Elust #89

Note: This is the first time I’ve submitted a post to e[Lust] and, wouldn’t you know it, they picked it as one of the top three in November. Yay me. As part of the deal to help people find great content, everyone who participates posts the results to their site. So, here it is! Next time, no preamble from me…


Photo courtesy of Sex is My New Hobby

Welcome to Elust 89

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #90 Start with the rules, come back January 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

When the Tears Finally Came

The pure and simple truth

One Down

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabilities & Submission, Part 2: I Say No

UnRepentant Darkness

 

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Hoar Frost…

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Hold me down
Keeping me chaste
Say My Name
The Little Things
Struggle…
Learning To Truss
A New Use
My Mania is My Drug
Life as a Laissez-Faire Domme

Erotic Fiction

Watching
Candy, Caned
Jax and Rickie’s First Kiss
New Collar

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Why You Should Make a Sex Tape
And the winner is…doggy style!
Pleasantville: The Promise of Trump’s America
Bdsm reasons for not hitting children
An Open Letter to MrHankeysToys.com

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Fun Of Being Stripped Of Wet Running Kit!
I want to lick your pussy some more
KIDNAP – a story of fear, pain and sex
Sybian
Well, that’s new…
Objectionable Hair – A Lady’s Taboo

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

UnPartnered
The Cub
I still have hope
A Baker’s Dozen #fucketlist

Poetry

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The Father, the Son, and the semi-automatic assault rifle

I’ve been struggling with what to say about Orlando. I have so much sadness but it’s mixed with so much anger that I can’t tell them apart. They taste the same in my mouth. I need a word for that. A word that means, “sorrowful rage.”

I hear this massacre isn’t an LGBTQ thing. It’s about mental illness or religious radicalism or easy access to firearms in a country awash in them, but it could have happened anywhere. A movie theater or a coffee house or a sports arena. It’s distasteful for gays to make this about them. But it didn’t happen in any of those places. It happened in a gay nightclub because it was a gay nightclub. Of course, this event is about mental illness and religious radicalism and too many guns, but it’s also very much about being LGBTQ. The hatred for LGBTQ people is the thread that ties all those other things together in this case. No, not thread. Rainbow ribbon.

The shooter, it is now reported, frequented the club and was active on gay hook-up apps like Grindr. He liked the boys and liked dick. Maybe not to the exclusion of women, but he was definitely on the Kinsey scale above a one. And he hated himself for it. Hated himself so much. Why? Where does that come from? My kids don’t hate gay people. They don’t fear them. One of my kids identifies as bisexual and does so in a very open and heathy way. Why are my kids well-adjusted about sexuality while the shooter in Orlando was as unadjusted as possible?

Religion.

His faith teaches that gays are an abomination. Subhuman. He was raised being told that by his clergy and his dad. By his friends. But it’s what he was. This kind of cognitive dissonance will make some people kill themselves. Some others will live sad, stunted, hateful lives. Others, the fortunate few, will come out from under the spell and build a life of freedom from religious bullshit filled with love and friends. A few buy assault rifles and walk into gay nightclubs to kill as many people they can. Literally killing the part of them they’ve been taught to hate. To abhor. There is a grim logic in their actions.

Impossibly, I find myself feeling sorry for the shooter. For the pain he endured and the pain he caused as a result. I didn’t think it possible. I don’t know where it comes from. But there it is. The fact that he clumsily associated himself with those who personify on earth the extreme intolerance for things like homosexuality was nothing more than an attempt to find a fire hot enough to burn it out of himself. But this isn’t about ISIS. They’re a bit player in the drama and are accidentally benefiting from the kind of publicity they crave.

So I am not actually mad at the shooter. But I am mad. Furious. Seething. At who?


On Saturday, Mike Huckabee and those like him, if asked, would have told you gay people are going to burn in hell for their perversion. That their push for marriage equity would destroy the family and a trans person’s need to urinate  would lead to children being molested and woman attacked. On Sunday, though, he was praying for them as victims. In the fucked up algebra of a far-right shitbag, the only thing that’s worse than a club full of happy faggots is a radicalized Muslim shooting at them. Good to know.

While the good governor was running for US President last year, he and fellow governor Bobby Jindal and Senator Ted Cruz shared a stage with a man named Kevin Swanson who literally called for gays to be put to death. Today. In America. He didn’t say it at some fuzzy distant time. He said it that fucking day just before inviting the three of them onstage to share in the limelight. And they just let him. Because political points are worth more than the lives of LGBTQ people. Because pandering to a hateful audience of zealots, calling for innocent people to be killed for how they were born, is the course of action most expedient to gain their support.

And then these sons of bitches have the fucking nerve to PRAY for the victims. The shooter was Muslim, but he was playing their tune. And so they prayed. For the victims. The ones they either explicitly or implicitly called for. Mike gets the spotlight here, but he’s hardly alone. Any moralistic asshole in government who grovels for votes and campaign contributions from radical Christians and then decries the very acts their benefactors called for the day before is a sad, disgusting son of a bitch. The blood of the victims in Orlando is on their hands. It’s on their clothes and fills their shoes. It’s soaked through their very souls.

And it’s not a fringe thing with the Christians. Today, Pat Robertson on The 700 Club said, “The left is having a dilemma of major proportions and I think for those of us who disagree with some of their policies, the best thing to do is to sit on the sidelines and let them kill themselves.” Someone’s going to need to give me a decoder ring or something because I can’t tell the radical Christians from the supposed “normal” ones.

But, you might say to me, I’m a Christian. I’m not like that. We’re not all radical nut jobs. Problem is, as a person with many Christian friends and who’s active on social media, I never see one of them calling these bastards out. I never see them say they’re perverting the word of Christ. I see Muslims dragged out before cameras every time one of theirs loses his shit or ISIS or whoever bombs a plane or shoots a passerby. That’s expected and required, though many non-Muslims will still try and frame Islam as a religion of hate and violence. As if their holy hands are clean, which they are not. Not even a little. But the only time my Christian friends come out and say anything is when they’re afraid of being lumped in with those who are damaging their holy brand. And they do it without any self-awareness that it’s the exact same fucking thing they do to Muslims every goddamned day.

Jon Stewart once said, “Religion. It’s given people hope in a world torn apart by religion.” And we laughed. But it’s true. It’s fucking crystal truth. Our love of imaginary sky friends and the things we invented for them to say outweighs our own humanity. Our human decency. Our fear of death causes us to make a deal with the proverbial devil to despise and distrust and dehumanize others whose holy texts tell them to hate and distrust and do violence in only slightly different ways. I’m sick to death of it. Almost literally to death. Had I been in that nightclub, it could have meant my death.

There are 49 dead people in Orlando who were in their safe place. The place where they could be themselves and celebrate that and each other. And a religious nut job came in and slaughtered them. And he did it for his god. The same way Pat Robertson and Kevin Swanson think it should happen. The very same. They are the same.

Commentariat class

I’m strongly considering shutting off comments on my blog. As I said the other day…

So yeah, I do control the observation but I can’t control the interpretation of that observation by you readers. This was made clear when Drew showed up and I wrote about the relationship that followed. Even though I explained how that all came into being and Belle’s role in opening our relationship, there were people who commented who clearly didn’t understand what was going on. Either through ignorance or choice. Then, because I allow comments and feedback, they were able to share their sometimes hateful and misguided (though, to be charitable, perhaps well-meaning) thoughts and opinions. Then I, in turn, had to choose to ignore or respond, but in any case, those comments affected my future behavior and choices. It made me feel defensive and act defensively even and contributed to my angst since I knew there were all these judging eyes out there waiting for the doom and failure they predicted. Sure, there was also a lot of support, but that’s not how this works. I only really focused on the dark side.

I can’t say for certain why I blog or why I keep blogging at this point in my life. The reasons I started doing it are perhaps not the same as they are today. Back then, I needed and was seeking the feedback of others who had been over the ground I was covering for the first time. The readership was relatively low and the quality of the comments was relatively high. Today, the number of people who read my words on a daily basis is dramatically higher. There are a few people whose comments I genuinely look forward to and read avidly, there’s a group of well-meaning friends I have here and on Twitter, and then there’s a bunch of newbies/anonymous people whose comments are the source of most of my issues.

For example, I wrote yesterday about my need to feel inferior as a submissive. I got this gem in return.

After reading your post, I reread it a second and then a third time. Try as I might, I did not comprehend a single word you said. “Inferior” as something worthwhile is completely foreign to me. I guess i’m too much of a traditionalist when it comes to the meaning of words.

That was from a person calling themselves “Noah.” Never commented here before. No link. No identity other than the email address they used when leaving their comment (which may or may not be real). It was the blogging equivalent of a drive-by shooting. WTF is the point of such a thing? To me, he’s basically calling me out as broken or flawed compared to his “traditional” POV. This wasn’t, as has been happening on Twitter lately, someone who wanted to understand or explore the motivations and sexuality of a submissive person. This was someone who’s basically saying they can’t figure it out so “I guess” blah blah blah. It’s bullshit. Useless. Negative and shaming.

The bottom line is, I don’t want to hear from any random stranger what they think of my life. I’ve made some really valuable acquaintances from the blog, but for the most part, those days are over. Comments today are more of a drag to me than anything else.

I’m not saying I don’t want any feedback at all. I want better more considered feedback. I think by removing comments from the blog I’ll get a better quality of comments via other channels of communication out there. An open comment field is like an invitation to drop a hot take and blow. Thing is, this blog isn’t about my opinions on new movies or technology or even politics. It’s about my life and, as such, my threshold for offense/injury is substantially lower.

So how would I like to get feedback? In order of preference…

  • Pingback from your blog. A well thought-out post on one’s own blog is far superior to a quickly dashed comment that’s much more than a “you go, girl” kind of sentiment. Posts in response to other bloggers is a time-honored way to exchanging ideas on the web.
  • Call-out on Twitter. Every post here gets a tweet. Quick comments of support or inquiry or whatever can be made by replying there using an account of yours that’s more closely tied to your personal reputation. Anonymous commenters have zero reputation so it’s far easier to be an asshole.
  • Feedback form. I have a whole page dedicated to sending me private messages. Of course, nobody else will see them so those inclined to be showy while demosntrating their lack of empathy will lose some of their motivation.
  • I’m also on FetLife, though I sometimes go a while without checking my inbox there.

I’m curious to know what other bloggers think about this (and for the time being, feel free to leave a comment 😉 ). As I mentioned on Twitter earlier, I know of many muggle blogs that have shut down comments because they are, typically, the scourge of the internet but I can’t think of one in our perverted corner of the web that doesn’t have them. Why not? What are we getting from comments? Is it worth the trade-off? And why not take these conversations to social platforms where people might feel more accountable for their words?

Update: In the mean time, I’ve changed the site settings to only allow those who log in via Twitter, Facebook, or WordPress to leave comments. That actually might really help. We’ll see.

Sansa of the North

I’m going to write about Game of Thrones here because it’s my blog and you can’t stop me.

And yeah, FUCKING SPOILERS. Ye have been warned.

Ramsay Bolton raped Sansa Stark. By now, the entire world knows this whether or not they watch the show. It was horrible and awful. But it was not lazy storytelling on the part of the producers and it was nothing like last season’s creepy twincest scene that seemed to suggest nonconsensual sex could be a byproduct of intense desire and emotion. In this case, the rape of Sansa was totally relevant to the story being told. Awful and sad and terrible, but relevant.

Note, I have not read the books to this part. I know Sansa wasn’t raped in the books, but another woman was. I also know her rape was far worse than Sansa’s (and, of course, they’re all bad). I’m talking about the HBO GoT here, not the one in the books. I honestly don’t think how the books differ from the series is relevant to this conversation. If you want to gripe about how the show is varying from the books, I have no time for you.

The scenario in which Littlefinger has placed Sansa is purely political and reeking of symbolism already. Sansa is, as far as anyone knows, the last living Stark. Her family is synonymous with the North and her marriage into the Bolton family is one way they can legitimize their control over the territory and perhaps align the people to their side prior to Stanis’ coming ass-kicking (I hope, anyway — again, I have not read the books). Seen in that light, Sansa is both an individual and an embodiment of the North. She represents a legitimate claim to rule it. Her children will be half Stark even if they carry the name Bolton. This marriage is not about love. It’s politics. It’s supposed to be what marriages amongst royal and highborn people have always been about: power consolidation, alliances, expediency, etc.

When Ramsay rapes Sansa he is raping the North. He is committing violence against the foundation of its traditions. Yes, he’s a sadistic little worm of a thing who, I can only hope, will die a slow and terrible death, but he’s also a Bolton trying to strengthen his illegitimate grip on a land he hopes to rule one day. Were he not the vile beast he is, perhaps that scene would have gone down differently, but he is truly horrible (worse even than Joffrey). Did we expect rose petals on the bed?

The state we seem to be in at this point in our cultural dialog is that rape on screen is never OK. Whenever it happens now (as it did two seasons ago on Downton Abbey) the writers are accused of using a tired old trope and being lazy. As far as I can tell, the furor over this is focused on the act, not the way in which it’s been employed in the story. The act itself has become taboo.

On a program that routinely shows its characters being casually and chillingly violent to one another in ways far more disturbing than the scene in question, it’s puzzling to me that this is the line some cannot cross. Ramsay literally threw one of his girlfriends to the dogs and I can’t recall reading one article or angry tweet about it. Yes, rape is horrible. Yes, it has been employed in stories far too casually and without reason before now. But that’s not what happened here. Not by a long shot.

Dan Savage interviewed by Playboy

Dan Savage sat down for a lengthy interview by Playboy.

PLAYBOY: In your view, who are the most offensive homophobes now?

SAVAGE: Vladimir Putin and the president of Uganda. We expected the backlash here in the U.S., but the backlash is abroad. What is our responsibility to queer people in Uganda who are being brutalized because of the rapid success of the gay-rights movement in the West? In countries like Uganda, leaders have this easy way to assert their moral superiority: hating gay people in the same way shitty, fucked-up Christians in America do. Putin is very blunt about this. It’s how they prove their moral superiority to the West. They don’t have to take better care of their citizens, they don’t have to have a functioning democracy, they don’t have to have a decent environment, they don’t have to have a justice system that works. They just have to hate gay people really hard and they’re better than the United States, better than Canada, better than France. It’s exactly like the Christians. They don’t have to stop masturbating, stop having premarital sex, stop drinking, stop getting divorced and remarried. All they have to do to be good Christians is hate gay people. “I don’t have to keep my dick out of anybody; I just have to hate you and where you’re putting your dick.”

It’s shit like this that make me love Dan Savage fiercely. So frank and so true. Read the interview.

Follow-up for Kerri

Hmm…

I keep thinking back to the note I replied to yesterday. The one from a reader named Kerri who said, in part, “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for you to share your journey so publicly because I have found a lot of comfort in knowing that my desires aren’t necessarily singular, alone or deviant,” and, “…I don’t want to bare my soul to anyone who is likely to think I am weird…” and “[I] am so terrified of losing my husband, I either need to not feel how I do, or ask him to be what I need.”

Thing is, she never really came out and said what she needed or what her kink was. Did she want to carry a key? Or be locked? Or something else? Top? Bottom? No idea. But really, that doesn’t make a difference and it’s not what I keep thinking about.

So, I’m going to take another pass at her situation, but this time from a higher altitude. She said, “I either need to not feel how I do, or ask him to be what I need.” I can tell you right now, Kerri, you will not be able to stop being and feeling what you are. That bottle may stay stoppered for the rest of your life, but those feelings will never just evaporate no matter how far down you stuff them or how hard you will them to. They’re yours to keep. They are who you are.

No, you don’t necessarily need to act on your feelings/urges/whatever. Not everyone does (and, just between you and me, not everything you think is sexy ends up actually being that in real life). But I’m guessing that since you took the time to write me, they’re pushing at you pretty hard.

The second thing you said — “or ask him to be what I need” — is equally fraught. He may be what you need. That would be like drawing a straight flush, though. More likely, he is what he is and perhaps he can act like what you need him to be or what you both are has enough overlap to work. That’s the best case scenario, in my opinion. It’s also possible he can’t even think of being what you need him to be. That’s a scary prospect, I agree.

I don’t know you, let alone him, but you fear losing him and destroying your marriage and breaking up your family because of the kind of sex you want to have. Only you know him. Is that really likely? Or are you shaming yourself for being who you are? Are you inflicting fear of rejection and loss as a kind of punishment on yourself for being unlike who you think you need to be? I would know from that as I did it. Many times I felt like a complete freak and, even after leveling with Belle on all my various kinks and desires, making our sexual relationship work often felt too hard and I knew inside it was all my fault. Because I was not normal.

What I know now, and what I want you to hear, is there is no normal. There’s different. There’s compatible and incompatible. There are things each of us like and don’t. But nobody on this earth is normal. Not you, not me, not your husband, not the fucking Pope or President of the United States. People act normally (or, what they think is normal), but I think we all have our little kinks and peculiarities. We’re all kinky little fuckers deep down inside. And none of us are to judge what turns someone else’s crank (as long as it’s all consensual and practiced ethically, etc.). Not even ourselves.

So, please please free yourself from that guilt. Of that dread. You deserve to feel as you feel. You deserve to be happy. There is nothing wrong with you.

I know I’m incredibly lucky. I have a wonderful and supportive partner/friend/wife/keyholder who has made the realization of my sexuality not only possible but also rewarding. And it’s because of her support that I know how empowering it is to feel outside the shell we can make for ourselves when it comes to walling off whatever sexual feelings we have that fall outside the bullshit cultural paradigm. You need to break out of that shell to feel whole. You need to face who you are and give your husband the benefit of the doubt to face it with you.

This advice shit is tricky. Like I said, I know nothing more than what you told me in your note. Your husband may be a dick and maybe you already know he won’t be supportive. In which case, I wonder why anyone would want to live like that. But I’m making the assumption he isn’t. I can’t map out all the moves for you, but I can tell you how great it is not to be living with an important part of you hidden away from someone you love and who loves you.

Sure, do the things I mentioned yesterday. Buy the book, go to FetLife, maybe find a local group of like-minded perverts. But whatever you do, start the conversation with your husband. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but make the commitment and start working towards it now.

And don’t forget: We’re all kinky fuckers, every last one of us, in our own special ways. And it’s great.