–“The World I Used to Be Afraid Of” by Blanche

Some of the first gay films I ever saw dealt also with the subject of the early days of HIV/AIDS, films like Longtime Companion, Angels In America, and Love! Valour! Compassion!, and Jeffrey (this still continues today with viewings of The Witnesses, Parting Glances, and The Living End). I was a confused new teenager with cable and insomnia, so I would stay up and watch anything that had to do with homosexuality (with a particular fixation on gay men, even then I felt more akin to them than to lesbians). It just happened that most of the films I saw were a little before my time.

I am pretty fresh and sheltered when it comes to the history and realities of HIV/AIDS in our community; I wasn’t born until the early 90’s, have almost always lived in suburbia, and have never known anyone who has HIV/AIDs, let alone died from it.  According to Larry Kramer, that puts me in the league of the lazy, uneducated gays of my generation by default (after he admonishes me for calling myself queer).  However, I strive to be neither purposefully ignorant nor excessively fearful.

Dame, die sich die Hände wäscht by Gerard ter Borch, taken from Wikimedia Commons

As I try to enter the world of dating and sex, I find myself periodically asking the question, “Would I date someone who was positive?” “Would I still hook up with them after they told me?” Looking at the OkCupid and ManHunt profiles of cute guys who are brave enough to clearly admit their status in their profiles (because, it is hard to be upfront about things that are often considered “less than ideal”), it certainly doesn’t rule them out in my mind. If you want to be ruled out in my book then show an open dislike for intellectual pursuits or put something along the lines of “no fats or flamers” in your profile.

There is definitely still a lot of unfair treatment and generalizations made. I can relate in more than one way to being stigmatized for a medical issue and have it become an automatic disqualifier in people’s eyes. There is this judgment that you can see pass through people’s eyes, and often that appalling silence that follows or that damn “Oh…” followed by the silence and judgment.  I don’t have HIV/AIDS, so I cannot fully understand, but I’d like to think I can at least make an effort not to be prejudiced despite my unintentionally sheltered upbringing.

It is really interesting hearing what my peers think about HIV and people who happen to have it.  For the most part, it seems more like a punchline to them than anything else.  With the exception of some of the social justice types with their sights firmly set on Africa and Bono, it seems to have disappeared from the mindset of those around me except in the form of a joke or an eyeroll when adults lecture about the importance of protection.  Our thoughts seem so separate from the interpersonal side of things.  I wonder what their responses would be if I asked, “Would date someone who was positive?” If it is anything like the responses I hear from many people about the question, “Would you date someone who is transgender?”, then clearly we have some things we need to talk and think about these matters on a personal, human level rather than technical terms and afterschool specials.

“I don’t want people touching me.”

“Orgies scare me.”

“You’ll protect me right? I’m don’t like pain and I don’t really like strangers….”

I have plenty of friends and fellow kinksters who are interested and curious about going to dungeon parties with me but a lot of them (and a lot of people in general) are under the impression that it’s a free-for-all group fuckfest where fluids are splashing against the walls in bucketloads, whips are cracking right and left, and people are writhing, screaming, and collapsing into each other in one big, sweaty, leather-clad heap.

It’s not like that. Not at all, actually.

Because I saw that “Pirates of the Caribean 4″ movie a few nights ago with one of my best friends, it reminded me of the cool part in the first movie where all the skeleton pirates are snatching at Kiera Knightly, tossing her to one another, throwing her into the sky on a skull-and-crossbones parachute, tearing at her dress, and generally having their own pirate skeletony way with her.

Maybe new S&M-ster’s think that dungeon parties are kind of like that?

First of all, NO ONE is going to grab you and start paddling your ass. Perhaps you’d like to secretly imagine that it would happen that way but that’s not how it goes.

The serious BDSM community, the people who show up at dungeon parties, have strict codes of conduct.

No one touches anyone without their full consent. And if anyone comes up to talk to you it’s probably because they want to say hello, introduce themselves, and make some smalltalk. The likelihood of a stranger approaching you and asking you if it’s okay if they tie you down and dump hot wax all of you is very, very low.

When you’re all dungeon parties, the people playing with one another 9.999 times out of ten know each other and have known each other for a very long time. They may be girlfriend/boyfriend, longtime partners, or even spouses out for an exhibitionistic thrill. It’s entirely possible that someone will ask you to play with them and, if you’re in the mood and they seem cool, then you should give it a go. If not, “No, thank you” always means “No” and there should be no fears that anyone won’t take your word for it.

Most of you have seen “Shortbus”, right? It’s not like “Shortbus” but with chains hanging from the walls. “Shortbus” showed the most idealized orgy situation that has ever been presented as an actual possibility. Invitations to everyone for everything were all over the place.

But in real life, and in dungeon settings, play parties are considerably more conservative. It’s more like small vignettes of 2 or 3 people in their own scenes, in their own little worlds, simultaneously, engaging in bondage play. It’s open and in a group setting. Everything is relatively mellow and even the bad boys and girls are under their best behaviors.

Dungeon play parties are fun and it can be great conducting scenes in a group setting. But those parties are highly controlled and far from chaotic.

So, if you’re curious, then you should attend one. You might learn something or make new friends. There’s a bigger chance that someone will come up to you to tell you that they like your boots than ask if they can shackle you to the dungeon floor.

So go, don’t worry about anything, relax, and just have a good time.

History and terminology

Sexual play involving pain and power dynamics have been documented since the third and fourth centuries and the practice has many names including bondage and discipline and sadism and masochism (BDSM), domination and submission (D/s), sadism and masochism (SM), fetish or kink. BDSM and fetish professionals may play the role of a dominant, submissive or switch (a person who plays both roles). Both men and women (including transgender men and women) may work as professional dominants, submissives or switches. Within the industry professional dominants are often referred to as “pro doms” which can include men (Masters) or women (Mistresses). Respectively, professional submissives and switches are referred to as either “pro subs” or “pro switches”.

Professional domination and submission is often said to have come out of the sex games played in brothels. One professional dominant, Theresa Berkley is among the first noted for running a house of “discipline and flagellation”. Historical evidence suggests that her establishment was especially popular with male and female aristocrats of the 19th century.

The work

Many professional dominants, submissives and switches begin their career by working in a “house of domination” similar to a brothel in structure and often referred to by industry professionals as a “house”. A house is typically owned and operated by one person, usually a dominatrix, called a “Head Mistress”. A house is often equipped with a number of themed rooms which can include a main room resembling a medieval dungeon equipped with cages and a flagellation station called a Saint Andrew’s cross, a classroom and a medical examination room. The Head Mistress is typically in charge of hiring, training and mentoring a stable of fetish professionals, managing online and print marketing and advertising, ensuring proper safety protocols are followed, booking appointments and generally maintaining the work space and business. Kink professionals refer to the fantasy play appointment with their clients as “sessions”.

Professional BDSM workers need to learn basic safety including how to safely perform “bondage” (tying a person with ropes or leather restraints for the purpose of immobilization), how to correctly use many of the tools of the trade (i.e., whips, cane) in a way that excites the masochist and satisfies they’re desire for erotic pain but does not cause permanent damage or serious injury. Many of the activities offered by professional dominants are inherently risky and most BDSM professionals are trained in basic first aid and CPR.

Another type of play that is common is known as “sensual domination”. This kind of play has less emphasis on corporal punishment and discipline and is more about sensory deprivation and over stimulation and may be referred to as “sensation play”. A professional dominant or switch might put a client into a comfortable bondage situation and then provide a number of sensations like rubbing their skin with a fur mitt, pouring warm oil or foods onto their body or flogging lightly (flagellation) with a soft implement like a deer skin flogger which many people describe as “feeling similar to a massage”. Another common type of sensual domination is a type of play referred to as “tease and denial”. This type of play is centered on teasing the submissive person with the possibility of sex or sexual release and then denying them the opportunity to have an orgasm. Another type of sensual domination is what is referred to as “body worship”. In a body worship scene the submissive person may kiss, lick and “adore” one part of the dominant’s body. Popular body parts for “body worship” include feet, legs, armpits and butts.

Another type of play that is very common is “strap on play”. Many men and women (including straight people) enjoy anal play and may have difficulty asking their partners to penetrate them anally. Many professional submissives and dominants are experienced and knowledgeable in anal play and penetration and can provide an experience for their client that is safe and is not painful. Many kink professionals will “top” clients anally (penetrate their clients with gloved hands or sex toys) but will not bottom (allow themselves to be penetrated or stimulated) to their clients.

In addition to domination and submission role play BDSM professionals may also cater to clients with specific sexual fetishes. Common sexual fetishes include foot, high heel and boot fetishes and big butt fetishes. Most fetish workers do not offer “traditional” sexual services like penetration, oral sex or manual stimulation (i.e. hand jobs) although most fetish and BDSM providers will allow their clients to masturbate themselves.

A client who plays the dominant role and pays to see a professional submissive is likely to have less experience, practice and training than a professional BDSM provider. Although a professional submissive may not use rope bondage or implements like canes or crops on their clients they must be knowledgeable about how to use the tools correctly and safely so that they are able to advocate for their own safety. They may also provide instruction and guidance to their client including safe techniques for bondage and tool usage. BDSM and fetish providers must also be experts at communicating and what is called “negotiation”. Negotiation refers to the conversation that occurs before a BDSM “session” or “scene” and details each player’s personal limitations and expectations of one another.

Other times a dominatrix may choose to work as an “independent” which means that they provide their own space to work in; they may rent a space from a “house” for an hourly fee, work out of a converted space in their home, hotel room or even visit their client’s home. An independent dominatrix typically runs her own web site, screens her clients, books her appointments, does her own online and print marketing and may or may not employee a driver or security guard. An independent dominatrix may also supplement her income by producing short videos or “clips” to be sold on the internet, providing long distance “training sessions” via telephone, email or web camera. Many professional dominants find that some markets in major cities are over-saturated with professional dominants, other city’s economies may be more favorable or because some women of certain niches do better in different geographic locations many independent professional fetish workers go “on tour” traveling to different cities domestically and internationally.Fetish clothing which may include latex, leather and corsetry are very expensive and the start up costs (web sites, advertising, space rental, clothing and equipment) for becoming a dominatrix are great so another advantage of working for a house is that you are permitted to use their equipment (usually not clothing) like rope and other implements.

Professional dominants cater to many fetishes, which are often considered strange or unusual by sex workers who are unfamiliar with BDSM and fetish culture. Some people may for example have a fetish for tickling/being tickled, urinating/being urinated on, adoring pretty feet/having their feet adored, popping balloons or being treated as a child/treating an adult as a child. Often the common theme in many role playing fantasies include playing with power dynamics that are rarely acknowledged or discussed in every day life such as child/parent, employee/employer, student/teacher and the like. Other clients are often the sexual aggressors in their day-to-day relationships and seek a dynamic where they are permitted to give up control and responsibility.

Because most fetish workers offer erotic services that do not typically include traditional sex the majority are often reluctant to identity as “sex workers”. There is an internal hierarchy within the sex industry and professional dominants seem to have found their place squarely at the top. Given the mystique and glamorized images of “high class” professional dominants and the stigmatization of prostitution it should come as no surprise that kink professionals wish to distance themselves from escorts. It is unfortunate as individuals in both professions share many of the same legal and safety concerns.

Labor, legal, and other issues

While there is safety in numbers and dungeons often provide security and training there are clear disadvantages to working for a house as well. The most notable is the fact that the house or head mistress typically collects half of the professional dominant’s earnings. Another disadvantage is that fetish workers do not earn an hourly wage and are only paid for the clients they see. Some new BDSM workers can show up to the house diligently for months and never earn a penny. They are still contract workers with no health benefits and because the work is often considered illegal they have no legal protection from potential abuse from clients or employers. Another disadvantage for some professional dominants is that many houses require that you begin as a professional submissive and quite literally “work your way to the top”. So someone who is not a masochist or sexually submissive may have to begin working as a professional submissive before they are “promoted” to the role of professional dominant or switch. Professional submissives and switches often earn more money for submissive sessions as they often include physically demanding work such as holding strenuous positions for long periods of time, being bound or being struck. It is inherently more dangerous to fill the submissive role as it is often impossible to gauge the skill level or trustworthiness of a dominant client.

The criminalization of prostitution in many cities makes working as a fetish worker risky. Laws vary from county to county but in some counties soliciting money for any kind of touching that elicits sexual gratification (including spanking) is enough to get someone prosecuted for solicitation or prostitution. When charges are brought against professional dominants it is often for offering, “strap on play”. For this reason many kink professionals do not offer anal play or if they do will not discuss it on the telephone for fear of entrapment by law enforcement.

Common myths and misconceptions

Only rich and powerful men see professional dominants.

Men, women and couples (both male/female and female/female couples) see professional dominants. The clients are rich, poor and middle class. There is no one common thread that connects them besides the fact that they the sexual need to play the submissive role or have their desire or fetishes satisfied.

People who pay to see a dominatrix don’t have the social skills to find women who will do these things to them.
Clients see professionals for a variety of reasons, they may be partnered with someone who is not interested in BDSM, they may currently be single or they may not be invested enough in satisfying their sexual desires to spend the time becoming part of the larger BDSM community or they may fear being “out” as a kinky person could cost them their job or family. In many places some consensual BDSM acts are indeed illegal and this may be the case.

Professional dominants are in this line of work because they hate men.
Most people who work as professional dominants do so because they enjoy domination and submission in their personal life and can empathize with their clients’ sexual needs and desires. It is often said that sex workers double as “alternative therapists”. The stigma and shame around having taboo sexual fetishes or the desire to either dominate or submit to another person is great and many fetish providers council their clients in overcoming this shame.

Anyone can hit someone and yell and scream and call themselves a professional dominant.
There are many hours, sometimes years of training that go into being a fetish professional. Most professionals are mentored by another seasoned fetish professional and most career dominants, submissives and switches continue to learn by going to specialized kink and fetish workshops. Many kink professionals also attend professional development conferences, which occur all over the world. Besides first aid and CPR certification professionals may take classes in rope bondage, spanking, flogging, using whips, caning , flogging and maintaining safe and clean working environments and preventing the spread of bloodborne pathogens. The most respected kink professionals have a lifelong commitment to learning new skills and sharing that knowledge with others.

Professional dominants and their clients are sick in the head.
Many people throughout history have engaged in consensual power exchange as well as sadism and masochism. Playing with power dynamics and acknowledging differences in power in our society is healthy. Pretending like these systems are not in place in our day-to-day lives is not.

For two years, I was the only person in my apartment building having loud sex.  This made me very sad, as it meant that there was no proof that anyone other than myself was getting it good.  After finally hearing a happily screaming neighbor, it dawned on me to found this society:

Citizens

Upholding

Noisy

Titillation

First, a refresher from The Vagina Monologues:

This was my story. Well, not the lawyer part, though I’d gladly take her as a sugar mama. But I, too, used to “hide my moan” with a couple unappreciative lovers and in some primly proper residences. Sex was far less enjoyable; it’s one thing to choose to be quiet because it adds a sneaky quality to how naughty you’re being, and quite another to be told, “If you don’t quiet down, I’m going to stop.” The silence of these dorms and apartment buildings was something to conform to, right? Don’t disturb it, even if it is 9pm on a Saturday.

I assistant-managed a production of The Vagina Monologues at my internship, shortly before graduation. My relationship at the time was also faltering and it ended about a month after I graduated.  These three coinciding events inspired me to throw off the weight of imposed silence.  Although it was sad to no longer be held in awe in the dorm, at least I didn’t have to worry about disturbing someone’s homework (what could turn you off more?).  No more would I be silenced, I would proclaim my lover’s skill – and sex got a lot better with this noisy liberation!

Those of us who appreciate loud sex must band together.  Good sex makes a happier world and if you can’t hear it happening, how do you know it’s happening at all?  Make the world a happier place by joining Citizens Upholding Noisy Titillation.

Step 1: Have loud sex

Step 2: Cheer on the loud sex you overhear

That’s all it takes to become a Citizen of C.U.N.T. We want to hear Noisy Titillation in the apartments and houses we pass, in the dressing rooms of where we shop, under the tables of restaurants, and in the parks.  A society in which people are getting laid is a happy society.

Join the Citizens Upholding Noisy Titillation group on Facebook. T-shirts and buttons to appear in the near future!

The discussion of trans bodies and sexual identities is one that, understandably, comes up a lot. There are many opinions on how people should or shouldn’t react to trans bodies, and how such people can or should be able to identify. I think that these topics are very valid and should be talked about. I just want to say before I start talking that these are only my thoughts. Yours might be different, that’s totally okay, and I would love to hear about them.

Many trans people talk about sexual encounters and experiences with non-trans people and how they feel these situations should be handled. Some trans people feel as though they should be treated no differently than a cis person, and yes, I do agree that you shouldn’t be looked down upon or treated as any gender other than what you are. However, I personally accept that my trans body is different from a cis person’s. That’s not to imply that I can’t please someone, or that I’m not “as good” as a cis person. I’m merely stating that I have a different body. (I’m referring to my junk.) I might call it a penis, but I don’t have the kind of penis that most people have when they’re born. (I prefer the phrase “medically assigned penis at birth,” over “Male Assigned at Birth.”

This brings me to my next topic: Some non-trans people feel like they can’t sexually be with a trans person because they’re “not into that” or they’re uncomfortable with their genitals. Now, I don’t think that people should be so quick to judge, especially because they have no idea what’s in my pants. Regardless, I don’t think it’s offensive if someone doesn’t want to get with me because I’m trans. If they’re openly offensive and rude, like saying that I’m disgusting or something, that’s one thing, but if they don’t want to be with me because of my genitals, I don’t have a problem with that. My genitals are different than a cis person’s, and I can’t expect every person to be open to that fact.

I don’t think that people should be so obsessed with genitals and what’s in someone pants. If you like someone, you like someone. I’m not talking about long-term relationships here. I’m really talking more about hooking up with people. If someone’s not experienced with a body like mine, why should I be upset with them because of that? If someone doesn’t want to be with me because of my body, then whatever, it’s their loss. Honestly, I do have a different body than a cis person, and because of the (unfortunate) fact that people are largely obsessed with genitals, how can I blame someone?

I completely respect trans guys who want to be treated as cis guys, when it comes to sexual stuff. I think that’s totally valid and fine. This might be TMI, but personally, I like being penetrated. I like my genitals, and I think that could make things confusing for other people and how they feel they should/can interact with me sexually. For example, I want my manhole fucked — warned you about the TMI. I wouldn’t want to be with someone who was like, “But, I thought you’re a guy. Aren’t you supposed to want a dick? I don’t want to touch you like that.” Yeah, I am a guy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like my junk and it doesn’t mean that I have to want to ignore my desires in order to feel validated.

I think it’s dangerous and somewhat problematic to have set standards or ideas of how people (trans or cis) should or can interact sexually with trans people. There is no guide! Not every trans person wants to be touched the same way, not every trans person feels the same way about their genitals, or their body, etc. It’s comparable to an experience with a cis person in that not every cis person likes the same thing when it comes to their bodies. People don’t walk around saying, “Do this and that and you’ll be all set.” No, that’s not how it works. You need to communicate with each partner to find out what they do/don’t like and what they’re comfortable with. It’s not different with trans people. Communication is key in any relationship (sexual or otherwise).

I do think that people shouldn’t be so quick to judge. I do think that people should be open to new experiences, and of course, I do think that people should respect my body and my identity, but the hard truth is that not everyone is like that. A lot of people aren’t open to new experiences. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t be able to “get past” my genitals and what they think they are. If someone was like that, I wouldn’t want to be with them anyway, even just as a hook up.

The next topic – can a lesbian date a transguy? Does that make her not a lesbian anymore? This topic gets a lot of attention with many different opinions. Please hear me out on this before you assume what I might be implying, because you most likely will have the wrong idea at first. My take on this is that, yes, I think a lesbian can date a trans guy, just like a lesbian could date a straight man or a gay man if she wanted to, or just like a gay man could date a woman if he wanted to. I’m not saying that it’s okay for a lesbian to date a transguy just because they’re trans, or just because of their junk. I’m only saying it’s possible because I believe that sexuality is mostly fluid, and I think that anyone could possibly fall in love with anyone, regardless of labels. The thing is, people flip out about labels. I understand that labels can be useful for meeting like-minded people or identifying with/to others, but I feel like sometimes people become too protective.

If a lesbian falls in love with one transguy or cis guy, or a gay man falls in love with one woman, who I am to say that they’re a lesbian or they’re not a gay man? Shit happens. Maybe the person is attracted to the same gender 99 percent of the time, they consider themselves gay, and they happen to fall for someone who is a different gender. Yeah, that might make them in a non-gay or non-lesbian relationship, but it also doesn’t necessarily imply that they’re attracted to other people of that gender, so why do labels matter so much? Why should their label be invalidated or taken away?

Again – I’m not saying that I think it’s okay for lesbians to be like, “Oh, I’m into pre-t transguys because let’s face it, they have a vagina.” That’s not what I’m saying at all, and I hope it’s being conveyed correctly. I’m merely saying that I think labels can be restricting and if someone falls for someone outside of that label one time, then why should their identity be revoked or invalidated?

I know that there are many takes on this whole topic, and I’d love to hear more thoughts. This stuff can be very controversial, but I don’t think that should stop people from talking about it or expressing their opinions.

Q:  Would you be willing to teach my partner and I how to do some Bondage and Discipline on each other?  I’m looking for an instructional session, not a personal one.

A:  Of course.  Figure out a day and time with your partner and let’s schedule one.

Q:  Master Aiden, I enjoy reading your blog and your “Yes, Master” articles.  I have to ask (please don’t be offended) but why do you appear so nice?  Are you really like that?  How can a Dom actually be that way?

A:  I’m not offended.  You would have to work very, very hard to offend me in any capacity.  I’m from Detroit, for God’s sake…..  When you regularly bind and whip people as a normal part of your weekday, it’s amazing how relaxed you can be.  I am, usually, a nice person.  I try not to be too corny when it comes to the Master stuff (especially when I’m writing on my blog) because I have a low tolerance for decorum and pretense….but I work in a field that is heavy with decorum and pretense.  I don’t know.  I don’t want to come across as scary or vicious–I just want everyone to have a good time and try to create fantastical situations because…..we can.  If that makes any sense?  But my mom recently accused me of being callous and mean-spirited so maybe it’s all starting to catch up with me.  We’ll see.

Q:  I have a fantasy about having a session where there are 2 or 3 Masters abusing me.   Do you have any other Masters that you work with, Master Aiden, who you could invite into a session?

A: I do know other Masters that would be willing to co-Dom with me for a session.  Just be aware, please, that these kinds of sessions are not at all cheap and are usually reserved for high-roller types.  If you can afford it, go for it, hotshot.

Q:  Dear Master Aiden:  I have a fantasy where I’m tied up and left in an alley and then you come back 2 hours later, kidnap me, take me to your dungeon, and make me your private slave.  Can we do a session like that?

A:  Ugh. You know that I can’t tie you up in an alley and leave you for 2 hours. What if people think that it’s a real situation? What if some driver isn’t paying attention (big shock) and accidentally runs you over?  And the rats. There are some big damn rats in some of the alleys in Chicago. Do you want them nibbling on your nuts while you’re tied up on the pavement? Maybe you do, but I guess I’m not that hardcore and I’m not into that kind of shit. Look, can’t we just have a “normal” session where I chain you up and “kidnap” you in the dungeon? At least that way you don’t have to worry about getting rabies … I think.

Q:  What do you usually wear when you’re in session?

A:  It depends on the session.

Q:  Hey, I’d like to hire you to give me a massage.  Could you come over tonight at 8?

A:  Like a “sexy massage”? No. I don’t give massages. I’d probably suck at that. I have friends who are masseurs (legit ones), who are very talented and hard-working. I don’t think that they’re “sexy masseurs.” What are we talking about?  A massage or a “massage (wink, wink)”?  I’m so confused but, really, it doesn’t matter. I don’t do massages or “massages,” but I do know how to hogtie you and electrocute you. How does that sound?  It’s almost like getting a massage, but it’s a little bit different.  And, by the way, you have to schedule your session at least 24 hours in advance because I’m all about meticulous scheduling and I’m a busy guy.  Mainly because I spend a large part of my day answering questions, some of which are sincere, some of which are kind of ridiculous.

Once I realized I could see almost any guy I wanted to see naked for $100 or less it was like the day Superman realized his own powers. Spiderman had the power of agility and Wonderwoman had the power of her breasts. In the shadows of neon I have discovered the balance between the power of the Benjamin Franklin and the power of the cock.

It all began in 2001. I was in love with a troll. Not “troll” in the gay connotation, but a real troll. Short. Stout. Perhaps there was even a bit of a hunchback. He was regrettably heterosexual but flirtatious as ever.

Perhaps I was blinded by love this time. They say love causes people to do things they never thought they would do. When the troll was crying online about going to jail if he didn’t pay off his probation officer I felt empathetic. And jokingly opportunistic. When I told the troll I’d pay off his probation officer in exchange for a private strip show I never in my wildest wet dreams imagined that he’d say yes. But he did. And we did. Then he told everyone afterwards. And that was the night I paid the Troll Toll.

To see a straight boy that I felt so strongly and emotionally about fully naked was exhilarating to the point of euphoria. The money was a small price to find myself in view of a dick that I’d been longing for for years.

I internally toyed with the ethics of my actions. People pay thousands of dollars in strip clubs to see strangers naked. How was that different than paying someone I knew to show off his hotness in a more private and intimate situation?

Now it’s a decade later. I’ve accumulated many more scandalous stories and I won’t be sharing them here. I’ve had a lot of good times. I do know I have to be careful as a gay man to not just view other men as pieces of meat. It’s hard in a world that feels like almost everyone is on sale, one way or another.

A complete objectification of the flesh would be the death of my gay heart.  Is straight dick really worth that much?

More Jeremy Gloff at Facebook.

Something about that yellow light made me take notice. His body language is vibrant and so is everything else about him. If solar power doesn’t replace electricity his aura just might. Enraptured by his glow I set out to find his name again. At least.

I created an Adam4Adam account. Partly to research for an article I wanted to write. Mostly to find Jay. Enduring the sea of shirtless douchebags was painful and tedious. Per usual I found myself irate and fiery over the stupidity of most profiles. But I found Jay. And it was worth it.

We began corresponding. With his Facebook friendship and cell phone number in tow I segued once again out of Adam4Adam hell.

The more we exchanged lengthy and personal emails the more I realize that I underestimated Jay. Beneath his fashionista garb and flashy public persona lies a sharply introspective introvert. The depth of his understanding made him glow a lot more than that 2 am club spotlight could have.
Color me impressed.

Emails eventually graduated to text messages. And then vulnerable and intellectual exchanges graduated to sexy talk. My exhibitionist tendencies got the best of me. I wanted him to see me naked nearly as badly as I wanted him to tell me his entire life story. Seldom do I find gay men whose minds are as appealing to me as their cocks. Jay piqued the interest of my head and my head.

Damned if I didn’t get reintroduced to a couple other old friends of mine. It was not with open arms that I was reintroduced to Mr. Longing and Mr. Vulnerabity. I found myself texting Jay almost daily. He always wrote back. He never text me first. I have yet to master the fine line between persistent and pathetic. An art I have yet to master. Near the early stages of my texting with Jay I believe I was cutely persistent. Later when he didn’t respond to my third invitation to hang out yet I still asked him a forth time…a simply pathetic Jeremy.

As time passed our sexting increased. With one hand on my cell phone and my other hand elsewhere I easily transmitted some photos and videos. The yellow light on Jay that first night had been so pretty…as had the vulnerability of his early emails that signaled a brightness of mind. I was crushing. There, I said it.

Our final sexting marathon lasted four hours. The conversation was deliciously graphic. He sent me photos. He was every bit as sexy (and sensual…oh so sensual) as I imagined. My hands wandered but my mind wandered much farther. First to a place between his legs. And then to a place where his head rested in my arms as the sun came up.

I may have told him how badly I wanted to come over. I may have told him in precise detail the hungry things I wanted to do to his body. I may have sent him a cumshot video where I called his name. I was wildly out of control but enamored with my own lack of restraint. Sometimes in life you have just gotta free fall. Or in this case free ball. Fuck it man. If anyone was worthy of my most pornographic moment I figured it was Jay.

The climax of our conversation wasn’t an orgasm. It was not a late night secret tryst at his place or mine. It was not even a warm fuzzy. It was with a full second erection that I received Jay’s text message: “hey I just want to make sure that we’re just joking about all this. Sometimes I get the feeling you are taking this seriously”.

Four hours earlier I was sitting on my bedroom eating sweet and sour chicken and listening to the Homoground podcast. And then I sent the first text.  Fuck.

My response to Jay was “of course I don’t like you ‘for real’ – Gay men never really like each other!” I was lying. Yes I liked him. More than a little but less than a lot. Enough to feel a tad bummed.

And so I found myself in the perfect 21st century moment. It’s so much easier to show jizz than to reveal a disappointment. With the hairline of a sixty year old and the heart of a child I stuck my phone on its charger and crawled to bed with my tail between my legs…and nothing else. I never told any of my friends about any of this. I promised him I wouldn’t.

Jay didn’t play me. Jay didn’t use me. Jay was bored and he hopped a ride on the adventure that I willingly laid out for him. There was no ill intention. It’s all fun and games. Remember that Jeremy. It’s just all fun and games. And then you’ll never get hurt.

After that night Jay and I text a couple more times. Sexual texts weren’t met with any eagerness. That ship sailed. Eventually I stopped texting Jay altogether. In the case that he was just politely responded to my texts I wanted to wait and see if he ever text me first. He didn’t.

Tonight I went to a club. It was the same club that I saw Jay at months ago, bathed in magical yellow light. He wasn’t there but I thought about him on the way home.

Next boy I’ll know better.

I never asked him out for dinner. We never went out for coffee. I did consider it though. In daydreams of potential romance I always envision what someone would look like in the morning. Would he still glow outside of the club lights? Would the sunlight make him as beautiful as a strobe does?

He and I would text occasionally. He was alternately funny, sexy and intelligent. He was the total package. He sent me a picture of his package without me ever sending one of mine.

I’ve shared my heart and my bed with druggies, thieves, homeless boys, and felons. I longed for these crazed boys without apprehension. I occasionally longed for the cute boy with the sandy hair.

One late night I opted for a drunken text message exchange in lieu of a good night’s sleep. I wasn’t trying to get laid. I was just enjoying communicating. Nothing remedies late night longing like an unexpected text from a potential suitor.

Of late I’m much too lackadaisical to be offended by much. To each their own. For real. Or so I thought.

During this late night texting session eventually the cute boy with the sandy hair told me what he had done last weekend. He had fisted his ex-boyfriend in a car in a parking lot.

I am fully supportive of the exploration of fetishes. I’ve gotten pee-ed on…thrice…years ago. I let a straight boy wear high heels and his cousin’s underwear. But during this text message conversation with a cute sandy-haired a boy I realized there was a line where I put my fist down. I meant foot.

I can wrap my head(s) around why someone would enjoy anal sex. Even various other sexual acts, whether I do them or not I can at least understand why another person might enjoy it. But the fist? Fuck no. I don’t get it. Painful. Dangerous. Those are the words that come to mind.

They say don’t knock something until you try it. I hate to disappoint advocates of that statement but I’ll have lived a full life even if I don’t try heroin, a scientologist convention, or a fist up my ass. Or my fist up someone else’s.

I no longer consider the sandy haired boy a potential breakfast sharer. He is still cute. He is still funny. But he is now tainted with the image of his arm up someone’s behind making them, in his words, “his puppet”.

I could never be the Lamb Chop to his Shari Lewis.

As for me, I like to plan ahead.  That’s what suits my personality.  I enjoy customizing every single session that I have according to the specific interests of the submissive and what kind of a submissive they are.  Back when I first started off, I remember doing a double-Dom session with a newbie Dominatrix.  We had the man hooked up to the St. Andrew’s Cross so that he was facing the wall and we worked his backside with general “warm up” floggers and some good whacks with the riding crop followed by applications of the Wartenberg wheel.  After we were done with that for a while we, naturally, flipped him around and did some TT (tit torture) and CBT (cock-and-ball torture) for a while and then…..

And then what?

The Mistress and I shot a glance over at each other (thankfully the slave was blindfolded) as to say “Okay, what’s next? What do I want to do? No, what do you want to do next?”.  There was 30 minutes left to the session.  We were both having an uncreative moment and the session halted for an awkward minute or so while we decided what to do next to the submissive.  That’s lame.  You never want that to happen.  A BDSM session should be a very seamless flow of torturous, tantalizing activities that lead from one to the next to the next until the session has reached a finale (yes, a finale of some sort in some context whether physical, mental, or both) and a conclusion for the day.  It’s supposed to make the Dom/Domme seem effortlessly cool, powerful, and collected.

I force myself, before every session, to sit down for 5 or so minutes, think about the upcoming person that I’ll be working on, and then I go ahead and create a mental gameplan.  If I’m feeling stressed about it, I’ll even go so far as writing down the “set list” on a scrap of paper, taping it against the wall, and hiding it behind a flogger or something.

Time with one of my usual slaves who favors a lot of bondage and intimidation may have a paper for the session that reads:

“strip them

light abuse and slapping

shackles, face to wall, warm up flogging

boot worship

hooded cowl or blindfold

bondage chair w/TT, CBT, and hot wax

bondage table, face down: spanking, booty abuse, hot wax, ice. Bondage, bondage, bondage.  Hogtie?

sling (if we have time) foot abuse, ice, wheel, gag, e-stim

bondage glove restraints w/spreader bar, heavy whipping and flogging.”

It makes sense to me, at least.

And that would be the gameplan for that session, generally.  I don’t have to follow that verbatim; I may decide in the midst of the session to take a different route but at least that gives me a general guideline for a good, strong “story” for that slave for that day.

It is dorky.  I realize that.  I don’t do “set lists” for every session, far from it nowadays, but I definitely used to.  I know that it helped me form a sense of pacing and flow for BDSM sessions.  I thought that I’d share this with you up-and-coming Dominants in case you found that it helped map out your own plans for the sessions that you orchestrate with your partners.  It may help you avoid those “Okay, now what?” moments.

A BDSM session should be a lot of fun for the Dominant while also doing the best to address the particular interests of the individual slave and incorporating those elements in some way within the progression of the session.

There are two major divisions in the spanking sensation scenario: the sting and the thud. A sting focuses on the skin. A thud goes deeper, sending vibrations through the muscles and genitals. Before I knew what kink was, I stood gazing at a wall of handmade leather goods at the Maryland Renaissance Festival. The wall included a number of handled implements and whips of all lengths. The country girl in me was beginning to wonder just how much livestock the attendees at the festival would need to own in order to make use of all those tools. Then I heard the young woman seated near me turn to the young man next to her and say, “I really prefer a good sting to a thud.” Then they both turned and looked longingly at the display as he sighed in agreement. My eyes popped wide open. It was the first clue I ever had that you could use this stuff on a human being — and that they would like it.

Typically, impact play will produce a thud and sensation play will produce a sting. Impact play is any form of hitting or punching with or without an implement. Sensation play may include tickling, feathers, fingertips, ice, hot wax, or — my favorite — the vampire glove. Sensation focuses on the exposed skin areas and the sense of touch but can also include any of the other five senses.

Spanking someone is whatever you want to make of it, which is why it has such broad appeal both inside and outside the kink community. It could be to tease, to orgasm, or to bring about the endorphin rush that goes along with pain. One of the foundations of a good spanking scene is a nice, firm over-the-knee barehanded spanking. Especially appropriate for age play, I enjoy tucking the male member between my thighs in order to hold my submissive in place while he is spanked. If I’m lucky enough that the submissive happens to be female, two fingers right inside her twat are usually enough to make sure that she stays in place long enough to experience several orgasms while I spank her.

Here’s a few tips to get you started:

1. Warm up. It’s not just the bottom’s bottom that needs a good warm up. Tops in a spanking scene need to remember to prepare the wrist, hands, shoulders and arms for a good time too. Begin with light stretching to get the blood flowing and massage both hands wrist to fingertips before you get started.

2. Angle. As popular as the over-the-knee scenario is, if you can’t get a good angle, you can’t give a good, hard spanking. Spanking benches or having the bottom face-down-ass-up on the bed in front of you can all make for better angles, sensations and impact play. This is especially true if you are using a flogger or paddle or some other toy that will put distance between the top and the bottom.

3. Gloves. A pair of high quality, leather gloves. It’s a piece of protective gear any good spanker shouldn’t be without. Gloves reduce impact and protect the numerous delicate tendons and bones in the hands. If you want to change up mid scene, you can always slip them off. But having a pair handy means you are less likely to suffer from arthritis or a sprained wrist.

4. Spanking bench. If you’re serious about trying out some kinky play, including spanking, you’ll never regret getting a hold of a sturdy, sexy spanking bench. It keeps the bottom comfortable enough to go the distance and opens up the top to operate from any number of productive angles. You can order one online or build one yourself. Most I have seen were homemade jobs. Collapsible benches that can be easily tucked away are also available.

5. After care. My favorite part of a scene is the after care. After the bottoms ass is good and red and the top is good and spent, there needs to be time for clean up and snuggles. A follow up phone call the next day is also recommendable. The results of a good scene often last for days and the players need to stay in open communication during the entire experience.

A good spanking can produce any number of emotional and physical results from both the top and the bottom. Submissives may laugh, cry or call out. Sometimes a gag is a good idea so they can surrender more easily to the experience. Music is a terrific addition to a spanking scene; especially if the music has a good beat and can easily accompany the rhythmic pattern of a spanking. Just make sure the music isn’t turned turn up so loud that you can’t hear the bottoms grunts, groans and moans. Always leave a line of communication open between the top and the bottom. Hand signals, eye contact and body language can all be used to stay in touch with your partner during the action.

You might find it shocking that I’m being so open and honest about such a personal and controversial opinion in a public forum.  But I’m not taking about sex.  I’m talking about my iPhone.

Image from Oh Yeah. Totally.

I recent snapped a picture with my iPhone 4, and the subject appeared as if she had a halo around her.  Pulling off the phone condom and inspecting the camera, I found that the protective case I had been using allowed dust to collect on the back of the phone, leaving a cute polka-dotted pattern of motes across the phone’s beautiful glossy black posterior, with one bigger oval on top of the camera lens and flash.  I quickly wiped down my unsheathed beauty and felt it in my hand.  So elegant, I thought.  I snapped a quick photo and found it crisp and vivid.   I slipped the phone into my pocket and it gently slid in with ease.  That’s it, I’m done with this stupid case, I told myself.  I’m going bare.

Now, I know this is dangerous.  An unprotected iPhone could more easily be broken or scratched, and they are super expensive to replace.  But I won’t be swayed.

You’d think that I could apply this same logic to sex:  that the pleasures of going bare could outweigh the potential risks.  So in the context of comparing my unsafe iPhoning with my requirement for safer sex, here are a variety of reasons I don’t find this behavior contradictory:

• An iPhone is replaceable.  First and foremost, unlike a healthy immune system, an iPhone is completely replaceable.  Back up your music on your computer, sync your settings on a regular basis, and you’ll find that a brand new iPhone is just like your old one.  There is no analogue for your body.
• I know where my iPhone has been.  Unlike any potential sexual partner, my iPhone comes to me brand spanking new and untouched.  It’s not cheating on me with other guys, and I know that there are no nasties living in my pocket waiting to take over my phone one day when I slip it in.
• It’s my responsibility.  The health and well-being of my iPhone is totally in my control, and it only impacts me.  I know that if I treat my phone with care and respect, it will thrive and provide me with approximately two years of amazing service.  In this day and age, that’s more than you can reasonably expect from a sexual partner.  I’m also the only one who can be potentially impacted by this decision.  Unlike sex, where I could put not only myself but my boyfriend and other sexual partners at risk, here it’s just me and my bank account.

I guess you could say that my phone and I are in a committed, long-term relationship and can safely take our shared experience to the next level.  And it’s divine.  I would recommend that everyone pursue such responsible and satisfying relationships with their technology as well as their partners.  Only then can you truly enjoy one another in the most safe and pleasurable ways.

c. Master Aiden

The weather is getting warmer and, before you know it, it will be 90 degrees in Chicago— probably tomorrow since we tend to jump from winter to summer while skipping moderate spring. Since you’ll be sweating your balls and/or titties off soon enough, here is a fun game that I (maybe? probably?) invented to help cool you and your partner (but especially your partner):

Place one or two ice cubes on top of a submissive who is lying down horizontally. Bare torso, of course. Lying down on their stomach is recommended.

Use a single tail whip, or a belt or a long strip of leather or rubber, to lash at cube on top of the submissive. This will send the ice sliding up or down their body. If your aim is good that day, you can send the ice here and there in the direction of your choosing, while cooling of the recently whipped or spanked skin of your partner. They get to be soothed while you get to practice your aim. It’s a win-win! The neat thing is that as the ice is melting, the water around it generally adheres the cube to the skin, which stops it from popping off if you’re careful. Try to keep the ice on as long as possible (until it melts) without snapping it off of your submissive and having it shoot across the room.

How long does the ice stay on your submissive? How many times can you move it up and down the torso? Did you miss the cube and end up hitting your submissive instead? (Whoops!) If so, how many times did you miss? And how many times did you hit the bull’s-eye, i.e. the ice cube?

If you’re feeling really artsy, you can draw marks and lines on your partner’s back and ass to create a field point system.

Summer games are for adults too. This is a fun activity for those who are careful and perfect for one-on-one play. Or, of course, you can try this game out with friends and keep score.

That’s how I’ve felt about humiliation most of my life. I completely lack the gene. I think it may be the “slut gene,”that makes it possible to enjoy attention of almost any kind. I do not get turned on when people objectify me and I don’t think it’s sexy to be mad fun of. I get it, many people do. I guess that’s just part of what marks the difference between a top and a bottom (or a Dom and sub).

I don’t even like giving humiliation, so for years I wondered where that left me on the “How Dom Are You” spectrum. That left me, about two years ago, in Sara Sloane’s class on humiliation at Dark Odyssey here in DC. The first thing she said in class was that humiliation is a very personal type of play that is best reserved for LTR D/S relationships. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Jesus and Sara. And I mean that. Validation is so delicious. Plus it’s boring to call someone you don’t know the same name for an hour when you don’t really mean it, know their psyche, or enjoy the mental sport yourself.

Thanks to the loyalty of a few amazing submissive clients, I’m finally at a place in my professional career where I am comfortable ignoring, degrading, or humiliation some people for whom I care deeply in a service-oriented, isolated sort of way. That’s why I said yes when my longest serving client asked me to cover him in food while hurling all sorts of insult. I will never understand how men with multiple degrees, marriages of longevity, and successful careers continue to undermine their own pleasure by discounting their accomplishments. It is amazing how far a sense of failure can compel a person to succeed. You must understand, most of the men who visit me are very loyal, intelligent, nurturing types. It’s a wonder I haven’t fallen for one of them yet. The stereotypes are all true. The men are amazingly intelligent and powerful and no, I don’t ever yield my sex to them. For a man who has it all, denial is the biggest turn on of all.

But I digress. I had a client ask once again for a humiliation scene and for once I was feeling it. He wanted to do sploshing, which is basically food play. No, not sitting on cakes and pies, more like a mean food fight where only one person gets dirty. I’m fascinated by asexual play and have a long held fantasy about launching a food fight in the middle of an elaborate birthday party so I was game (yes Caroline, not all fantasies are directly sexual, but they are still fantasies). So there he is, my LTR submissive client and he’s holding a briefcase filled with foods: bananas, yogurt, honey, chocolate sauce, and yogurt.

There are a few bodily, succinct sexual acts that I believe certain people yearn for regardless of sex, gender or kink status. One of these acts is fluids on the face. The proverbial messy porn cum shot. I mean that. I know it’s gross out of context unless it is not your thing, but just remember, “Your kink is not my kink, but your kink is okay,” and I had a job to do. So I did it, even though I knew it’s be pushing my limits as a Domme. I was fearful of getting sick from all the visceral commotion.

First, he stripped and then stepped into a tub. Already it’s humiliating to him and irksome to me because I’m half his age, beautiful and fully clothed, but that’s the way we like it. I told him to begin confessing all his shortcomings and popped the top on the honey bear. His eyes widened and I started charting a golden path across his blotchy flesh. Within a moment he was calling himself a fat pig, one of his most beloved insults. He even brought me a plug with a curly q pig tail once. Cute, but disgusting – just like him at the moment. We proceed to take turns telling him how awful he is while I shake the jug of chocolate sauce and really start making a mess. I have a thing for messes. I hate my own, but I love others. As a matter of fact, he was so gross I started laughing uncontrollably and that moment I tore the foil back on the first cup of yogurt.

There’s this thing that happens when I play and it’s better then sex and it’s better then drugs and it’s better than a bunch of money. I believe it must be one of the distinguishing factors of all kinksters. When I play, when I try new things, push limits, create bonds, and explore the mind-body connection, I get high as a fucking kite while totally sober. Yes, I do. And it doesn’t take an ounce of anything exterior, artificial or detrimental. I tap into something inside of me, something all natural and God-given, and it makes me feel amazing. It last for a full 24-hours and when I come down I usually laugh uncontrollably a second time. I get happy twice. No hang over. No artificial toxins required for my body to fly.

What a mess. He’s splattered three layers deep in the hotel bathroom and I’m laughing so hard I’m crying. I can feel the endorphins in my brain taking off like a rocket. I’m wearing full fashion retrofitted lingerie from head to pointy toe. It’s going to be a fast and far ride and I can tell so I lean against the wall and just watch him as I lose it.

I know what’s coming next, and I’m not sure I can stomach it, but Goddess damn it I’m gonna try. Plus I’m lost in the moment barreling forward because why not, right? It’s harmless, he wants it, and life is short. So I peel a banana, take a big bite off the top and start chewing while I stare down into his face covered in three kinds of food already. Then I started spitting banana on him. Once I started I only made it half way through the first phallic piece of yellow fruit before I can’t stomach the rising nausea anymore. “All right,” I told him. “Stand up and take a look at yourself in the mirror because I can’t take anymore. You’re making me sick to my stomach. You’re lucky I have a fetish for gross things.”

Then it happened. I witnessed the magic on his face that shines every time you help make someone’s fantasy come true. His eyes flared open with delight and a wide, bright smile spread across his mouth and beamed from beneath the honey, chocolate, and yogurt greasing his face. His pathetic prick jumped to attention and stood tall and proud as one final piece of slimy, chewed banana slid down his shaft and dripped off the tip into the tub. I smiled and told him to turn on the shower and get to cleaning up the fucking mess he’d made.

As the room filled with steam I stepped toward the open door and I told my submissive, “Thanks, that was something I’ve wanted to try for a really long time and it was one of the most enjoyable scenes I’ve ever done. We should have tried that years ago.”

c. Sunday Hill

This post has already been published. It’s a book and her name is “Cunt” by Inga Muscio. This is just another cunt’s story about what happened when she started listening to her cunt. This one goes out to all my sans hormonal birth control bio female friends. That means a lot of dykes or mostly lady loving dames might know what I’m about to talk about.

I lost my hetero virginity at the ripe age of 20. The school counselors told me I would know when I was ready. My church told me I wouldn’t be ready until I was married and anything else was a sin. All my friends were having sex, but they were having sex for years. My abstinence was no secret and no scorn. Then I turned 20, had my own apartment, and sat single on the back step in the rare Montana sunshine one summer morning when I heard her say, “I’m ready.”

Jim was a mountaineer from Seattle who drove a red BMW on wintry roads. He was 6’4″ and had a dick the size of a baby’s arm. I bled like somebody stabbed me. I cried for the next 15 times we had sex until something inside of me lightened and healed up. The day after I released my virginity I went and saw the ocean for the first time. It was January in the temperate rainforest off the coast of British Columbia. The sky was gray and dull and it was windy, wet and cold. When I saw the perpetual ocean I understood the omnipotent notion of God for the first time.

Then I went on birth control. I was started on the stuff while still in high school by our family physician. That virginal stint was to cure a vague painful condition they called Polycystic Syndrome (don’t quote me on this). Here’s what I’ve come to believe: it was not too many eggs being produced by my ovaries that needed a clamp down, it was the toxic family drama in my house that was infesting my most vulnerable and powerful system of the moment and syphoning off all my energy. Call me crazy. I believe in psychic vampires and mind body connections that defy scientific explanation. Someone doesn’t have to touch you to abuse you.

Then I quit the stuff. Why? Because I wasn’t even having sex. I told the doctor that, but he didn’t believe me. I moved out of my house after graduating from highschool and started attending the local community college full time. Once I had my own place I found I didn’t need the drugs anymore to handle the ups and downs. I thought the pain was probably gone too and it was so I started living a birth control free life and it was more about saving trouble and money than taking a stand.

Then I moved to D.C. and shortly there after got married and started back on the stuff. One year later not only was I already exploring my queer sexuality and immigrating my in-laws from a foreign country, but my life was in shambles. I told the doctor so as I sat sobbing on the exam table at Planned Parenthood.

“I don’t understand quite what the problems is. What do you want to change?” He asked, perplexed. The room was gray.

I wiped my running nose with one hand and with my other hand pointed at the uterus my torso was toppled forward over, still crying. “I want to quit birth control. I want to stop taking the pills. It makes me feel numb. I feel like there’s a cement wall between my top half and my bottom half and I don’t know what’s going on down there.”

I walked out of that appointment, trashed my pill box and started searching for the options the doctor told me were out there. I already had several years of college level science and medical studies beneath my belt and nearly a decade in the medical care industry. (I started at 14 back in Montana as a private caregiver.) I read everything I can get my hands on and I am convinced there is one modern, definitive publication on women’s health:“Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom,” by Dr. Northrup. It is mandatory reading in most feminist or women’s studies programs, especially non-medical majors. The classic cover is a beautiful, deep, bright shade of purple. The other book, of course, was “Cunt”.

Here’s the queer part:

After I went off birth control I discovered a woman inside of me. As she began to rise up from the deep and live again I saw the world around me change. As the endocrine system of my body began to restore its normal levels, I started to see the world with new eyes. My organic desires were no longer suppressed and I was hungry for flesh. Meanwhile, I started to understand why some women wore pantie liners all month long: If I wasn’t careful, I would soak through my skirt. Once I even stained my office chair. I had to throw my sweater over it to cover it quickly when someone walked in until I could clean it when no one was watching.

I took off like a blue streak after the ladies. I didn’t even notice men. When I did it was almost always the kind of man that would look stunning in lingerie. I found that women welcomed my new found appetite for sex and control. I found a few women who put me gladly in my place. We didn’t call this kink. We called it lesbian sex. One of those women taught me how to squirt and I’ve never been the same since. She also introduced me to marijuana and multiple orgasms. Contrary to popular belief we rarely used strap-ons. Lips and fingers and the occasional almost fist were all we needed. No vibrators. We’d rather spend our money on beer.

That’s how I found leather. It turns out some of what they say is true, not all lesbians are interested in sex. For that matter, neither are a lot of people. Or at least that’s what I think after I listen to Dan Savage’s podcast every week. Sometimes I meet their partners in the shop and I feel for them. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. I was blessed enough to enter the adult sexual realm on my own terms. I wasn’t a victim of sexual assault until I was an adult. I find comfort in a queer friendly community that emphasizes the importance of consent, sexual fulfillment, and negotiation. Anywhere else I feel like I’m just waiting for the next disappoint, or the next attack. I know that I would have spent many more years wandering in the desert of sexual well-being and identity if I had remained on birth control. That may not be the case for every woman, and some women certainly do value the risk reduction over other considerations.

I’m not saying it’s all good. Dealing with your natural emotions in a muted world can be draining. The hormones are intense, I’ll admit. When you fuck up you have no one to blame but yourself. I’m a student of natural birth control and I’m shy to admit how much knowledge I have about my own body and its intimate going-ons. I’m also a very sexual person who values pleasure, passion, and creativity over most other sports, including conformity. After I found the birth control free queer garden of sexual delights, there simply was no going back. I didn’t just find orgasms, I found an entire species, just like me: fierce, opinionated, compassionate women and some men too. I wasn’t alone anymore. My unprofessional, totally debatable opinion is that queer women aren’t really queer at all, we’re just women who (mostly) don’t take birth control. That’s a big part of why we’re different. I think it be great if all women were more like queer women. Then the world would have more of the kind of real women it really needs, whether they take birth control or not.

Here on TNG I complain. A lot. I complain with the frequency and intensity of a colicky infant watching an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia during a Columbia Heights 4th of July. So I try to scale back. Be positive. Write about things I like. Music, TV, Frank Kameny. But I can’t always do it. Some things in this world are abominations, brown smears down the fresh white sheets of gay life, and I can’t keep my mouth shut about them.

Silicone-based lube is one of those things.

Remember last year’s BP Deepwater Horizon oil disaster and how terrible our country’s gorgeous coast lines looked when covered in a viscous black slime? Well, that’s how my balls feel for about three weeks after one brush with a bottle of Gun Oil. I like the emotional aspect of sex, the sense that two (or six) people come out of an encounter slightly changed. However, the feeling of sex should linger in your brain or heart, not on the top three inches of your pubes. When even the waistband of your underwear starts to slide around untethered it is clear that you’ve let a substance touch your skin that shouldn’t be there.

Lube is one of those things that is deeply personal, like how they eat corn on the cob. So it makes sense that a substance that might make me violently ill seconds after ejaculation could be another man’s treasure. Why they prefer a lube that allows them to be fucked not just once, but theoretically by several other men in the next four days without reapplication, is beyond me. But I’m trying to keep an open mind.

So I put up a query on Facebook and got some decent answers as to why people might favor the stuff:

” I actually prefer it. It doesn’t seem to gum up like water-based stuff does.”

“Better lubrication, for sure. For fun with a partner or alone. I prefer the feel (of it) to the sticky, time-limited feel of water based lube.”

However, the holder of the second opinion also offered this:

It never goes away. Silicone lube now covers my bed, desk chairs, door knobs, light-switches, and chandeliers. Can come in handy if a kid gets his head stuck in the banister on the stairs, a la every sitcom we’ve ever seen.

And that is the heart of the double-edged lube bottle. Sure, regular lube might require a couple reapplications throughout the course of the sex, but at least you won’t break your neck on it while getting up to pee at 5 am. One friend of mine has clear memories of an old apartment that had become almost uninhabitable due to one errant jerk-off session with a silicon lube sample.

Apparently, it went something like this: Lube is poured on penis, lube spills on bathtub floor. Lube sticks to bottom of feet, is tracked to the sink where it will not wash off hands. Lube is then tracked pedally on the remainder of the bathroom floor, then throughout the apartment, leaving slimy penumbras on all intervening door knobs. Resident of apartment moves out. Apartment is then rented off at a “haunted house rate,” i.e. has its market value driven down by a slick, tactile form of ghost.

I know that silicone lube (or Slube) serves a purpose. That moment when “ooh, ooh” turns into “OW! OW!” is about as mood-killing as a breach birth. Taking the extra second to re-up on the slippery stuff can mean the difference between the best sex you’ve ever had and “just jerk off on me so I can go to bed.” However, so can adjusting one knee for balance and suddenly finding yourself 8 inches in the air, then crashing down onto a hardwood floor. Slube turns bedrooms into slip-n-slides, solid sheets into tie-dye, and inner thighs into bacterial breeding grounds on par with a Steamworks‘ hot tub.

But hey, why take my word on it? Here are some other musings I collected from Facebook to prove I’m not the only one who thinks silicone should be relegated to Nancy Pelosi’s lips where it belongs:

Silicone degrades silicone so it’s not really any good for FTM guys. Just saying

I don’t allow it in my house because it will ruin leather.

It stains sheets. I hate it – unless I’m at someone else’s house/car/alley.

Can you think of any other issue that can single-handedly bring together disparate strands of the trans, leather and sheet-buying community? I sure can’t. I’m actually going to go ahead and make up a statistic here that I hope will scare the living shit out of you:

68% of gay household injuries come as a direct result of silicone-based lube. So there you have it. It’s great for sliding into a buddy, but less fun when you’re sliding headfirst into a bookcase because of that one time you tried to have sex in your living room. Thanks, Slube. I’ll just be sticking to Liquid Silk at my own house.

At another’s place, though? I guess when you’re in slippery Rome, you do as slippery Romans do. Just have a can of turpentine ready when you get home or forever feel the consequences.

Check out Domina Vontana’s weekly column, Goddess Files, every Wednesday at 2 p.m.

I’m starting to understand why I don’t care to watch too much porn: Occasionally, while bumping through the usual sexual scenarios online, I come across something that down right disturbs me and, inevitably, turns me on at the same time; something that makes me question my mental state; something like alien sex.

I didn’t witness my first clip of alien porn until this past month. It was a Star Track parody and despite the fact that I used to sell the stuff, it was the first time I’d ever actually watched a parody.

At first I just wanted to see what they would make of the show. I was familiar with it from my childhood, although I’ve never identified as a Trekkie or the like. The next thing I knew, I was drawn into the scene and felt certain parts of my anatomy start to swell and grow moist. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said to myself.

It was a MFF scene and the women were wearing body suit style uniforms with large shoulders pads. Suddenly I’m flooded with images of all the padded costumes worn by Lady Gaga and I find the once remote aesthetic now daringly appealing.

Then there was him: That lucky bastard, pounding both those women on the floor in front of a giant, glowing white light. That was the entire set — a stage and a white lighted portal. His face was white, too, but just his face. His body was long, lean and mean, just the way I like them. The motif seemed to allow for the snarls emanating from his lips. The more he fucked those emotionally remote women, the more I found myself staring at his awesome alien face. Was it goth? No, I told myself. Then what the hell was turning me on so freaking much?

Right now, I think that alien sex, at least in my life, is a little bit like blue cars. No one notices blue cars until you own one or want one. Then, Yep, you guessed it, they are everywhere.

During a fight with my LTR submissive the week before my Star Trek episode I woke up to hear Katie Perry’s ET for the first time and I knew that was my relationship with my “boy.” It wasn’t her performance or much anticipated video that so beguiled me emotionally. It was, once again, Kanye West with his wise cracking, sexually demanding, persuasive perversions that tickled my mind and comforted my heart. After hearing the following, I was hot and ready to make up. It was as if the song helped me reconnect to my loved one, a person I find often remote or emotionally unintelligible.

Kanye even says, “Alien sex” and “probe you.” How hot is that? Super hot. Hot enough to make this dominant woman want to get it right once again with her own darling little alien. Just for the record, here is what Kanye had to say that made my day:

“Tell me what’s next? Alien sex.
Imma disrobe you
Then Imma probe you
See I abducted you
So I tell you what to do”

Alien sex is beginning to take over my life. Just last night I selected a random flick from the queue on my laptop. The movie was called Splice and it was filled with lots of alien-like sex.Now I’m contemplating going back for my PhD to study the physiology of the human embryo at the stage where sex is determined.

Then just last week my boss gave me a toy to take home and try with my submissive, whom willingly serves as my subject anytime I need to do some research for work. The toy was a Japanese product, a one-time-use male masturbator called the Tenga Egg. After I crack open the shell, removed its opaque creamy white form and wrapped it around the top of his cock, I realized I couldn’t finish it for him unless I wanted to get a lot more sexual myself at that research moment. Yep, you guessed it again. All that white had me wondering about the alien object in my hand and why I was feeling so foreign.

Like a lot of folks this week, I took a gander at Katie Perry’s much anticipated film for the song “ET.” I took some fast notes as I did so and here’s what I came up with: I believe that alien sex is a projection of our “other” selves. It’s easy to imagine yourself as a jock or a school teacher, but if you KNOW you’re different, you’re going to seek out sexual scenarios that may reinforce the feeling of being the outsider or the foreigner.

I also think that alien sex, even more than a lot of the dirty nasty stuff out there, is visceral: the skins, the uniforms, the way Katie Perry floated through space like she was in a giant womb.

Alien sex is innately scientific, even if only in the story line, so therefore it’s a great jumping of point for all the geeks and nerds who are already feeling so different. Alien sex is also about crossing boundaries, something that we must do for love, if we are to love the little aliens and the little monsters that already exist in our lives.

Check out Domina Vontana’s weekly column, Goddess Files, every Wednesday at 2 p.m.

This weekend I’ll step outside the kinky bubble I’ve been living in and attend my first feminist conference. I’ll be at Momentum: Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism and Relationships in Silver Spring, MD and I’ll be in good company. I plan to attend the HIPS happy hour on Saturday, after I hear Tristan Taormino speak for the first time. As a female dominant, I’ve always been more interested in giving than receiving in the ass department. Apparently Tristan is the ass queen.

Momentum DC is just another amalgamation of the immense con-culture that keeps perverts, Jesus freaks and feminist in touch with others in their field. I started in the con-culture early in life although I didn’t recognize it at first. As a teenager, I was often slated in the summertime to attend massive religious youth gatherings in some sweltering Midwestern stadium. I sang praise songs til I went hoarse and listened to lessons on ethics, history, and morality. There was no drinking, no sex and no dancing. Taking the name of the Lord in vain was paramount to be reported to a mortal authority.

I didn’t appreciate the con culture and recognize it for exactly what it was (education boarding on indoctrination) until I stumbled in to my first Black Rose conference on the arm of a DC Drag King. I was told to put on something leather and be myself (the only performing BioQueen at the time). When I stepped into the ballroom there was a row of men lined up with their pants down and giddy eager women were clipping hair pins onto their genitals. The man with the highest number of hair accessories hanging from his penis would be declared the winner. Stunned is not even the word.

I clung to my escort and whispered in to her ear, “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Our number received a standing ovation from the 400 plus kinksters in attendance. It was an improvisational number that involved simulated fisting, fake blood and bondage. I had no idea what to expect, but my partner took me on stage by the figurative collar and led me around until I was panting and flat on my back, school girl skirt pushed up to my waist,  wave after thunderous wave of applause washing over my body.

Now I’m transitioning again and that means trying a new flavor of con-culture: the academic, professional, sex positive, feminist kind. I know for a fact that I’ll never make my way out to a comic or anime convention. It’s just not me, but this…this could be it. Again I’m the new kid on the block but I don’t mind. I already know several sponsors and presenters. Would I call them friends? Sure. It’s always hard to tell when interests are so overlapping and personal.

Truth be told, I’m going for the business acumen. That’s the area where I find myself struggling the most recently. Since my day job and my moonlighting gig both fall into this category, I convinced my vanilla boss to let me take the weekend off so I could go. She even paid for my registration, which was so low it was practically a subsidized rate. Thank you to the organizers for keeping the real bottom line in mind and making it possible for almost anyone to be able to attend, even if they have to travel. I know one woman coming all the way from LA. My hope is that I can find the voice I’ve been searching for personally, politically and professionally somewhere where the feminist rubber meets the new media road.

I also plan to drink a lot and flirt like hell. It is a business convention after all. The place is going to be packed with hot intellectual dyke types. Sex is not offically sanctioned at this event, but unlike the youth cons of my celebate teen years, they are at least positive (and private) about it. I’m anxious to experience this woman-centric alternative to the booze fueled orgies that plague most of the other comparable cons. The neoconservative in me is aching for a serious legitiment outlet that can withstand the tides of social and professional pressure. I’m not in this to get laid. I struggle constantly to believe that just because I’m not a slut doesn’t me that I have less to contribute. I just need a community that’s more insterested in education than penetration. Maybe I’ve found it? I’ll let you know.

My best gay friend maintains a steady job, is decently attractive, showers on a weekly basis, stays up to date on current events, likes Disney movies, owns a cat,  and would — given my brief summation of him —be described as a relatively normal and semi-sophisticated young male.

This same friend also has a photo collection on his iPhone of not only his friends, his cat, Penelope Cruz’s dress at the Oscars, but also a whopping 10 photos and two videos of his questionably aesthetically pleasing erect penis. This collection is meant solely to send out to other gay men through AT&T’s fastest and “growing” network.

I’m not sure whether this describes the current state of “normal” gay men’s social and romantic interaction in America, if a modern definition of romantic courtship includes exchanging dick pictures, but I witness such accepted “slutty” behavior with all of my gay male friends. Many young professionals, students, even closeted frat boys and divorced fathers frequently use internet sites such as Manhunt, Adam4Adam, and the infamous Grindr— a smartphone application similar to the Marauder’s map in Harry Potter that works as a magical map for identifying surrounding gay men within close proximity.

Often my friend gets a little too drunk and shows me pictures and videos of him masturbating, which after viewing succeeding images of his most flattering penis angles, become less horrifying by the 8th image. He had no qualms about revealing these photos to me until I caught a glimpse of his exclusive cumshot photo. He quickly snatched the phone away in an ironic moment of embarrassment. He also showed me a collection of dick pictures he has received all either notably smooth, veiny, small, large, uncircumcised, or what he describes as welcomingly Jew-ish. Face becomes a secondary factor to what level of attractiveness, at least, my friend is looking for in a perfect mate, or more appropriately a perfect hookup.

As a lesbian lady, I am simultaneously shocked, appalled, and jealous. If all it took for me to get laid was to slightly sacrifice my dignity and send a picture of my asymmetrical vagina lips to some fellow lady loving stranger 345 feet away, then I wouldn’t even be writing about this in the first place. Where is my Scissr? There might not be a need for one given the excellent stalking capabilities of lesbians regarding the whereabouts of ex-girlfriends, their girlfriends, and even their ex-girlfriends, but what about my Eve4Eve?

I want an application that reinforces my lesbian stereotypes. All I have is Okcupid and a few other obscure lesbian dating sites. I’m sure many people have success with these sites, but it’s still not as widespread as any dating site, mobile or not, intended for gay men. Even if a “Scissr” application existed, if I ever showed any of my friends a picture of my vagina, wet or not, I guarantee all of them would check me into an insane asylum or call me an absolutely disgusting subhuman.

Even Grindr founder Joel Simkhai announced in The Observer that he is developing a female-friendly, more “straight” application to compete with the already 1.5 million gay male users. As if straight girls needed any more assistance in finding men to notice them other than from simply existing in the outside world.

As for me, I unfortunately do not live in a major urban gay mecca and finding a lesbian within 20 miles feels like searching for the Last Lesbian Mohican. Simply existing as a lesbian is not enough to get noticed anymore, as I either need to strut an alternative Lesbian Who Looks Like Justin Bieber “look,” sign-up for a feminist book club, or yell “I watch the L-Word too!” in public.

Simkhai proclaimed that standards between men and women differ and the new Grindr application for women will contain different features specifically geared towards women and lesbians included. Oh, meaning women are less likely to fuck a stranger in a bathroom stall than the average gay man? He may be right, but I certainly wouldn’t mind competing with the gays to take back my right to be a slut if it meant being a normal person who collects vagina photos on my cell phone. I am still curious to find out how developing applications and dating sites for lesbians might change our losing battle with gay men for their stereotypical reign as the classiest sluts. But until my Scissr debuts, I will just have to settle for meeting girls the old fashion lesbian way — through my exes!

This week’s post is dedicated entirely to an event this Saturday at the Crucible because it’s just that good. Check it out on the Fetlife event page.

One of the features that makes the D.C. BDSM lifestyle so strong is that we have a full-time dedicated space. The Crucible is located in SW Washington near the new stadium. It’s a warehouse-style building with a loft and a private annex. The bathroom facilities and lounge areas are adequate. It plays host to a variety of events from fetish balls to swingers meetings. Next door is a drag club. Obviously for a gal like me it’s a little slice of hell on earth and I just think that’s heaven. [Most kink spaces are overtly queer friendly FYI.]

Saturday is the #22 Leather Flea and Play. What makes this a stand-out event is the number of handmade goods and local artisans. Whether you want a custom fitted leather strap-on or a flogger with a carved wooden handle, chances are you can find it here. That’s why I can’t stand to see fetish gear in plastic boxes; I will walk into this place on Saturday and all I will smell is leather and all I’ll see are high heels and shiny vinyl. I’ll be over the edge before I even touch the first piece. Some of my favorites in no particular order include Leather by Danny, the Shoe Guy, Passional, Leather by Bob, Details Toys, Rainbow Rope, and Slyx vinyl.

It’s a sight for both shopper and tourist. Go to buy something or go just to learn something. Pick up a toy and hold it in your hands. Ask the person who made it a question. If you have the guts, stay for the play party and maybe break-in your new toy. If you want to know anything about party etiquette or technique I’m sure someone will gladly answer your question or point out someone who can. Common sense and politeness prevail. Ten dollars for the flea market during the day and twenty more bucks if you want to stay for the party. I make no guarantees. These things are always a crap shoot, but that’s half the fun of it.

Photo by Raimond Spekking, Wikimedia Commons

The most visited website in the world is a free porn site. Maybe you’ve seen it (NSFW)? For something a little heavier, you could check out the original fetish film house Kink (NSFW), or Sister Dee’s sight TopGrl (NSFW). Both are established high quality producers who have invested millions in the training and equipment that goes into their shoots. Unfortunately the same can not be said for most “professional” Dominatrix clips, most of which are found for a few bucks at clips for sale (NSFW).

I went pro five years ago, a time rampant with the emergence of online and homemade pornography. Everyone was getting in on the act it seemed, especially the other women in my industry. After very little contemplation, I chose to opt out of this facet of the changing business. My artistic integrity had more to do with my choice then any set of morals. Most of what I saw was crap and I’d be embarrassed to put my name on it. I was immediately placed beneath the glass ceiling by my working associates who saw no value in collaborating with someone who wouldn’t participate in their basement level endeavors.

In the beginning there were a few efforts by established Mistresses to provide some educational format for the emerging market. A few of these productions came off nicely and their content is still valuable because some things, such as good skill, are timeless. My kinky Alma Mater, the Sm-Arts Academy in San Francisco is a good example of this type of sexy informative video. The most interesting and authentic current education effort is The Kink Academy directed by Princess Kali in Boston.

Like a lot of traditionalists, I was drawn to this profession because I saw it as a bastion for deep satisfaction, formal social codes and class. It’s also a total rush to play. I dare say that what has happened online in the last five years that I’ve been paying attention has done more to line the wallets of wannabe Dommes and warm the pants of pseudo-submissives then to educate the masses about the leather lifestyle. Face it, a woman who will let anyone pay to watch her play will play with anyone. Not good in a situation where the dynamic must be based on chemistry and intimate knowledge of your partner.

I know that porn is not the most reliable source for educational materials. However, just like television killed the radio star, Internet porn is killing the kinky star. Legions of otherwise qualified submissives are being misled. Men who are already very impressionable and horny are signing on to watch ecclesiastic style renditions of S & M that are geared towards profit, not safety. In general, most of what happens in the easily downloaded clips is extreme play. Very extreme play. Most of the men I play with could never take what they watch, what they say they want. They are amateurs who get to the dungeon once or twice a year. At the very least, their expectations by that time are likened to an out of shape individual who wakes up and expects to run a marathon. At the very worst, they fine someone who will do anything to make a buck and they come back home broken, inside or out.

Another important delineation between kinky porn and other wise other types of porn is that those who engage in kink often do so with the explicit intent of making that fantasy in their head a reality. Vanilla dudes know they are never going to have it as good as the clip they just viewed and if they ever do it will be the best night of their life. That’s why I never give in to my clients requests for unsafe or unfavorable play no matter how badly they think they want it. That and because I know that I always know better than they do what they really need, because I do this for the love of it, and most months I’m fortunate enough to make a living off of it too.

In the beginning a man who wanted to serve a Dominant lady would need to search out a catalog in a shop that sold such things. Then he’d need to send away a letter to the woman advertising in the back. Then he had to wait for her reply. The time elapse between desire and destiny was often months in the making. In the meantime all the man had to entertain himself was thoughts of his soon-to-be Mistress and the possibility of the scene drawn mostly from his own desires. That’s a far cry from what currently goes on on line but I for one won’t give up hope and will continue to present myself in a way that I believe attracts those who share my values. I’m pro porn and I enjoy perusing the occasional locker room gang bang on XNXX. Who isn’t hot for cheerleaders? But I’ll continue to dismiss most of what I find on clips for sale because I find that kind of kink degrading, and not just to the slave, but to the Mistress who is so willing to settle for so little when there’s so much more to be had. Being a Dominatrix is the role of a lifetime and should be treated as such.

Crossposted with permission from MyFabulousDisease.com. You can find the original post here.

The idea that HIV positive people still want sex is as old as The Denver Principles, the 1983 manifesto drawn up by gay men with AIDS that demanded “as full and satisfying a sexual and emotional life as anyone else.” The document also stated that people with HIV/AIDS have an ethical responsibility to share their status with others.

Fast forward to today, and HIV positive gay men are as open as ever about their status and their sexual preferences (setting aside, if we can for the moment, the increased stigma and discrimination facing HIV positive people of all stripes who disclose their status these days). And those sexual choices may not include HIV negative people at all, thank you very much.

Last year I taped a tour of a sex club that hosts a monthly “Poz4Play” party, and sat down to interview Bill, the party’s disarmingly unflappable host. In this video blog (the video, above, is PG rated but the language is explicit), I revisit the tour and get an update from Bill about the strong reaction to the original video, which includes a frank conversation on barebacking, the risk of other STD’s, and serosorting.

Serosorting, or limiting sexual partners to those who share your HIV status, has become the de facto prevention technique for many gay men with HIV. Research indicates that the tactic may have value in containing the spread of HIV, but as you might guess, it isn’t so effective when it comes to HIV negative gay men who attempt to serosort amongst themselves. People who claim to be negative are often wrong, misinformed or simply lying. HIV positive men who claim to be positive are less likely to be wrong about that fact.

On an important side note: is avoiding HIV enough? Research indicates that poz-on-poz sex is much more likely to include barebacking (unprotected sex), and that means the potential of pitting a sometimes compromised immune system against other sexually transmitted diseases. If the idea of catching gonorrhea simply makes you feel nostalgic, what about (the far more dangerous) Hepatitis C? A recent study found that 75 percent of new hepatitis C virus (HCV) infections in HIV-positive men occurred in those with no history of injection drug use (IDU) – the more typical transmission route for HCV. Barebacking is the suspected culprit.

Everywhere on the gay hook-up radar, positive men are asking, telling, and serosorting. “Disease free, UB2” in online profiles is being countered by the cheeky “HIV positive and plan to stay that way, UB2.” Meeting sites are engaging in some serosorting of their own by offering poz dating and hookup options.

And over at the gay bareback porn company Treasure Island Media (TIM), director Paul Morris has named it “the year of living positive (sic),” with a series of videos featuring openly HIV positive actors. While one might appreciate Mr. Morris’ enthusiastic wish that everyone “fuck freely and without fear,” he’s a little light on the real-life implications of such a lifestyle.

I exchanged e-mails with Paul Morris in an attempt to interview a real-life couple he just re-signed to exclusive bareback video naughtiness. The couple includes an HIV negative top and a positive bottom, and I thought this would be a great opportunity to educate gay men by going “behind the scenes” and speaking to these two actors in a way that focused on their real life and didn’t demonize them.

Paul was complimentary of my blog and confident that his actors would communicate with me if I would e-mail my questions to them. I did so, and my queries included: how big an issue was HIV to them? Did one worry for the other’s long term health? Was the positive partner on meds? How did they handle feeling judged by those who disagreed with their bareback porn star habits?

Note to self: do not attempt to “get real” with bareback porn studs or their handlers. I never heard from the actors, or another peep out of Paul Morris. His silence betrays his grandstanding on the topic (his own press release gleefully refers to him as “universally reviled,” which would look great on his name tag at the next Gay Erotic Expo). Or, perhaps Paul Morris really does know his audience, and figures they’re uninterested in his stars once the DVD is back in the sock drawer.

It’s also possible Treasure Island Media is just distracted with appealing their recent $21,000 fine by California OSHA for, among other things, not developing procedures for things as basic as Hepatitis B vaccinations. Maybe the Oscar winning song is right, and it really is hard out there for a pimp… or for a porn empresario.

It’s funny, meeting someone in person whom you have been virtual friends with for over a year. Nearly 13 months of sexual tension and in person, we are comfortable pals, yet beyond that, perhaps not much else. Internet Skype boy was having a weekend of bad reactions to some new migraine meds which ironically were causing low sex drive issues. The irony does not sneak past me here. I wanted a weekend of unbridled carefree fucking after 11 months of loving someone who had low sex drive issues and low interest issues. Nonetheless, we did have sex on Friday night, but the first time you fuck anyone is odd, grooves not found, rhythms not synced, and so I extended my trip one more night, to see whether things could line up more.

In between my first and last night… Parisian Macarons from Bisous Ciao in flavors like Sour Cherry, Champagne Cocktails from Bubble Lounge and strolls through the Bowery. Apple Cider from The Union Square Greenmarket, naps on $7,000 couches at The Conran Shop, viewings of Time Bandits, and jokes about how I have lost my NYC street cred after ten years away.

So how was the sex, second go around? It’s different. It’s not Type Geek. I was detached, yet forced to be present because of the sensation of fucking someone much larger than your previous partner. We fucked, it was fine. It was the punctuation, the ending to my one-sided relationship with a man I loved who couldn’t give anything except the occasional dinner, concert or overnight snuggle. Until there was sex with someone else, there was always just going to be Type Geek in my rear view mirror. After Skype boy and I fucked, after he washed up and went to bed, I laid there. The only night I was unable to relax and sleep. I missed Type Geek, even the small amount that I had him, the small amount that snuck through without him seeing it cozy up to me. I couldn’t help but wonder, has he thought of me at all since he saw me last? Did he ever miss me or was I unable to imprint myself even that much on him? I know it isn’t a reflection on me, it is merely a reflection on him and his bigger deeper issues, but nonetheless, I feel the loss and miss the him that I knew in those dark quiet hours between dusk and dawn.

Kink is sex for geeks. Crafts people, technicians, engineers – that is who I think of when I think about my community. That and a bunch of hot chicks in latex. We do some unusual things that require qualified skill for sure, but the emphasis on learning ends up spilling out into all areas of the community. Once education is implicit, people have permission to talk about anything they like from a productive stand point. That’s just what over 1,000 kinksters did this weekend at the annual Winter Fire conference here in DC.

The move from full time Dominatrix to toy sex shop salesgirl sometimes feels like I went from teaching troubled teens to starting my own daycare service. So much of the heterosexual vanilla world still struggles to know how to talk about the most basic concepts and I think kinksters have forgotten this and because of that we often come across as rude to the rest of the world. The good news is the rest of the world is trying in record numbers to develop the skills to speak about sexual well being with one another and maybe, if we learn a few manners, even with us. There is a delicacy to this beginner’s dialogue that is missing from the modern kink community and because of that I think we scare off quite a few would-be allies.

I do not believe that beginning to explore one’s sexuality inevitably leads down an endless road of the erotic unknown. I think that we all get to try and find the dynamic spot where we belong on the sexual spectrum. I love working with people who have to make an effort to create this place for pleasure research in their lives. They are the ones truly dedicated to service. Most of the time they are putting everyone else first. They are brave too, because they must take on new skills and reorganize the way they think to achieve what they now can  know is possible thanks to prior educators and activists. One thing the straights are catching from the gays is a desire to own and enjoy their sexuality. And education is the key.

is this really what you look like?

Apparently all the guys are using Grindr to find sex partners. Gay men, as we already know, are pigs. And as pigs will enlist any advance in technology in the search for dick.

However, the rules of attraction and the ethics of pursuing such attraction are age-old and timeless. I’d like to explore a few aspects of the casual/anonymous sex arena here, asking some questions and sharing my opinions on the issues of safety, mutual respect and consideration.

First: truth in advertising. As I suggested before, there is nothing more important than being honest with yourself about yourself, and then successfully communicating that self to others. While you can easily fib to yourself without repercussion about what you look like and where on the masc/femme you lie, a potential sexual partner has no obligation to follow through on a hook-up planned under false pretenses. You will save yourself and your partner a lot of time and energy if you simply be open and honest about yourself. While this notion is especially important for online trickery, it can also apply to meeting in person. For example, if you meet someone at a club and you have some sort of potential “deal breaker” in your pants or waiting for you back home, you might want to consider disclosing this information before stumbling hand-in-hand out of the taxi and up your steps. This, of course, leads to the next topic.

Second: no obligations. Just because you cross the threshold of someone’s place (or they cross yours) doesn’t mean that you have to go through with anything. Casual sex is like an item purchased at Walmart: full refund available, no questions asked. Feeling misled or lied to is of course the strongest motivation for bailing out on a tryst, but anyone should feel able to bow out of an engagement at any time for any reason. The few minutes of discomfort you’ll face telling your potential sexual parter that he is no longer a potential is nothing compared to the regret you’ll feel for days, weeks or months after hooking up with someone you are, at best, not attracted to or, at worst, afraid might prove a risk to your health and safety.

Third: protect yourself. While the stories of online meet-ups gone wrong are few and far between — and more likely to occur on SVU than in the real world — the risk still exists. There are a handful of things you can do to ensure your personal safety before sharing intimate moments with a relative stranger. First and foremost, let someone know what you’re up to: send an email to a close friend, leave a note for your roommate, text yourself with some details. If for some reason your tryst goes awry, leave some hints behind so someone knows to notify the authorities of your disappearance sooner than later. Next, get a working phone number from your new buddy: Give your number and ask for a text reply. Someone who might consider slitting your throat or robbing you blind won’t likely give you a working (and therefore traceable) phone number. (Sidenote: TV crime dramas paint a picture of a world of disposable and untraceable cell phones, so acquiring a valid phone number is no guarantee of the authorities being able to track your new friend if the unthinkable happens. However, the actual prevalence of these untraceable phones is unknown, really, and I don’t think Grindr runs on any down-market mobile devices.) If possible, include this phone number in the text/email/note you’ve left behind. Finally, consider meeting for the first time in a quasi-public place. Suggest meeting at a cafe, on the stoop of your building, in front of a favorite bar. If you are going to have sex with someone you just met online, the above steps can go a long way to ensuring your safety. If your date suggest meeting in public and requests your phone number, accommodate these requests and trust that you both have nothing but fun and positive shared experiences in the near future.

The reasons for getting a working phone number go beyond safety. It’s only courteous to formally cancel an appointment that you realize you can’t keep, regardless of whether those appointments are social or sexual in nature. Additionally, if any health issues arise after the tryst, it’s your responsibility to notify your partners, even those whose names you might not know. Finally, it can be fun to exchange randomly timed flirty texts reminiscing past experiences or arranging new ones.

What’s missing here? What are the other essential steps to achieving a low-risk and courteous hook-up?