebody’s fetish!’ And who says that you’re so great, Mir Fancypants? I may walk around saying ‘I’m so great’ and ‘I’m so hot’, but the only person who needs to believe that is me, and if no one else does, it doesn’t matter.)

If you aren’t mature enough to handle people other than yourself and those select few you find attractive being sexual or kinky, maybe you’re not ready to go to kinky or sexual events. Just sayin’.

Generally at events, no one expects you to show up and fuck/play with them just because you’re there. (Of course, there will always be that type of douche floating around, but they’re in the minority, thank god). You don’t have to worry about playing with someone you don’t want feel attracted to -you can just say no. You don’t even have to say why. If someone presses you for a reason, well, fuck ‘em. Its not something they need. You can just say you’re not interested right now, your not feeling good, or no. Generally, I find people aren’t offended. I know I’m not offended when people I’ve asked to play say no thanks – its just how life is.

And the only advice I can give for dealing with it is to get over yourself – because in this case, the issue is squarely with you. Unless you decided to host your own, private, screened party, there are going to be people you don’t feel attracted to at events. Think of it like this – you go outside every day and there are people you don’t want to bone around you. Do you complain? Probably not, because you realize that it happens.

Same goes for kinky events and sex events or what have you. Its the same deal. If you don’t want to fuck someone, you don’t. If you don’t want to play with them, you don’t. If you see something happening you don’t like, you don’t look at it. No one expects anyone to do anything, and if someone expects you do do something you don’t feel comfortable doing, they’re a jerk.

I’ve met people who’ve stayed fully dressed at orgies. I’ve met people who’ve gone to events and just attended classes because they didn’t feel like playing. Hell, we’re a very negotiation-happy bunch – you can do whatever you want within the parameters you’re comfortable with if you just be cool and try to communicate.

Deal. Be a grown up. Or don’t – its your choice.

But from my experience, its been rewarding, fulfilling, sexy, interesting, and damn exciting. You get to learn stuff and see stuff and try stuff, you get to meet people, and you get to broaden your mind if you’re willing.

I am crazy. Clinically, brain chemically, if I don’t take my meds Bad Things Happen crazy. I have been diagnosed with a super fun combination of things over the course of my life.

Starting in the second grade, I saw the school psychiatrist twice a week, along with the school social worker to try and deal. I was already shy, introverted, and likely to say the most inappropriate things in an attempt to try and fit in.

Third grade, I started seeing a real shrink outside the school. I went to Girl Scout camp, and something about it made me snap. I came home and started self injuring by picking at my scabs and pimples. And eating. I was already a pudgy kid, but that was really when it started to get out of control.

Eventually, I was picking at my scabs so much in class, and thus, bleeding, my parents took me to a therapist. They asked me a bunch of stupid questions that made no sense, told my parents to medicate me (probably for ADD/ADHD) and that was that. They never did, and nothing changed.

I got progressively worse, and started developing weird little habits and ways of doing things. And I got more and more depressed, and felt ostracized at school.

Because of me, the school therapist and social worker started a lunch time group for me and a bunch of other weird kids at school. I think it helped them a bit, with the exception of the girl with obvious autism spectrum issues who’s parents refused to accept that she needed some extra help. I still felt stuck, outside of things, and sad.

I was always, always sad. I kept telling my parents, but they didn’t think anything was wrong – which was a theme that continued through out my life, both in terms of my mental health, and my physical health. In fourth grade, I broke my ankle and wasn’t taken to the doctor for four days, because they didn’t believe it was really broken, that it was just sprained, despite my attempting to explain that I was in excruciating pain.

My weird habits, which were early manifestations of the compulsions and obsession of my OCD were causing a ridiculous amount of strain in the already difficult relationship between me and my mother.

We saw a family councilor, whom I despised, which did nothing.

Middle school and high school were filled with the onset of as of yet undiagnosed bipolar disorder, along with an increase the the OCD issues.  I cycled constantly, but slowly. I had good weeks, and bad months. Thankfully, my mania was not nearly as bad as it could have been – it resulted in a severe lack of sleep, half completed frenetic projects, the lovely grandiose feelings, and an extremely fast, and loud, speech pattern, which my parents, particularly my mother felt were totally my own fault and under conscious control, causing more fights.

Throughout all this my self injuring was increasing. By the time I got to college I had graduated from picking scabs, acne, chewing my nails down, and pulling my toenails off (yeah, that was the lesser stuff), to cutting with razor blades I got from dismantling a lady Bic safety razor with a cuticle nipper. As I got older, I would also punch myself in the ankle and head.

Couple all this with a ridiculous two year long, long distance relationship with another poet, and high school was kind of a mess.

Still, I managed to do well for most of senior year. I learned to channel my manic episodes in to writing or other activities. I lost a bunch of weight. I held down a job, and by the time I started college, things were pretty ok.

Then, college. I went through ups and downs, and towards the end of my time there, when I was about to graduate, I had an existential life crises about the nature of growing up, the nature of responsibility, and stress. I was working three jobs, going to school full time, heading down into a depression, and my OCD was spiraling out of control.

It got to the point where I was pacing constantly, counting things under my breath. I was unable to go to work unless I walked into the mall in a very specific way, walking between a plant and a divider – and the day they moved that fucking plant I nearly had a fit. I had been seeing a therapist for a few months now, actually, a therapist in the same office I went to when I was in third grade. It was a facility for children and youths, but they took me as a client because I had been there before. Big mistake. Pediatric psychiatry is vastly different from adult psychiatry. Plus, my talk therapist and I were a bad fit – she was extremely judgemental about certain aspects of my life style, particularly some of my sexual choices.

I saw a psychiatrist there who put me on zoloft, which was a bad, bad medicine for me. Basically, it made me not want to die, but that was about it. Plus, I had violent side effects – nausea, vomiting, dizziness, palpitations, paranoia, etc. The first day I took it, I went to work at the tea shop I was working at (job three), where I promptly scalded my hand with water, vomited in the back room, quit, and called my parents to come get me because I was incapable of driving my own car. My dad drove me home, and we had to stop twice driving through the park for me to vomit.

However, I kept at it, on and off (Mistake two, fucking with my meds) until I eventually quit seeing that doctor and therapist.

I started my residency at a funeral home shortly after this, while taking my meds on and off, and suffering even worse depression, with only minor flare up of mania.

The work environment was awful – my managers favourite game was to see how long it could take for him to make me cry. I hated the hours. By this time, I had stopped cutting myself (and as of now, have been SI free for many years), but I started eating. I was already around 200lbs in college, about 215 when I left. By the time I was done at the funeral home, I was 250lbs. I did some yoyo dieting for a while but basically, I self medicated with food, wine, and weed.

I left that job, switched careers, and went back to school. I moved out of my parents house. I was doing well, until one day I had a complete and utter mental fucking breakdown OCD fit where I spent four hours glued to a couch obsessively paying Mario Brothers on my DS, TERRIFED that I was going to kill everyone in my apartment by using the stove incorrectly. There had been wild mood swings and an increase in my OCD fits, as well as sever BPD cycling leading up to this – I forever regret the insanity my friends and roommates had to deal with.

I broke down, asked my dad to help, and he took me to the psychiatrist he and my mother were seeing for marriage counseling. This worked out well – I didn’t have much time trying to explain my parents and history to her, because she knew them. This was good – she was the best therapist I ever had. We even got along despite my being a pagan, and her being a Messianic Jew. She had a history of dealing with OCD patients, and immediately recognized that my biggest problem was NOT clinical depression or BPD, but that it was OCD. We worked on that, and all sorts of other things.

My mother hated this therapist – she was convinced that the therapist hated her, and was out to get her (Obviously, mental illness runs in my family, through my mother’s side…this sort of stuff goes way back the family tree). She particularly didn’t like that the therapist and I were discussing if it were possibly that I had been molested as a child due to what I had incorrectly described as having dissociative experiences – I had asked my mother, and she had a fit and felt like we were accusing her of being a bad mother. It turns out what I was feeling was a depersonalization and realization that was more involved in my panic attacks and mania. Did I forget to mention the panic attacks? Yeah, I had crippling panic attacks, which my mother felt were just me being immature and having a tantrum.

Eventually, I started seeing a doctor who could prescribe me medicine that worked with my therapist – his name, I shit you not, was Dr. Who. I mean, it was spelled differently, but it was Dr. Who. His diagnosis for me, was basically a mixed basket of things. I had OCD, BPD, anxiety, panic attacks, the depersonalization/derealization, all sorts of lovely.

Thankfully, the first combination of medication we tried worked almost perfectly – I was put on 10mg of Celexa and 1/4 of 25mg of Seroquel. Eventually, we upped the Celexa to 20mg, and cut the Seroquel down to 1/8 of 25mg. Seroquel is used off label as a sleeping aid, and I was finding it difficult to function during the day on more than 1/8 of a pill.

For the first time in my entire life, I felt normal. I felt real. I felt like I could live life and be happy. However, a side effect of taking medication meant that if at any time, I experienced normal sad, grumpy, angry or depressed moments, my mother would immediately freak out and go “OMG YOUR NOT TAKING YOUR PILLZ! WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU HORRIBLE PERSON!!!” (all this, and I don’t even live with her.)

I was lucky that I found a combination that worked so well for me so quickly – I know too many people with medication horror stories – all I had was a blip with some Zoloft a few years before all this.

The only hiccough in the past few years with my mental health was when I was assaulted three years ago, at a sex/BDSM party, by the host, who was a friend of a friend and a fellow blogger.

I wound up suffering from a low grade form of PTSD, freaked out, went off my meds and stopped functioning, dropped out of school since I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house alone, and basically, things sucked. I was saw my therapist intermittently when I could, but we never started the EMDR treatments she wanted me to have because I fell of the grid. I think, writing this, that I ought to look back into seeing her again for those. I’ve been doing much better, but that shit can still come up. And I’d like to not having to restrain my self from punching people who touch me.

Anywho, since then I eventually got back on track with my meds and mental health, and things have been awesome. I take my pills, deal with my shit, and mostly function like what one might call a normal person.

I still have OCD issues from time to time, but they are manageable, and I don’t have an issue living with them, since they no longer impact my life as greatly as they did before – unless I get stressed. Then they flare up a bit, but otherwise, I’m well, happy, medicated, living the good life and totally getting all my shit gathered up together.

Go me!

*whew* That was cathartic. Felt good though.

I finally squirted!

For the past few years, I’ve had a feeling that if I could only get over myself, I could squirt. I often felt things building up and building up inside me, and then fizzling out. I’m extremely bad at letting go and giving up control when it comes to sex – one of the many reasons bottoming didn’t work out for me. Hell, having an orgasm in front of another person takes work!

But there have been times when I knew I could do it. I just had to relax. I’m really weird about getting messy with bodily fluids, which is odd, considering my past work – I’ve been elbow deep in things you don’t even want to hear about, but I can’t get my self messy sometimes. Lots of time. Stupid OCD. It was only a few months ago that I managed to pee on Anon, and I think that was a big factor in my recent squirting.

Over Memorial day weekend, Anon and I were cat sitting for a friend, and on Monday, we were having a particularly fun and sexy romp. Anon had pounced on me after I used a hypno trigger on him that induced horniness (which, so far, is my favourite hypno trigger ever!) There was much sexy times to be had – there was a hood involved, and lots of oral sex – gotta say, that hood with the mouth hole may have been the best thing I ever bought – some quality hitachi-on-Wendy time, and some great g-spot stimulation thrown in for good measure. There was a liberator ramp, a leash, and some hot hot doggy style fucking.

Basically, what I’m getting at is that we were having one hell of a romp. I needed breaks, it was that sort of romp.

Now the squirting.

We were in the missionary position, and Anon was doing that very focused, single minded, fucking me through the mattress thing that he does. (I love that thing. Its fucking awesome.) I felt that sort of building up kind of have to pee thing starting to happen down around my cunt, and I was trying to focus and let go, but all I could think about was how I couldn’t squirt on my friend’s bed because there was no towel down, and there was no amount of sheet changing that would make that cool or easy to clean up.

Finally, I figured that maybe if I were in the tub, it would be easier for me to relax, since I wouldn’t make a mess. That was how I learned to pee on Anon – first, I practiced peeing in the tub on my own, and then I peed on him. Now, I can pee on him at the drop of a hat, if I have to go.

And lo and behold, it worked! By the time I got to the tub, I had been worked over so thoroughly that I could *not* squirt. It only took about 1o minutes of relaxing with the hitachi before I was able to relax, and let go.

What was interesting to me was how different it was from pissing – I had often heard that squirting felt similar to peeing, but in my case, it only felt like I needed to urinate. When it squirted out, it didn’t feel anything like peeing.

It was also a bit underwhelming as well – I didn’t have an orgasm that was particularly different or stronger than other ones. Perhaps it was because I had already had so many that day.

And yes, I’m dead sure it was ejaculate – for one, I had peed earlier, and it was practically clear, as I am often a little over-hydrated.  The substance that came out was substantially darker, a bit more amber looking than my pee looks, even in the morning.

I also had Anon get down in the tub and sniff it – this is a man who is quite familiar with the scent of both my piss, and my cunt. According to him, it was not pee. (In hind site, I ought to have had him lap some of it up as well. Ah well, next time. Yes. Next time!)

I’m interested in exploring this again, but in a way, I find myself much more relaxed as well. Since I have accomplished this thing I have always wanted to do, I now know what its like. I feel like I can do it again if I want, and I feel relaxed having finally *done* it. It a way, it was kind of like when I lost my virginity. Important, something I wanted to do, but a little underwhelming until I did it a whole bunch more!

In fact, I’m not just attending, I’m also going to be presenting at this event! Whee! So exciting! It’s still so amazing to me that people want to hear what I have to say about stuff. I’m a blogger because I have opinions and I can’t shut up about myself and things that I like, but I don’t actually think people read me – and then people come and see my classes! Wow! I’m flattered and awed that this happens, and I’m psyched to be doing it at Floating World.

I’ll be presenting both of my anal sex workshops – Anal 101, and Anal Fisting. I’ll also be on a panel, discussing intergenerational BDSM, something along those lines. We’ll see.

Floating World is one of the largest BDSM events I’ve ever attended – they have a huge facility, a huge dungeon, and they draw a wonderfully varied group of attendees, and hot damn, they’re list of presenters and classes for this year are *fantastic*

I mean just look and see! They’ve got a veritable who’s who of BDSM presenters from all over the country. They’ve even got Patric Califia! Holy shit!

And I have capital P Plans for FW. I hope I can get my Wolverine costume in time…I will hopefully be able to make some sort of Gambit costume for the boy as well. Anyone know where I can get a bo staff? Tee hee.