In a sense I don’t belong – how can someone teeter tottering with asexuality say they belong at a sex party –

And yet, as I soaked in so many queers, lit up with being so iconically Themselves, my golden flesh popped to an illuminated chartreuse.

And yet, as I tongue wrestle with words, both bright and dim, with sucks and bites and laps,  I had a thought. An okay thought.

None of us belong. That’s the point. We are all subversions, with heart.


My body, the day after, is stained with a mosaic-pallete: pink dashes, holes, and a purple jaw line, leaving me feeling like a scratched lightbulb.

And I’m content with taking a step closer to a body I can feel at home with.

An interrogation room with a dingle dangling scratched lightbulb, and a table of comforting, potluck foods –

And it has been two years, kinda, four years really –

But, anyway, my sleepy cunt is just my sleepy cunt. I’m also carved-in thighs, branded tummy, a neck long and marred – and a jawline, my very own jawline,  with a mythical signature of me

lighting up


once again.


Feminism and Kink: Black, Blue, and Feminist

In the post-WWII gay scene there were two roles: top and bottom. These terms are coined from sexual positioning: top is defined by the penetrator (/giving) and bottom is defined by the penatratee (/receiving). As the gay leather scene became part of pop culture and an influence on all-kinksters the terms top and bottom  have been redefined to focus on specific activies such as sadomasochism, power-roles, bondage and restraints, and other fetishies.

I identify as a bottom with kinks that focus on submission and masochism.

I started exploring these interests five years ago in the digital scene and one of the first things I noticed was that there are a lot of ciswomen who are submissive. These observations were later renewed a year ago when I joined New York’s local/public scene. From a feminist perspective it is a bit distressing– has one of the things I hate the most (patriarchal oppression) infected one of the things I love the most (sex)?

The answer: very likely. Gender roles have taught me how I should dress, how I should speak, and also how I should behave in relationships. I know this because when someone in this society is raised as a female they are also raised to be calm, passive, obedient, maternal, and submissive. It seems pretty natural for that to internalize and for me to get off to being submissive.

The natural confusion that I keep on finding myself muddled in is how I can call myself a strong feminist when I’m a willing bottom. I’m still deconstructing these two identities however, so far, I gather that I can be a strong feminist and bottom because I do such in a consensual manner and because I feel empowered when I bottom.

First, I know that I choose to bottom. Consenting to bottoming isn’t anti-feminist because it is flexing the ability that the feminist prior to me fought for me to have. I have a platform to express and actualize sexual interests and this is evidence of feminism’s progress.

Second, I enjoy bottoming for many reasons but what is relative to this discussion is that bottoming and especially masochism makes me feel empowered. My masochistic experiences have led me to being belittled, degraded, raped, beaten, etc– in general by the end of the scene my power is taken away from me. And yet having these experiences make me feel powerful. When my weak points are hit(both literally and not) and I survive I know what my potential is. I know that there is a lot of internalized strength inside of me and I know that I can handle what life dishes out to me.


Right now there are brown dashes on the inside of my shoulder. A pink and violet femme bruise pulsating out of my white tit. The opposing tit being decorated with pale pink fading scars.   Brown and pink angular lines down my hipbones giving perfect direction to the thin landing strip my cunt is currently wearing. On the edges of both my thighs are tan bruises and then a matching one on the left cheek of my ass and yet I’m still tempted to take that ass and bend it over someone’s lap —I say it so vaguely but you know I have an idea on who– while my face bends down my mouth gapes open and that ass gets rouge, salmon, lavender, grape, magenta, onyx, tan, lime, maroon, pink, neon striped, hand-printed, scarlet blood drying into crusty brown beatings. And with them come squeaks, whimpers, moans, screams, maybe, but then growls.

Did any fingerprints make indents in my ass? Can my ass be the next set of CSI? Is my ass colorful enough to be included in your impressionist art gallery?

Does my ass challenge you? Scare you?

Do my jutting collarbones seem like a juxtaposition? Did you expect different result when you saw how close my spine is to my skin? Did you not think something would be inside these b-cup tits and timid lips?

I can take it. You don’t know what I can take. The anger is recognizable and lashing out. I have a white and pink fleshy map to prove that I’m not “chill”. That I hear what you said about me, right outside of my door, that I feel it when you take your crunchy echo-y stomps into every corner of my space, that I know that every time you told me ‘don’t worry, I love you’ you were giving me (toxic for some, but not me) lies– I’m quiet not imaginary.

You may never hear my thoughts but you will hear my screams and growls.


To continue my motif of confessions, I am extremely active in the kink community in New York City. I been part of the kink lifestyle for six years now; however, just joined the local community last September.

Previously to joining the scene I was in a long-term M/s relationship and intimacy was our mutual feeding ground. We trusted each other, loved each other, and exhibited it in our kink. I trusted him to create a slavery that was beneficial to him and not self-destructive to me. I gave him my vulnerability in hope that he can create something beautiful with it.

The physical kinks that we dabbled in was nothing to really brag about; however, the psychological paths that he pushed me on were definitely something I’m proud of undertaking.

As a slave I pushed my timid self to an uncharacteristic level of openness. I pushed my character to develop in order to benefit the relationship and my Master.  I gave my body to someone else, I maintained it but it was his to dress, restrict, indulge. I had to give up my boundaries. His protocols recreated my daily schedule and lifestyle to center around my slavery.

But, after I left that relationship and really plunged myself into the NYC scene my play shifted to become more on the physical side and less on the interpersonal and intimate side. Intimacy has been accidental. Endorphins have been the goal. My experiences and observations have shown that the scene is filled with casual play and casual fucks. It has not been a vessel for intimacy.

Last April at a play party I realized how absurd this is. I was being beaten. Hard. With hands mostly but occasionally a cane. My body was handling the endorphins strangely, for me, I started crying, which I never really do. I didn’t really know why. I mean, I was battered, but I knew I could take more. But, I have discussed and listened to enough conversations about pain to know it is normal to happen when there is a lot of endorphins going on. I was probably falling into subspace, something that I also rarely allow myself to go into.

My Top was okay with me crying and so was I, I think I liked it even, so we carried on. Well, when the crying was turning a bit hysterical and I felt subspace crawling up my spine I realized I never pushed crying so far, and never been in this emotional state with any partner at all. I realized that though I have been casual friends since last September with my Top I did not really know him– so I stopped the scene.

I stopped the scene because it was getting too intimate. I did not want intimate. I just wanted play.

This entire attitude completely contradicts my previous experience with kink. In my M/s relationship the goal was to completely eradicate all barriers and allow him to be as intimate with me as possible. The relationship was about allowing him deeper and deeper in my psyche and manipulating it to produce the kind of slave that he wanted. The relationship was 24/7, it didn’t stop. It was about me fully exposing myself to someone else.

And now that is gone. Now I have pleasure (which includes painful pleasure) but I don’t have intimacy. Now my kink is about endorphin exchange but has no goal outside of the moment it exists. My goal now is to go in, come out, and keep my emotions unscathed.

I’m in a community now that is about fast-paced relations where, to be quite honest, it is quite easy to get some play or even get a fuck. Also, nearly everyone is nonmonogamous so there isn’t really any competition.  There is no deeply emotionally seated hunt, it isn’t like you have to flirt with every potential-SO in your Chemistry class, or sit on okcupid for a week, or go bar-hopping all night in order to find a way to get some action.

I been regularly going to parties and events in the scene for ten months now and I haven’t seen a lot of M/s relationships  in the scene. I think it is because the M/s dynamics contradict a lot of the casualty of the NYC scene. I think this is because a) the scene is filled with   quick paced casual play and  b) the normality in the scene is to have enough play partners that a dance card can be or is organized before going to an event– these two things make it extremely difficult for a couple, triad, or some other relationship format to exchange  sophisticated attention towards each other, which keeps relationship building slow and often static.

I have enough play partners where if asked I wouldn’t even know how many off the top of my head and would have to spend a bit counting and remembering and possibly forgetting someone. When I just joined this scene this worked for me because what I wanted was causality. I just left a very serious relationship. I didn’t want to spend time with someone who would matter if they left. But the play became flat. And meaningless. And something that my play partner could probably do to someone else and care just as much. And I don’t feel special or significant. And using people for an endorphin rush is a lonely way to spend time. And I want to expose myself fully. And I want someone to nurture my submission. And I want to learn how to be the best slave that I can be. But I can’t do that in the culture of the scene.

So I’m not going to that many play parties, and I’m going to cut down my play partners, and try to spend more time with the ones I have, and learn about them, and expose myself, and do something that I believe to be beyond sadomasochistic endorphin-exchange because with intimacy comes significance.