Tuesday, January 31, 2012

"Special massage" my ass

In lieu of the upcoming holiday that I shall not acknowledge, Adam and Eve dot com (really an alright place, when it comes down to it), has been running some radio ads recently about a special deal they have going on. 50% off "some" orders, plus special gifts! Ooooo

This is where it gets me. The special gifts are, "A toy for him, a 'special massager' for her, and a free video." Now, we've already discussed how much I dislike heteronormitivity (shut it spell check, I want that to be a word and so it shall be), yes? There's that. The fact that the incentive offer is specifically geared toward heterosexual couples. As though no other type of people in the universe might be taking advantage of this deal to maybe get...50% off a butt plug, or 50% of a feeldo (although I doubt that's part of the "some" sales), or 50% off anything that doesn't probably have pink faux fur on it or feathers of some variety. Or that any other type of person might want to spice up the upcoming holiday that I still won't mention by name.

It's the "special massager" part. In today's day and age, can we really not say the word, "vibrator" on the radio? (I'm actually genuinely curious, so I Googled it, and apparently FCC regulations are fairly discretionary, and there's no actual list of words one can not say (sorry, Carlin fans.)) Being into kink, I'm a big fan of "pevertables" (i.e. everyday objects that you can use in kinky ways, such as fly swatters/spanking paddles, wiffle balls/ball gags, or dowel rods/spreader bars), so I understand that a "special massager" might actually be something a woman would put on her vulva/clitoris/actually insert into her vagina/anus. (Oh, inclusivity. Feels so good!) But it's genuinely irksome the way that Adam and Eve, a freaking adult toy store/porn selling website, has to use the term like "tee-hee! It's 'special' because you're going to put it on your no-no place."

Monday, January 30, 2012

Thank you, Mistress

Every so often I will do this little thing on a place called Reddit where random men will send me messages and I will tell them different painful things to do to themselves and then will ultimately give them directions on when and how to orgasm.

A little bit more infrequently I will do this type of thing in real life.

Regardless, my favorite part is always when they say, "Thank you." "Thank you, Mistress, for the pain. Thank you, Mistress, for allowing me to do this." In the end of everything, I'm just a pleasure slut. :) It makes me insanely happy to make others happy - discuss all you want about the differences between a "top" or a "bottom," I just want the "thank you."

Saturday, January 28, 2012


Anything new? Oh, not really. Just up at 4am blowing my nose. If you don't know anything about daycare, the single most important fact to be aware of is the children there are always sick. Even if they are not coughing directly on you (a favorite pastime), they will at least be leaking thick green snot everywhere.

Hence, sickness! Hooray.

This morning I would like to take a little moment for a quick PSA on how easy it is to not be heteronormitive in one's speech. From a textbook I'm currently reading in my master's program: "Groups of teenage girls could design the ideal prom date or husband, while groups of boys assembled an ideal date or wife."

I won't even begin on the head-scratcher that is the idea that girls need prom dates, while boys can just think about regular style dates. What I want to focus specifically on is the pairing of "girl" with "husband" and "boy" with "wife." It's as easy as switching either of the two latter terms to "spouse" or even "partner." Heck, if you want to go the extra mile just eliminate the whole thing and save yourself a few words: "Groups of teenage girls and boys could design the ideal person for them." Ta-da! You have now at least partially eliminated the need for girls who like girls or boys who like boys to feel saddened that they don't fit with what people expect them to like. Although it's impossible to make everybody happy all the time, it's at least that easy to make an effort.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012


From those who "don't get" my hair, I invariably get one of two responses. Either

1. They will mistake me for a man and apologize.


2. They will ask me "why" questions. "Why do you keep it so short? Why did you decide to cut it short? Why don't you care what people think about it?!"

For the first variety of people, it is always an interesting debate for me internally. Are they apologizing because they think I will be offended that they thought I was a man? Or are they apologizing because they are stuck in the gender binary and have realized something new today? In the former sense, I don't mind. I will admit, from the back, or when wearing sweatshirts, or sometimes just in general: I can look like a man. (Although clearly defining what makes a "man" vs. a "woman" is an entirely other debate for another entry perhaps.) I guess suffice to say just for now that I can look as society would expect a man to look (minus the facial hair - I swear, I'm working on it folks. :p) Unfortunately, this type of person will then spend at least the next 10 minutes trying to convince me that I am, in fact, a woman, and that it's very obvious to anybody who would just take a few moments to look.  It becomes less about them making a mistake and more about me somehow feeling bad that I don't "fit in" with stereotyped gender roles.

It's the latter type of apology that is preferable. I enjoy people who have to face up to cognitive dissonance and admit that the way they view the world might not be the way the world actually is. This makes me happy, in a sense that I internally clap like a toddler who just learned to clap might.

Most often little kids will make the "boy/girl" mistake, and then we get into a whole other territory of cringeworthyness. 

Young person: "That person looks like a boy!"
Older person (usually parent): "That's not a nice thing to say."

WHY NOT? It's an honest observation, and probably from that kid's world view, I do look like a boy. We get a bit into the whole "I apologize because you should feel bad for making us all look awkward now because your hair is short. Damnit, why can't you just fit in so I don't have to explain to my child that girls can have short hair?" I try in these situations to be as up-front with the kid as possible. "I do sort of look like a boy, don't I? Is it because my hair is short? I like my hair like this, that's why I do it."

Tuesday, January 24, 2012


"Sing polly wolly doodle all the day."

Sometimes when one works at a day care (as I do), and one is required to have "approved" CDs playing all day of Toddler tunes (as I am), one can sometimes begin to read things into songs that aren't actually the meaning. Case in point the above lyric.

Anyway. As I continue to meet and become friends with people who haven't known me since I was an awkward acne-ridden teenager, it becomes necessary to compare histories and explain life choices. So I figured, on the third entry, that it was about time we got better acquainted. ;) Here's my story. I'm just going to combine the whole things (sexuality, kink, and poly), as they really overlap quite a bit, and separating any of them wouldn't make much sense. Wall of text ahead, captain!!

Let's begin by heading back to that acne-ridden teenager. Actually, let's head back to even before that to when I got my first CD player (do people still remember those? I got one of those big ones that played 5 CDs at once, which was pretty fancy). It was for a birthday...possibly I was in 5th grade? I'll date myself and say The Macarena was pretty popular then. In order to fill at least 3 of those 5 CD slots, I remember picking out Garth Brook's The Hits ( was at least 1994, according to Wikipedia), Shania Twain's Come on Over (1997, also yes, I'm slightly country. Shut up.) And Alanis Morisette's Jagged Little Pill.

I am Jack's first confused ladyboner.

Or in the words of the incomparable Dolph from But I'm a Cheerleader: "But you only assume that they're thinking what you're thinking when you look. But they're not."

And thus I become very confused about what/who exactly I am attracted to. Many trips to the library later and a few readings of the ol' classics such as Annie on My Mind, and I can with some certainty say that I am definitely not straight. Although I do not ever "come out" while at home, it is something that remains in the back of my mind while doing classic high school activities like marching band, the prom, touching my first penis, having my first orgasm. You know, the usual.

Things at home suck, and I spend a majority of my free time either suffering from insomnia or going out with people older than I am, who can supply me with liquor and weed (not necessarily the reason why I go out with them, but it's not a terrible thing to have in addition). I have very few "real" boyfriends (i.e. the "let's go out to a movie/dinner" type) and more casual male acquaintances who I happen to blow every once in awhile. Surprisingly, I am not terribly depressed about this. Friends around me begin coupling off and getting "exclusive," and the whole thing just makes no sense to me. What changes two people from being friends to this little unit of "just us" was different for everybody, and it usually meant that the male friend of mine would now be allowed only supervised visits with me, as I now became a "threat" to the "real relationship.

My first "real" boyfriend (we did officially go to a movie together, and I think at some point used the words "boyfriend" and "girlfriend") wound up wanting to be with a friend of mine instead. My second "real" boyfriend slept with another friend. In both instances, it wasn't the fact that it wasn't me that was bothering. It was the lying. There was a lot more honesty going on in the backseat of cars with the other men I knew than within these "relationships" that I was forming, and that just cemented the idea that traditional relationships were not really for me. When my best friend in the whole world admits that she loves me my junior year, it makes me physically ill for a few days.

My freshman year of college, one of the first things I do once my parents had officially left and I had the ethernet connection figured out is research the LGBT groups on campus. Through this, I meet a cavalcade of interesting people and cement even more the idea that women are attractive. I officially come out as "bisexual," a label I have been toying with since high school, but have never really spoken out loud to anyone.

Between my freshman and sophomore year, I stay in the dorms during the summer. Easier than packing up to head home, where the shit has continued to stir within my family. I meet a sailor-mouthed bull dyke who also works the summer shifts, and she invites me to an oil wrestling party at her place. I get into kink because she's into kink, and discover that I enjoy it. I am a sassy sub - the kind that will be strapped to a St. Andrew's and say, "is that it?" when her domme comes around to check on her wrists. We are "open," which works for awhile. She hands me my first copy of Ethical Slut, and I feel the same way I did long ago pulling books about lesbianism off the shelves of my local library. This is who I am. Our relationship works until I realize I have broken the unspoken rule that I was supposed to stop liking dick when we were together. Oops.

After the break-up, I get out of kink for a bit. I try the swinger lifestyle. I continue to be open. I describe it to new people I meet, and some take it as carte blanche to cheat. Some take is as an invitation that any and every other woman we come across will somehow be invited into the bedroom, and they are disappointed/upset when I don't "play along." Some accept it for what it is, and love me for it, and stick around to re-negotiate rules when we need to. I marry that someone.

We move. I get back into kink (through the fabulous FetLife). I identify myself as "queer," a term I've become more comfortable with. It encompasses all the variance of the people that I have met, have been attracted to, have fucked so much better than the binary where I began. I also identify as a switch, although I was strictly sub back in the day.

As we say in Toddler song world:

"Some people look at me funny
But I don't care 'cause it's kind of fun.
And maybe you like to do some things
A little differently from all your friends.
Well, don't you fret about what they might think
What makes you smile
Is what counts in the end."

Monday, January 23, 2012

Reproductive choices

One of our cats is currently huddled in the corner of our living room, cone around her head and her eyes closed. Either still woozy from anesthesia or hoping that she can dream back her reproductive abilities. She got spayed earlier today, and will be in the cone for at least the next 5 days.

In the meantime, the billing department of my OBGYN office called about whether or not I would get any coverage for a non-hormonal IUD. Huge surprise, no. That'll be $750 dollars for the privilege of your choice to not have babies. I was on the pill for about 11 years, but got taken off due to medical complications. Was told to ixnay on the hormonal birth control, and have been using condoms in the interim until I could find a viable non-hormonal option. (Or, as my gynecologist likes to call condoms: "barrier method birth control." It's like talking to somebody who insists on saying "tissue" instead of "Kleenex.") Condoms are less effective than an IUD, though, and do decrease spontaneity of the ol' sexytimes quite a bit. Plus, if I'm being honest with myself, there's a large part of me that misses being able to feel a man ejaculate inside of me.

Sunday, January 22, 2012


Ahhh...slipping back into the old habit of writing things down for fun. It took quite a bit of discussion to get to this point, but now that I'm here it's like warm little footy pajamas. Welcome to my thoughts, internet. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Here on this blog I will be talking a bit about things that interest me. Mostly kink, sex, relationships, what have you. Also quite possibly food. Or any other random things that pop into my head and I feel whoever happens here might need to know.

About me: I'm a recently 28 year old lady from the Chicago area. I'm in an open marriage and involved in the BDSM scene (as a switch). I identify as "queer." I value honesty. I cut my hair short and have little tolerance for stupid people. I'm mostly happy with where I am, although I still struggle quite a bit with how I got here and how I appreciate this happiness based on previous unhappiness. You know, the typical drama bullshit. Oh, there will be quite a bit of cursing involved here. And possibly some random quotes from shows that I appreciate that more appropriately express my emotions at times. Also quite possibly links to things that I find interesting.

I feel there should be something more exciting happening for a first post. BANG POW explosions! You know.  "You want fireworks?! I'll give you fireworks."

And so it begins...