Say It Loud

Sometime last week, ringing in PRIDE MONTH (happy pride month y’all), I wrote a long Facebook status about my sexuality and relationship orientation. I said I’m gay, and I’m married to a man, we’re polyamorous, et cetera. I figured this wouldn’t be news to most of my followers anyway, so I wasn’t really expecting feedback on it at all. I just wanted to do something to show my pride for who I am, especially since I spent most of my life in denial or afraid of what I was. “What would people think?” and “Who am I disappointing?” and “Am I just being selfish?” were questions that nagged me most of my life, as I struggled not to be confined in any boxes into which society seemed intent on packing me. I was told to be myself, then given contradicting advise; Be yourself, but don’t get tattoos. Be yourself, but don’t cut your hair short. Be yourself, but don’t wear boy’s clothes. Don’t get any “weird” piercings and don’t dye your hair “unnatural” colors. Stand up for yourself, but don’t assert your desires, because that makes you selfish. Give and sacrifice but never ask for recognition.

I am who I am today because these are the lessons I learned growing up. Obviously, some things I’ve rebelled against… it’s easier to change my physical body than it is to change my mind. And maybe that’s why it was so much easier to get my tongue pierced than it was to come out as a lesbian.

Or dye your hair A FRIGGIN RAINBOW

Because there are always people who will say I don’t need to announce it to the world. There will always be people who are more concerned with Yellow in this relationship, because he’s the husband, and my true sexuality jeopardizes something they see as integral to a long-term, loving relationship (i.e. sex). Nevermind that we are happy or that our current relationship is the product of years of conversation, negotiation, love, and respect for each other. There will always be people who would prefer I keep my sexuality to myself because they don’t think it’s anyone’s business, or because they don’t want to know about it, or because they feel like I’m shoving it in their face. “I don’t care what your sexuality is,” they’ll say, “it’s just a label and it doesn’t change who you are.”

But it does.

Yes, I’m still the same me I was when I was thirteen and I had the biggest crush ever on a girl in middle school and I had no idea why I thought about kissing her, touching her hair, holding her hand, I only knew it made me uncomfortable and other. And I didn’t tell anybody about it, I especially didn’t tell her, because she was the nicest, most beautiful girl I’d ever been friends with and I just knew, deep down, she’d think I was disgusting. I stuffed it down and I forgot about it. I didn’t talk about it. Maybe it was just a phase–that’s what everybody always said it was, right?

(It isn’t a phase.)

It never really went away and though I tried, trust me, I tried! I just never felt the same way about guys, and sex with guys, as other girls. It felt good, sure, but so does masturbation. When I finally fell for a girl… and went for the girl… things changed. I knew then. I knew what it meant to crush, to flirt, to have that rush of excitement. To touch and be touched in the ways my body had always wanted and needed. I’m programmed to like girls.

I shouldn’t have to defend myself for being myself. I shouldn’t have to defend my marriage and the choices we’ve made as husband and wife, time and time again, to people who are only on the outskirts of our relationship. Look, I get that you like him. I like him, too! That’s why I married him! And that’s why we’re staying married. Because we love and care for each other and we want to be together. My sexuality doesn’t change that. And if you can’t understand that… it isn’t our fault. We’re happy. We’ve got it all figured out. It only involves us. 

I feel like I have the right to announce who I am to the world just as anybody else does. When I say “my girlfriend,” it’s ambiguous. People could be thinking, she’s a girl friend. Red is my partner. I’m not going to come straight out to a stranger and say, “I love this girl. She’s more than a friend. We’re fucking. I’d marry her if I could.”

It’s easier, and more polite, to say that I’m gay. And yes, I feel like it’s something I should celebrate. Look at where we are today! LGBT people are being more and more welcomed into mainstream society. I bet there are even some places where kids don’t have to come out anymore, they just are. That’s great. That’s really, really fucking great.

But we won’t continue to be recognized if we disappear. The fact is, the default is straight. I thought my default was straight. And, true, that if I had known I was gay sooner in life, I wouldn’t be with the woman I’m with today… or the man. And I love my life right now. It’s charmed. I’m lucky. Not everyone is lucky like me.

I’m a lesbian and I’m proud. I’ll keep saying it and I won’t stop. I’m a rainbow-wearing, PRIDE-attending, LOUD and PROUD member of the LGBTQ community. I love myself. I love that I’m gay. I hope that my pride and my self-love can one day empower someone else to feel the same way.

Self Care

What is self care to you? How do you take care of the most important person in your life (you!) when you need it the most, even if you don’t want it?

For me, it feels like self-care is what drives me deeper into depression sometimes. I know I need alone-time to recharge, to return to my self, my center, the core of my being. But I also need to do responsible things like pay bills, because the debt weighing over my head is bad for my psyche. I also need to clean the house, because being in a messy environment promotes lethargy. I need to eat well, because a clean diet makes me feel physically better long-term, whereas a bad diet only makes me feel good while I’m eating it. And I need to stay active and keep my brain engaged, because long periods of time where I’m not doing something or am not engaged in some sort of interesting thing, my brain does the thing where it wanders off and goes dark and inevitably I’m sobbing on the floor of the kitchen because I can’t find the muffin tins, or something silly like that.

Sometimes self-care requires a lot of effort and a lot of work, and while I might procrastinate and put it off and whine about having to do it, I really do feel better once it’s done. My hands will be raw from scrubbing countertops and floors but at least the kitchen is sparkling.

Last week, when I went to clean the fridge, I accidentally dropped one of the shelves in the fridge. Did you know they explode? I mean, they really explode!! The glass flew everywhere, it was loud, and I just stood there in my socks holding the plastic frame the glass slipped from. Yellow came as quickly as he could, asking if I was alright, but I just looked up to him and laughed, “It just exploded!”

Glass. Everywhere.

We are now down one shelf in the fridge, which is really a problem because we’ve started getting our boxes from Dominion Harvest again. In case you don’t know what that is and you don’t wanna click the link–it’s like a farm subscription that gets delivered to your door. All these fruits, veggies, meats, cheeses, eggs, bread, jams, honey, stuff like that. It’s really awesome! But we kinda have to cram everything in there right now. I’m not even sure if it’s something we should ask our landlord to replace or if I’m responsible for it, because it slipped a whole three inches and blew up when it tapped the laminate.

Anyway, as I was saying, sometimes self care is more stressful than caring for yourself ought to be. At least, whenever I envision “self care” I imagine sitting in a tub of bubbles and hot water with a glass of wine, dark chocolate, a good book, and lots of candles. Self care is never really like that, at least, not in my house. I don’t get pampered or I don’t pamper myself, and if I do take time to myself like I feel I need or deserve, I inevitably feel guilty for not making good use of my time. I should have cleaned or done this task or that task. Today, I should have at least gathered all the trash in the house and put it in the can outside. But instead I sat on the couch and worked on the website for my new character on Furcadia.

I should have eaten salad and other things that are good for me, but I bought McDonald’s instead because nothing sounds tasty right now and McDonald’s is cheap and fast.

I have to make appointments with doctors. I have to clean up my credit.

Self-care is suddenly filled with things I have to do instead of things I want to do.

Serial Procrastinator

My best friend is even crazier than I am.

Oh, hello there.

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t forgotten about you. It’s more like, I got distracted, and I didn’t have anything to say. I’ve been busy. But I’m here now. And as much as I’d like to promise I’m here to stay, we both know that’s probably a filthy lie.

Blogging used to be something I did for catharsis. If I had a problem, I could do a healthy bit of introspection just by writing it out as though I actually had an audience. And then there was food blogging, and that was a lot of cooking things, making them look pretty, and sharing the pictures with people on the Internet who never commented. Right now, my kitchen is hella dark and small, so taking pictures of food in there is really frustrating at times.

I made a cake last week, but this is the only picture I took.

Not that I don’t still cook–of course I do! I take the best pictures of food in natural light… which means if I haven’t cooked it early in the day, there probably won’t be any pictures. I guess that means I need to get ahold of a nice light for taking pictures or something.

Mostly though, I’ve been working, and I haven’t been attending many events in the last few months. I’ve been dieting and otherwise pretty lazy. So hopefully I can find time in my “busy” schedule to write up a few blog posts here and there! I was thinking of doing book reviews. That might be fun.

We’ll see. :)

Bite Me

I like rough sex.

I wrote three or four different sentences to begin this entry, trying to be poetic, or lead into the meat of it, but there really is no better way to say it. I like an opening sentence the way I like my sex. Blatant, forceful, a little shocking. Rough.


via weheartit

I am unapologetic about this. Both of my current sexual partners are aware of my preferences. It is simply not in their nature to give me this. If I were the aggressor, or if I wanted to be the aggressor, it would probably not be much of a problem. Don’t get me wrong; I do love to bite and claw. Bites are a way I show my love. It’s a kitten thing. We bite to show affection and to claim ownership.


via weheartit

I don’t expect my partners to go against their grain to provide me this. It would be out of character, and I don’t want them to be something they are not. Instead, I passively seek it elsewhere, and for the most part my hunger lies dormant and I grow used to ordinary sex.

Then, something happens and I suddenly remember. I crave the deep, slow bite of a lover claiming me in ecstasy. I miss the marks, the bruises, of aftermath.

I am content. But my readiness to jump for the opportunity to submit my body for someone else’s primal pleasure is alarming. I’m ashamed to admit I have revisited memories with my ex, and felt the anticipatory beat of my heart. I remember when bleeding scratches and deep bruises and teeth indents on my skin meant I was a good girl–it meant I was good–it meant I was claimed, with her marks, with her scent. Afterglow in those days was so heady I couldn’t even sleep. I wanted to lie, tangled in her limbs and hair, and throb in thrall of my delicious pleasure and pain.

It’s something that’s missing from my life, a hole that I am sometimes afraid of acknowledging, which may forever stay empty and unsated. Am I really willing to seek out a sexual partner simply for this, with no emotional connection, no intimacy? I know I’m not. I also know I have no time or patience in my life for another full-time romantic partner. It wouldn’t be fair to me, or to Red and Yellow. My two live-in partners take all of my energy and time as it is.

At this point in time, the best option I can see would be to keep my options open, and hope that if (and when) I find a D-type I like (that is not an invitation), they can also fulfill my need to be marked up, bitten, clawed, and fucked.

Love My Body

I’m fat.

“Fat Cat” by ~snowchu on Deviantart

And I’m not just saying that, either. I’m not huge, so whenever I say I need to diet I always get the chorus of naysayers. “You look fine!” “You don’t need to lose any weight!” Then, I tell them how much I weigh and they stare at me in disbelief. I weigh 212lbs (as of a few days ago). I’m 5’7″, with wide shoulders and hips, and sadly, my boobs do not carry the weight. It’s in my belly.

People have asked if I’m pregnant. (One lady had the audacity to say, “Are you sure?” after I told her “no.”)

This is the heaviest I’ve been. I lost 40lbs right before my wedding back in 2009, and I felt great. Now, I’ve finally gained it back, and I am really unhappy with myself. It doesn’t matter what other people think–I have to live in this body, and I would like it to be smaller.

I already know what works for me, and I’m prepared to do it. Red and Yellow both want to lose weight too, but I already know they won’t stick with the diet the way I will. I have enough trouble trying to keep my own cravings reigned in, so when I have to argue and persuade my partners to eat well and to exercise, it wears down on my willpower, too. It’s just easier to give in and say, “Okay, we’ll eat pizza.” I can’t let that happen.

The new year is the obligatory time to start diets (okay, all resolutions, but I try not to make promises to myself I can’t keep). I plan on starting mine once the holidays are finished with me–i.e., when all the holiday food is out of my house!

I’m kind of looking forward to eating healthy again. I have had amazing success with a low-carb diet. I know, some of you reading this will exclaim, “No! You NEED carbs to LIVE!” Well, and that’s true, but I really don’t need quite so many as I have been eating. Maybe emotionally, I NEED carbs to LIVE, because a life without pasta and bread is very sad, indeed. My diet (I refuse to call it a “way of life,” see above reasoning) is only drastic for the first two weeks, and then I slowly start to add in “good” carbs, closely regulating my weight but mostly watching my waist shrink! Hopefully.

My health has always been more important to me than my weight. And so, unfortunately, has good food. I love food–cooking, sharing, eating. Which is also, perhaps, why it’s so easy for me to do a low-carb diet. You really have to cook when on this diet. Gone is the option to call for delivery or stop at a fast-food place for a quick dinner. You can’t grab a doughnut or a bagel first thing in the morning on a fast break. There are still a few low-carb options in the market, mostly Atkins, but you have to read the labels. I’m hesitant to put strange ingredients into my body, not to mention, a lot of “sugar alcohols” have very nasty side effects.

Instead, I cook. I get creative. I find recipes online using carb-free flour alternatives. I eat a LOT of salad and I drink a LOT of water. I pay very close attention to my body. The first few weeks are rough, with cravings and carb crash, but once I’m through, I barely even look back. And I feel great. I sleep better and I have more energy. You might even ask why I don’t stay on a low-carb diet permanently? Well, when I was on the diet previously, it took years before I was eating like I had been before. I was just a lot more conscious of what I was eating, even when I was making bad choices.

“Too Lazy” by ~JinWu on Deviantart

Ideally, I should also be exercising. I have more-or-less figured out that, even though I’m very active at work, and usually have to walk the mile home, this is an amount of activity that my body sees as “normal,” so it isn’t burning any extra calories. I need to add exercise to my schedule if I want to see better results. I have wiiFit, and I really enjoyed using that when I got it, but I haven’t touched it since I reached my weight goal back in 2009. (I know, I should have kept up on that, too.) The wiiFit isn’t ideal either, though, since I get next to no aerobic exercise from that. I mostly do the yoga and some of the light weight training exercises. So, I downloaded this app onto my phone called “Zombies, run!” It’s like a game you play, while running, where zombies can chase you, and the game will prompt you to run faster. You pick up items and you build a base when you’re done running. There’s a storyline and everything. I think it’s just the type of thing I could use to get me moving. Once it’s a little warmer outside, that is.

No way I’m running out in 30 degree weather.

from DeviantArt (click for user)


So, expect some updates from time to time on my diet experiences. And probably some reviews on low-carb food, because it’s food and I’ll be eating it.

Happy new year!


I’m a kinky kitten. But I am very, very inactive. Both of my romantic partners are vanilla, Red extremely so. Yellow is curious, at best; he enjoys impact play, and is content to let me experiment with him, but he is in no way interested in a serious, long-term D/s commitment. Also, he has disabilities which would make it difficult to do all the things I want to do with an s-type. Then, there’s my Boy. He has some true potential. If he lived closer, I’m sure I could train him to be a full-time house boy or a service dog. He has other kinks–I have to be sure he’s comfortable with me sharing them before I expound–and has the same natural devotion I see in Yellow, that makes them both such good companion pets. The only hitch in my Boy’s submission is that he does live so far away, and I only get to see him maybe a couple days out of the year, and even then, the time isn’t one-on-one like he deserves and truly needs in order to be trained into what I’d like him to be. Either way, in the end, he lives too far away for me to consider a 24/7 D/s relationship with him right now.

And anyway, I don’t only crave to be the D-type in the relationship. I am, completely and utterly, a cat. So, sure, I want to be in charge and I want to get things the way I want them and how and when, but I am after all a house cat, and I’d love a handler. I may, eventually, consider an owner. I had a Sir for a little over a year who was local, but over time, I saw him less and less and our time together was not as structured as I felt I deserved, so at the end of our year-long contract, I opted not to renew. But during my short stint as a submissive, I learned some things:

  • I love serving. It was my job to make dinner for Sir’s family, and I usually cleaned the kitchen a little while I was there. I absolutely loved it; having a purpose, having specific jobs for which I was responsible, and doing them well.
  • I enjoy bondage; specifically rope. I like being tied up all pretty, like a package. My favorite was the rope dress harness. I particularly enjoyed the types of bondage that had a purpose, like the types that included a lead or bridle. (Pet play, people!)
  • Impact play: it’s all about the thud for me. In BDSM, we have two words for describing what kind of impact play we enjoy: “thuddy” and “stingy.” I do not like stingy. I like thuddy. I like when it feels like the flogger might knock the wind out of me. It’s like a hardcore massage.
  • Perhaps the most important lesson I learned: I am not a masochist. I may have a submissive streak in me (I am a switch, after all), but anytime I submit my body to receive pain, it was not for my pleasure, but for my Sir’s. I liked to take as much pain I could take for his pleasure because as a sadist he enjoyed giving pain. This doesn’t mean that I didn’t want or didn’t like taking the pain. It was just not arousing for me. In fact, all of our play was (for me) nonsexual. I liked to take it so my Sir would be proud of me. I wanted to please my Sir, and that was what he wanted me to do, and it did not break any of my limits, so we did it.
  • Contracts. I was lucky enough to have a Sir that worked with my limits and never pushed me to try things I didn’t want to do. We sat down with Yellow present (as an uninvolved party with my safety in mind) and outlined a contract that suited us both.
  • I like structure and stability. Early in our relationship, I knew exactly what was expected of me every day from Sir. We had a schedule. I enjoyed it. I loved my training time with Sir and it pleased me to show how well I remembered how I was supposed to kneel, that I wasn’t supposed to sit on the furniture without permission; for a while, I really enjoyed feeling like I had an owner, and things were expected of me. I liked to be a good kitten. (I liked to be a bad kitten, too.) And when the structure crumbled, I felt lost and abandoned. I know I need it in any future D/s relationships I have.

After my relationship with Sir ended, I more or less pulled away from the local kink scene. I am painfully shy, and without someone to take me by the leash and lead me to events, I simply didn’t go. It wasn’t until much later that I started reintegrating, but being unpartnered in the kink scene is only fun for so long. I go to the occasional events, and sometimes Yellow and even Red join me, but I never have a scene or play with anybody. It’s partially that I don’t feel close enough to anyone, and also that I don’t just want a one-time play partner. I want a handler, maybe even an owner, who will give every day some structure.

This is the point where I am now. It’s been a couple years since I broke it off with my Sir, and I haven’t had any play since, not counting volunteering for rope demos and one experience with wax play. On most occasions, I am content to be a quiet cat in the corner of the room, sitting and experiencing scenes and relationships vicariously… but lately, I find I ache for the companionship. I, too, want someone to pet me and call me their good kitten. I want to fetch drinks and kneel at someone’s feet. I want that feeling of belonging to someone; belonging somewhere, with purpose. It’s a need so keen that just writing about it has made tears spring into my eyes.

I’m trying to take matters into my own hands this year. I’ve signed up for Submissive Playground, a learning program for s-types being launched by Sinclair Sexsmith, the published writer/teacher/blogger/Daddy who runs Sugarbutch Chronicles. It’s the first time I’ve ever spent money on myself for anything BDSM-related, and at first, I felt terrible buyer’s remorse. It’s hard to justify spending money on anything that isn’t beneficial to my family–food, home, entertainment. But it wasn’t long until I justified it, rightly, by realizing that this is the first step, for me, to reach peace with myself. I’m hoping that Submissive Playground will help me figure out exactly what I want as an s-type, how to ask for it, and how to find someone who can give it to me.

I also freely admit to harboring a huge crush on Sinclair.

Sinclair & Rife & a puppydog!

blatantly stolen from Sinclair’s Facebook

Submissive Playground is scheduled to take place for four weeks, starting in January. In February, I’ve also signed up to attend Dark Odyssey: Winter Fire. I’ve never, ever attended a convention by myself, and I’ve never, ever attended a kink convention. I am both terrified and excited. Mostly terrified. Hopefully, Submissive Playground will help me with that, too. Since I’m going without a scene partner, if I want to try anything at the convention, I’ll have to find a stranger and communicate with them. I know, that doesn’t sound too horrifying to most people, but to me it’s absolutely the worst thing ever imaginable.

If I’m home alone, with no food and no way to get out to get some, and I have to call for pizza I will literally go hungry in order to bypass talking to a stranger on the phone. I just don’t handle strangers well. I just don’t.

Which makes the whole convention thing (and, to an extent, Submissive Playground) scary.

But these steps are important for my kinky mental health, I realize that now. I need to spread my wings and stretch and see what I can do with them. Wish me luck.