Dressing for your body type: Part 1

 Posted by on August 3, 2011
Aug 032011
 

By Nina Love

I’ve noticed that fetish fashion tends to be timeless. Let me explain. I’ve been in “the scene” for just about ten years. Fashion – main stream fashion that is – has changed, changed again, and again…and then changed back. Hemlines get shorter and shorter until your skirt is nothing more than a belt. Then, they work their way back down to your ankles. Fetish fashion, however, hasn’t changed much over the last decade. Hemlines and silhouettes don’t change and the materials stay the same. Another thing that has stayed basically the same? My body type. I’m curvy, I’ve always been curvy; I probably always will be curvy.

No matter how many times I try on that short, tight fitting mini skirt, it just still doesn’t look right. And, well, in a community where showing skin is not only accepted, it’s expected, why shouldn’t I strut that mini? Truth be told – it just doesn’t look good. In fact, it takes my naturally curvy figure and turns it into a bag of lumps.

Dressing for your body type isn’t hard; It just takes a bit of homework, a tape measure, a full length mirror and a bit of closet purging. I have one objective when I step into my closet to get ready for a fetish party. That is, I want to come out feeling good about myself. Two things make that possible. When I look in the mirror I need to see: 1) my smooth voluptuous curves – not rolls of fat and; 2) an hourglass silhouette.

Since the beginning of fashion, women have been pursuing the perfect body. The idea of that perfect body changes occasionally, but the timeless affection for hourglass figures seems to have stuck around. That is, after all, the original reason for the corset. But I sometimes feel like we have missed the mark on fetish fashion. Instead of wearing clothing that makes us feel good about ourselves and helps us express our inner perv, we give into perv pressure. We wear what every other kinkster out there is wearing, because – well that is what we are suppose to do. There seems to be some fear that if you are not wearing a skin tight latex dress, a corset or a crinoline skirt you might not be let into the dungeon. I am here to confess to you that if your body type is not made for that latex dress then you look just as silly as the guy wearing the cardigan sweater.

Probably everyone – scratch that, as I have NEVER met anyone who thought they had the perfect body – everyone has some, usually misguided, concern about a specific body part or that their body in general is flawed. And probably everyone thinks that there are other people out there that indeed do have the perfect body. The truth is, most of us have an amazing and beautiful piece of art that we call our body. Another truth is that every woman’s body is different and every woman’s body has flaws and assets.

The key to showing off your work of art, regardless of your size or flaws is to gain a better understanding of your flaws (and assets) and to dress for your body type. There are four basic body types: The pear, the rectangle, the inverted triangle, and the hourglass. Of course there are dozens of sub categories, mostly named after more geometric shapes or fruit – as if a being an apple is better than being a circle or being a strawberry is better than being an inverted triangle. What is really important is that we take a good look at ourselves in the mirror and come to terms with our flaws, admit to our assets and work with our body type.

Next time: The Rectangle.

Queer Identity #2

 Posted by on August 2, 2011
Aug 022011
 

By Shanna Katz

This month’s Out of the Box identity is another look at a different person’s Queer identity. Krystal Marie is a recent college graduate who has been kind enough to share with us her take on her Queer identity, as well as the intersections that come with her other identities.

This interview is about your QUEER identity…What are some other identities of yours:

Daughter, sister, friend, (mostly) cisgendered, feminist, Greek, 1st-generation college graduate.

Define your queer identity – what does it mean to you, how long have you had this identity, how was the process of getting there?

I have identified as queer now for almost three years. My process getting
there has been a lot of ups and downs. In my sorority, we have an entire class devoted to learning about privileges and identities and we go through and share whatever identities we’d like others to know about. I have identified as: bisexual, pansexual, non-sexual, sexual, fluid and finally came into realization that I am QUEER about three years ago. Queer means to me that I exist outside of any type of “norm” and go to lengths to disassociate myself from binaries and heterosexism. It also encompasses my activism and social justice side nicely, because then it gives me an opportunity to educate lots of people about what queer actually is.

Talk about some of the language surrounding this identity – what terms do you like/dislike?

For me, I use queer mostly when talking to my friends who understand what it fully means or when I have the time to fully educate someone. If it is in passing or someone from a class or an acquaintance, I usually interchange the term with “gay”. It doesn’t bother me, since I know how I actually am.

What are some common questions you get about this identity? How do you answer them and how do they make you feel?

The most common question is honestly, “what does that mean” or “isn’t that offensive?” To the first question, it requires explanation and the second requires more of a slight history lesson in regards to the word and its usage today. I try and answer all questions, because I always like transferring knowledge. It doesn’t really bother me when people ask.

What are some of the positives of having this identity?

I think this identity is very far-reaching. It encompasses a lot of aspects and when I’m with others within the LGBTQ community, a lot of the time they also understand what queer can mean.

What are some of the struggles that have come along with this identity?

My struggles are mainly with those older “gays” who can’t quite wrap their heads around a “Q” and stick to the LGBT spectrum. It is hard to feel validated in a room full of older people who do not respect or have a firm understanding of what my identity means to me. I also go back and forth with telling my parents – they see me as
mostly “gay” since I have not informed them of my queer identity, and I’m not quite sure they would even get it if I explained it to them.

How does this identity fit or not fit with your other identities?

This identity fits in just fine; it seems to make me acutely aware for whatever reason of my other identities and how they intersect.

What else do you want people to know about this identity?

I want people to know that this identity is just as valid and sacred as any other identity. This identity is always shifting and evolving and will never mean exactly the same thing to every single person. Also, this identity is not the only identity a person can have.

Looking At Life Through Kink Colored Lenses

 Posted by on July 28, 2011
Jul 282011
 

By Jay Morgan

The dance floor was filled with pumping legs, gyrating hips, short spandex skirts, and high heels. Booths and tables were littered with an array of couples; some young, some obviously in the “looking to spice things up” phase of their relationship.

Sitting on a bar stool next to my life partner, Georgia, we sipped our drinks casually. The music pelted a deep, throbbing beat from the jukebox, a husky voiced Latin singer ruminating about a lost love. As we observed the other patrons, we continued a perennial conversation; guessing which couples might be kinky, and which couples were on the brink of a breakup.

Just like every bar, Georgia gets a lot of head turns, and glances from the guys, and girls. We noticed that too many were stealing glances without their wife, girlfriend, or boyfriend noticing.

All too often kinky, sex positive, or swinger folks seem to think everyone they meet is comfortable about talking about sex and sexuality. It is kind of like when one is under the influence of mushrooms; everyone you meet is experiencing the same mind bending hallucinations.

This is a scenario I have encountered several times when Georgia and I are out having drinks with friends. We are, to say modestly, run of the mill attractive people. Not model good looking of course, but height-weight proportional, and we have all our teeth. When the liquor flows, the people around us loosen up, and we notice the leers, the stares, and the passive aggressive touching.

The unspoken rules of etiquette at a bar or social setting are inverse to the spoken and widely acknowledged rules at a kink event. Touching without asking is frowned upon at a bar, however. Sometimes even speaking to another person will start a fight between two drunken fools, or jealousy will fester like a cold sore between a couple.

Georgia and I had an experience recently that demonstrated this. A guy was dancing with Georgia and copped a feel. Georgia was amused and steered the situation well. That same night, girls were pawing at her and telling how hot she is, and how lovely her legs are.

As we mingled with our friends, we wanted to scream out to them. “Its okay to appreciate a hot body from afar, but be honest about it”

Georgia and I enjoy being appreciated, and we like to flirt. But it does not mean we are wanting to take that person home, tie them up, and dive deep into the furried delights between a lovely lady’s legs.

The mystery of not having an intimate encounter with that person is more of a turn on than actually doing anything more with them.

I made the remark that there needs to be some sort of superhero who can appear at times like this and let people know how to handle situations where sex and alcohol become a destructive mixture.

How many fights could be prevented if there were?

Imagine a masked superhero appearing in a cloud of smoke, cape fluttering amongst the crescendo of baritones. Slapping away the tension and replacing their drinks with condom-sense. Perhaps this is a job for a dynamic duo of sex positive perception.

Anyone got a cape?

Egon Schiele: self, art and the erotic

 Posted by on July 27, 2011
Jul 272011
 

By Erin Fae

There must have been something in the coffee in Austria at the start of the last century. Maybe the models were different in their poses, inspiration and influence. Whatever it was, so much of the work produced by members of the Vienna Secession makes me swoon. However, no artist of this age touches me so viscerally and sensually as Egon Schiele.

Egon Schiele (1890-1918) breaks my heart. I’m forever trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about the prolific artist and his short life. Is it the potential for what he could have done had he lived longer than 28? Maybe it’s the controversy he and his work faced while he was alive. More likely, it is the work itself.

Schiele created drawings and paintings. Oil and gouache on cardboard and canvas. Charcoal, black crayon and thin layers of watercolor on paper. Early in his career, he sought out Gustav Klimt who saw potential and made Schiele his protégé.

Like Klimt, Schiele made stunning gestural drawings of women masturbating, but what makes Schiele unique is the raw eroticism that runs throughout all his work. His work seems equally realistic and interpretative, even with its elongated, stretched, and subverted explorations of the human body.

Of all his work, its Schiele’s women I find the most alluring. Look through a monograph of his work and you might find Two Girls on a Fringed Blanket, both staring, one with her skirt hiked up and her leg crossed across her companion, revealing her garters and stockings. Maybe a drawing of a reclining young woman with her leg raised, her body slightly contorted, revealing swirls of pubic hair. There are the many portraits of his lover, Wally, who always seems to be ready to pause in a different seductive pose. All of his models, regardless of gender, seem to stare back at him with fierce intensity.

He also produced a great deal of self-portraits. While these works generally match his likeness as seen in photographs, these portraits lend a glimpse at the ways Schiele envisioned and imagined himself—a self -exploration of erotic and sensual depth. Both vulnerable and commanding, he stares at himself (or the viewer) with the same seductive glances he so often finds in his models.

Ultimately, what stands out about Schiele’s work isn’t the subject matter, but the quality of his lines and brush strokes. This, more than the women with their legs beautifully splayed and hands exploring their own depths, is what makes the work so exquisitely sensual. His architectural paintings or landscapes can be as sexy as his figures. The approach Schiele took with his works is that of passion, eroticism, and a unique interpretation of forms.

Schiele was arrested in 1912 for allegedly seducing a teenager, but when the police came to arrest him, they seized 100s of drawings. Charges of abduction were dropped, but Schiele spent time in jail for exhibiting “pornographic” work where minors might have access. The judge burned one of his drawings in the court room.

Still, today, many people find the bulk of his work off-putting and too provocative. What is too provocative? That is what I want to know. Maybe it’s that undeniable sensuality that makes people feel uncomfortable. To truly appreciate Schiele is to make oneself vulnerable and engage with the aesthetic and the sensual.

If you can, someday do yourself a special sensual favor: go to the Neue Galerie and drink a coffee at Café Sabarsky. You’ll be transported. It is a time travel place, and you might find yourself taking a pen to the receipt and drawing a bit. Maybe it’s the fact that the space feels like you’ve sitting in another era, in another country….or maybe there’s still something they put in the coffee.

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Of Travelling Vulvas and Satellite Radio

 Posted by on July 26, 2011
Jul 262011
 

By Robin Mandell

Looking back, it seems that I was always destined to become a sex educator. If my interest in sex wasn’t enough of an indication, my passion for social justice and equal access for all people should have given me a clue. I remember, as a high school student, being baffled by homophobia. It just didn’t make sense! Common sense was paramount to me; I remember one strange conversation in which a friend expressed disgust at the idea of her parents having sex, and I merely shrugged my shoulders, claiming it was only logical that they would. I was a fairly naïve girl, but I soaked up information like a sponge—I read every sex-ed book in the school library—and I intuitively understood that sexual “difference” wasn’t gross and that sexuality was natural. I never got “the talk” from my parents, skipped the grade where they told us what sex is, and wound up learning from peer conversations (bad idea) and the aforementioned reading.

My journey into the sexual light really started with a “travelling vulva” and a sex educator. The travelling vulva was nothing more than a tam–a woolen hat with a pompom on top–and the sex educator was none other than the owner of a feminist sex toy store in Toronto, teaching a sex toy workshop at a college. As she addressed the group, explaining the form and function of vagina, urethra, clitoris, and other parts of female anatomy, our hands tented and folded the fabric of the hat to create the map of the vulva–the pompom, of course, was the clitoris.

I was eighteen. It was my first year at college. I was away from home for the first time. And yes, I previously had no idea where my clitoris was, let alone what it could do. Looking back, I know that was the best $20 I could have spent.

My fascination continued, with college courses in gender and sexuality, and lots of reading. I became a frontline worker for a sexual assault crisis line. It was difficult, educational, and ultimately rewarding work. I heard all about the nasty side, the abuse of power through sex. I talked to women, and sometimes men, hearing their stories which they told, sometimes, for the very first time. Sometimes, it killed my spirit a tiny bit to hear this pain. Still, I knew how important this work was, and it never occurred to me that I could ever work with people on the affirming parts of sexuality.

My world blossomed in unexpected ways. I performed in my college’s production of the Vagina Monologues, and got to say the “C word” in a venerable old building in front of hundreds of people. I met a transgender woman for the first time. I studied everything from First Nations literature, to cognitive psychology, to queer identities. I became disillusioned–not seeing my own experience as a disabled woman reflected in literature supposed to support equality. I got married. I moved to a new country. In short, I lived.

Then I heard the voice of a feminist sex educator again, this time on satellite radio. I was entranced by her humor, her sassiness, and her unparalleled knowledge on the topic of sex. Her frank information-sharing taught me more about human sexuality, and my own body, than I’d ever realized. I followed her radio appearances, and other work, doggedly, buying her book, joining her Facebook page, and generally engaging in fangirl behavior. Through circumstances too convoluted to list here, she became my mentor. She convinced me that I, too, could be a sex educator.

For a while I sold sex toys and taught people about sexy things. The demo toys kept piling up, though, and I decided I was more of an educator than a salesperson. These days you’ll find me writing in my blog, figuring out what comes next, working on other writing projects, and teaching short, free tele-classes–what I like to call bite-sized sex ed. I believe that the topic of pleasure belongs in all sexuality discussions, and I learn and talk about everything from solo sex to sexuality and people with disabilities.

Guest Educator Biography:

Robin is a feminist sex educator and toy maven based in the Washington D.C. area. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Women’s Studies from Queen’s University in Canada and currently studies professional writing. Through her blogs and tele-classes,Robin is committed to making pleasure-based sex education fun, comprehensible, and accessible. She believes that sexual pleasure and empowerment are a birthright for everyone. Sometimes, though, she just wants to discuss theoretical concepts like gender fluidity and the understanding of power dynamics. She has developed a passion for starting dialogues on sex and disability, and has come to the realization that, as much as she just wants to be like everybody else, she can use her visible reality as a blind woman to start these dialogues. When not writing or talking about gender and sexuality, Robin enjoys practicing yoga, singing, watching live music, cooking, walking the dogs, and spending time with friends.

Web site: http://www.robinstoynest.com

Twitter: robinstoynest

Super Sex Bugs

 Posted by on July 25, 2011
Jul 252011
 

By T.M. Bernard

Medically speaking, we all knew it was bound to happen; new strains of gonorrhea, a sexually transmitted bacterial infection, have developed that are non-responsive to antibiotic treatment.

For years, we’ve heard of other bacterial bugs becoming resistant to conventional modern medicine, and now our loins are the battlefront.

It’s disquieting information about the second most common STD in the United States; Score one for the bacterium, zero for our sex lives. Because a Sex Superbug – so named because it means the bacteria is essentially immune to all known antibiotics – raises the public health specter, especially in our modern day and age where long-term mutually monogamous relationships appear to be going the way of the Do-Do bird.

A Gonorrhea Backgrounder

First, a refresher course in the basics of the disease that infects an estimated 700,000 a year in the US alone; in 2009, 300,000 cases were reported to the CDC, but the experts believe infections are grossly under-reported. Gonorrhea grows and multiples in the warm, moist areas of the reproductive tract, including the cervix, uterus and fallopian canals in women, and in the urethra in women and men. It can also infect the mouth, throat, heart valves, eyes, and anus. It’s spread through contact with the penis, vagina, mouth, or anus.

Men do not have to ejaculate to spread the disease to others. One of the fastest growing groups of infected people are young women ages 15-19, though babies can get it from mothers, and the over 50 crowd are coming down with venereal diseases in greater numbers too.

An often-symptomless STD, men with gonorrhea may present with signs of infection up to two weeks after contracting it. These include a burning sensation while urinating, a white, yellow or green discharge from the penis, or swollen testicles. It can also cause a painful condition of the ducts attached to the testicles that can lead to male infertility.

In women, the symptoms are more minor or non-specific, but the complications include pelvic inflammatory disease (PID), regardless of the severity of the infection. PID damages the fallopian tubes enough to also cause infertility or ectopic pregnancy (also life-threatening).

Some additional icky tidbits: Gonorrhea infections of the rectum include discharge, anal itching, soreness, bleeding, or painful bowel movements. Infections in the throat may cause a sore throat, but usually causes no symptoms, and recently, it was reported that health experts in Australia found two cases in which patients with gonorrhea of the throat didn’t respond to standard treatment.

In extreme cases, it can spread to the blood or joints. People with gonorrhea are more vulnerable to the HIV virus. Medications will not repair any permanent damage done by the disease, and people can get re-infected.

Deterrence in the New Sex Age

In a way, what’s old is new again; decades ago, the discovery of penicillin revolutionized how venereal diseases were handled (during WWII, ‘VD’ was a major public health crisis), but today, only one class of antibiotics, the cephalosporins, are still effective against gonorrhea. Deterrence in the new sex age may take bolder steps beyond multi-pronged treatment options, practicing safer sex, taking medicines as prescribed and finding new cures.

Susan Crain Bakos, an author and sex educator, spared no punches in her recent blog on super bugs and super marriages. Her recommendation – everyone, including self-declared monogamous and married couples, need a full STD panel every year; only a clean bill of sexual health demonstrates full sexual maturity.

Short of abstinence, the experts recommend the proper use of latex condoms, and total transparency with regards to sexual history and health status. Are we facing a doomsday scenario yet? Not likely, but gonorrhea has a history of being a challenge to eradicate, and considering the consequences to individual and public health, Crain’s suggestion are spot on. No one is immune, regardless of age, relationship status or sexual history, which means that we are all responsible to keep sex safer and reduce the proliferation of these Sex Superbugs.

Aching to Serve

 Posted by on July 24, 2011
Jul 242011
 

By Sarah Sloane

Dear Sarah,

I identify as a slave in a full-time Master/slave dynamic with a strong service component to our relationship. I also suffer from chronic pain which has persisted over a year and escalated in the last few months. There is currently no foreseeable end in sight with my illness and I have yet to find an effective treatment for relief, although some days are better than others. As a result, I am not able to serve my owner in the ways I was previously able. I understand that my owner decides the level of service that is required of me, but I struggle with comparing myself to the slave I was, or the slave I could be if I wasn’t in pain. Although this has not happened yet, I can see how it can be easy to use my illness as an excuse to not push myself and become lazy with the lowered service expectations.

How can a Master/slave relationship continue build on a service dynamic during difficult times?

Thanks,

Aching to serve

Dear Aching,

Your email affected me profoundly; as someone who has had ongoing pain issues for years, I sympathize with the frustration of being unable to do what you want to do in order to be fully present to your Master. I also appreciate your level of self-awareness and your desire to not become complacent with a lesser level of service.

It’s important for everyone who is in service to remember what you stated in your email: that the person who accepts & directs your service is the person responsible for deciding what is appropriate and what is “good enough”. Most service oriented bottoms are far harder on themselves internally than any dominant could ever be; I have yet to meet someone who is passionate about service that believes that they do everything “good enough” all the time. The challenge with that mindset is that it can be just as defeating as it can be inspiring; reaching for our best is a wonderful thing, but the stress that we experience when we feel like we constantly don’t meet unrealistic expectations can take an emotional (and physical!) toll on us.

The most important thing to start with is maintaining (or developing) a consistent, honest awareness of what your abilities are for each day (or during the day, if your pain or fatigue changes throughout it), and communicating that to your partner in a way that leaves the decisions up to them. Stating it clearly – and without glossing over your pain or overstating it – and then relying on them to direct you accordingly is your primary job. You are not responsible for their feelings around it, and you are not responsible for being a “super slave”.

Think of it as you’d think of your budget. If you are responsible for maintaining the checking & credit card accounts, and you’re asked what the available balance is, giving them the accurate balance means that they can then decide how to spend the money. If you overstate the balance – telling them there is $500 when there’s only $100 – they will then spend more money than what’s available, and end up putting the account into negative numbers, which then requires even more work (and money) to rectify. If you understate it, they may feel the stress of scarcity where none exists. In either case, once they find out that you’ve been withholding information, they may begin to doubt you in other ways.

The other thing that I would suggest as a starting point is having a discussion where you and your Master can create a list of “fall back” service tasks; things that you can do when you have very limited ability to do your usual work. These can be tasks that you can do when your energy is very low, you’re having trouble focusing, or you’re in discomfort that keeps you from completing your other tasks. This may require some creative thinking over time for you both – we tend to go for the obvious tasks as ways to offer service, but there can be many other ways that you can serve your Master with distinction.

Perhaps you can work on a larger project that can be done in small bursts of work, like cataloguing the books & music. Maybe you can serve by supervising or directing other people that can help with the work that needs to be done. It may be that you can find other ways to complete your usual responsibilities, like using a massager to work on your Master’s aching back rather than your own hands. You may even find that your service would be improved by taking on a slightly different role as a slave – perhaps more of a companion and personal service slave and less of a household slave.

Regardless of how you and your Master structure your work around your day to day abilities, remember one thing: you serve from your heart and soul, and regardless of whether you are able to do everything that you wish you could do, your attitude and willingness to be consistently of service to your owner are what will, in the end, be most valuable to them.

The Great Divide

 Posted by on July 23, 2011
Jul 232011
 

By Bex vanKoot

Transgenderism in Myth, Part One

In our modern North American mythology, gender is often characterized as clear cut. A man has a penis, a woman has a vagina; these physical characteristics, we are told, define our existence, our priorities, our bodies and our minds, our roles in life and in love. We have it drilled into our heads early on that women think and act in one way and men another, and ne’er the twain shall meet.

Something is missing from our modern mythos, even among neo-pagan practitioners where the God and the Goddess are supposed to represent the be-all and end-all of spiritual forces. Transgendered individuals and groups have long been seeking out these secrets from our past, the patron gods and goddesses who defied traditional gender and showed us that there is a crack in our notions of the physical body.

Duality is a myth. The universe is more complex than the either/or mentality and our ancient ancestors knew this truth that we have let fall by the wayside with so many disenfranchised youth, ostracized for existing outside of this gender dichotomy.

Handsome Hermaphrodite

Probably the most widely invoked (if not well-known) transgendered deity of the modern era comes to us from classical Greek mythology. Hermaphrodite, as we know hir was actually born Hermaphroditus, son of love goddess Aphrodite and winged messenger Hermes. Legend has it that he was a remarkably handsome young man who was raised by nymphs. When he ventured out into the world, he quickly stumbled upon a fountain where he encountered the nymph Salmacis.

Salmacis was a bit of a gender stereotype herself, having rejected joining the hunt with Goddess Artemis and refusing to pick up a weapon or an instrument, she instead chose to live a simple life, bathing herself and gazing at her own image in a fountain. When Hermaphroditus came upon her, she fell into a deep lust for the beautiful young man and threw herself at him, only to be rejected. When the boy was convinced she had scampered off, he disrobed to bathe in her pool and she pounced on him, wrapping herself around him and begging the gods that they never part. Her wish was granted and the two became one, “a creature of both sexes” with both the virility of the masculine and the beauty of the feminine.

Hermaphrodite, as ze was known from then on, became a minor deity of bisexuality, effeminacy, sexuality and fertility, representing both the union of two sexes and those who existed outside of the dual divide.

Prior to the creation of this myth, Aphrodite was sometimes worshipped as a bearded, phallus-bearing but shapely and feminine transgendered deity of love, with a full beard and by the name Aphroditus. Worshippers would gather and give sacrifice to the moon – a creature of both the masculine sun and the feminine earth – by swapping clothes and taking on the guise of the opposite gender.

Dionysus Dancing

It is Dionysus however who shines as the “patron god of hermaphrodites and transvestites”. While early images of the god depicted him as an old, bearded, robed man he quickly morphed into a young, handsome and effeminate youth baring his full naked body to the world. He is known by many as The Liberator, accompanied by wild women, satyrs and other half-animal half-human creatures. He and his followers would indulge in wine, music and frenzied dance to free them of their inhibitions and fears, subverting any kind of societal oppression. Myths from Macedonia tell that he may have been raised as a girl. As such the Maenads (wild women) were led by a man who would wear female dress and take on the part of Dionysus himself.

Becoming Baphomet

The Lord of Perversions is a mysterious figure, though hir roots may in fact be in Dionysus himself. Ze is first mentioned in written texts by Christians who painted him as the pagan devil-god, a hermaphrodite: large-breasted and phallic-endowed, horned, goat-footed and winged. Hir priestesses have been depicted with their robes open, baring naked breasts and vulva with a heavy bearded face.

While the name Baphomet probably comes from either Greek or Arabic roots, suggesting the meaning “baptized in wisdom”, hir rites have almost disappeared into antiquity and most of what is practiced now are newly-imagined contemporary. This is the new face of transgendered rites, the presence of the shape-shifter and gender-bender in modern queer pagan culture, unashamed and completely self-realized. We could all learn a lesson from these deities of androgynous sexuality.

And So Much More!

Next month we’ll explore myths from other cultures outside the classic Western realm – Asia, India and Native American (North and Central) tribes. Stay tuned!

Agley Play

 Posted by on July 22, 2011
Jul 222011
 

By Graydancer

At the recent Fusion event put on by Dark Odyssey, I was to do a demonstration for a class of how to do a slow, hot, sexy rope scene. Because, after all, I’m totally qualified to show others how it’s done, right? (“Bris is the name, Hugh Bris”). I had stacked the deck in my favor by enlisting the delicious Naughty Em as my demo bottom, though, exploiting her weakness for leather and cock by wearing sexy leather boots and thin wrap-style pants, the kind that tie in front and in back and allow easy access. Topping off the domly ensemble was a sleeveless “Boston Rope” t-shirt. Sort of a “Mark Yu, Leatherman” ensemble.

As I began the scene Em slipped very quickly into that endorphin-cycle haze of neurochemicals we call “rope space.” Her clothes were soon gone, hemp had been tightly and slowly applied in all the right places, and a blade was in my hand, about to trace its sharp edge across her skin. As I was stepping around her I felt my foot catch on something. Looking down, I realized I was standing on the fabric of my pants.

“Oh,” I thought, “My pants leg came untucked.” These were loose pants, it was easy enough to imagine. But that was a drawstring tie down there that my boot was catching on. The tie that secured the back of my pants.

At that point that I realized that I was standing in front of the class with my ass hanging out of the back of my pants, half of which had fallen off without my noticing.

“No problem,” I thought. “You look goofy, but just undo the front and fling them off with wanton domly abandon.” My fingers quickly undid the front tie and attempted the fling – at which point I realized my pants were still quite securely tucked into my boots. Rather than fluttering sensually across the tent, my pants ended up in a clump around my ankles.

“OK, Gray. You’re standing in a t-shirt with your pants around your ankles in front of a class watching you demonstrate how to do hot rope. Not sexy. Options?” A Terminator-like menu of options dropped down in my mind, and I selected “Full Nudity” as preferable to “Scream ‘Fire!’ and Run” or “Use Evan’s Beard as a Merkin.” That meant the t-shirt had to go.

But I had a knife in one hand and an Em in the other. How to get the shirt off? Channelling my inner pirate, I put the knife in my mouth and pulled the shirt off my head with one arm.

Of course this knocked the knife out of my mouth and into the tangle of shirt as it was going over my head. It’s a good blade, a Scott Paul design, and really sharp. Sharp enough that I didn’t notice as it cut my bicep when the shirt came off. Somehow I managed to snag the blade back before tossing the garment away with the aforementioned wanton domly abandon.

Naked save for boots and pants around my ankles. Bleeding, too, though I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I could feel my Domly Power Level dropping quickly. However, I still had the knife in one hand, Em in the other, and a class that, if not enraptured by the hotness of the scene, was at least very interested in seeing how it all turned out. I decided that if I untucked just one pants leg, I would have enough mobility to finish off the scene. Grabbing Em by the back of the neck, I forced her lips to my boot, and set about freeing myself outside her field of view.

That’s when I saw the blood. A single drop, appearing on the lovely swell of white skin just to the side of her breast, under the lines of tight hemp.

Blood. Unplanned blood, and in fact, blood that I had not reference point for. Mine? Hers? “Blood…” I muttered, and I must have sounded confused, because Evan helpfully stage-whispered across the tent “You cut your arm!”

I looked down at my bicep, and sure enough, there it was, a thin incision, about an inch long, seeping blood. A quick wipe was all it took to staunch it…but that meant that now my hand was now a biohazard.

Naked in boots, trailing a pants leg, with a knife in one hand and a biohazard on the other, bleeding from a self-inflicted wound in front of a group of fairly experienced kinksters.

That’s some hot sexy rope, alright.

I finished the scene. By the end of it the pedagogical part of my mind had already spun it into “…and this is how you continue through even when unexpected things happen during the scene” to close the class with some modicum of…well, dignity was probably out of the question, but perhaps panache would suffice. I take some pride in the fact that Naughty Em only noticed that at a certain point my clothes were gone – the rest of the mishaps went entirely unnoticed.

And that’s the point, right? To have a good scene with the person you’re with? The series of unfortunate events doesn’t mean I’m a bad dom, any more than getting through them means that I’m a good one. I am simply Gray, and what happens happens and I just do my best whether things go exactly as planned or gang aft agley. Em and I are already hoping to do some more “agley play” soon.

That’s the point, I think. If it’s not personal evolution, or higher consciousness, or mind-blowing orgasm, it’s at least to get to the end of the scene and say “Yeah. I want to do more.” More of the same, or more of the different, it doesn’t matter – just that you’re willing to try again. That’s the reason we continue to fling hopes and heart’s desire against the rocks of new shores, looking for that soft beach of welcome that becomes the soul’s home. The kinky path is one of embracing your passion, if not fearlessly then at least enthusiastically.

Gang aft agley, my friends, and gang aft with gusto.

Behind the Veil

 Posted by on July 21, 2011
Jul 212011
 

By DNGG

I am having an identity crisis….there I’ve said it. Recently, there’s been a lot going on in my life; there’s my academic obligations, some growing kink commitments, and now a foray into the world of sex work. For a person that’s always had a pretty firm grasp on who she thinks she is, balancing out these three parts of my life is far trickier than it seems it should be. Sometimes my worlds overlap, at others they seem completely disjointed. Each comes with its own set of expectations and norms, some of which I embody well and others that I fail to live up to. Regardless, each arena demands some level of adaptation on my part.

WEB DuBois spoke of the “double veil,” the manner in which one must “hide” aspects of one’s identity to be accepted and welcomed within some groups. The veil obscures the qualities the wearer wishes to disguise, but also hinders him/her from viewing the world around them as clearly as they could should they choose to remove it. The best one can hope for is to minimize or downplay particular aspects of oneself, to hide behind the veil and hope no one looks too closely. Yet, in doing so, one loses a bit of his/her own autonomy.

As I navigate the borderlands between one community and the next, I find myself reaching for different “veils,” minimizing focus on the portions of myself that I believe may be distracting to the task at hand. The realistic in me realizes that the particular traits that may make you stand out as exceptional in one arena, may become your downfall in another so I play along and adapt accordingly. It is here is where I find myself in my own identity conundrum.

According to DuBois, choosing to take up the veil is accompanied by some disconnect, perhaps even a sense shame. And yet, I view it as an adaptation, a tool to keep life running smoothly. I feel no shame in my choice, no despair or anguish that I am failing to be my true self. In fact, it seems to me that each veil offers me the opportunity to highlight a feature, a trait, a skill that may otherwise go unnoticed. I feel no less whole for having certain portions of my being out of the limelight.

But the nagging voices in the back of my mind ask me, “If you were a “real” academic, would you not rail against this mindless acceptance of societal norms? As a kinkster, why downplay your joy of the unconventional? And how dare you fail to speak out at every possibility on the importance and pleasure of sex as a sex worker!”

The critical voices ask me where is my shame, tell me I’m not being true to myself, and wait with indignation for me to agree that I am failing at embodying all that I should. And, at moments, I believe them. I begin to question if I truly am all the things that I have labelled myself. Academic, kinkster, sex worker – is this really me? Or am I playing at things I will never legitimately be a part of? Do my identities stand up to scrutiny? Or am I simply hiding behind my veils hoping no one will call my bluff?

The more I think about it, my crisis is rooted in not having a crisis. Perhaps my veils are less like DuBois’ and more akin to Salome’s. They are not meant to hide my shame, simply to draw attention to my various attributes until I decide they are no longer needed. Then, like Salome, perhaps I will choose to remove them in a whirling, sensual dance of revelation.

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