ABCs Of Kink

Split Vision

November 29, 2018 by ABCs Of Kink

My character, “Amanda”. Photo by Audrey Hotchkiss

I have a problem with love. I don’t love myself as wholly as I love others. This makes me a good person perhaps, but also a monster.

The soft circles I’m made up of fight to be more angular, and lose unless the pressure of hurt, pain, something to be struggled against which is larger than me is applied, something to be reckoned with. My brain sees its fears in every reflection. These ocular chambers cannot be trusted, will not be denied myopic resolve, nor be trained to react differently to the light.

###

When I am working on a farm my body shines and glows, taking on sinewy shape and golden bronze tone. My back muscles seize. I am damaged and incorrectly proportioned for this labor. Old injuries surface and stop me in my tracks, but my fingers, delving into rich brown life are in love. My brain is terse that I’m not jotting the musings of each moment down (hands filled with hoe and weeds), but my heart speaks the language of plants and sighs sweetly.

When I spend days and weeks writing, out of body, sitting stagnant in a chair that must reek of me by day’s end, my heart is satisfied that it has spoken. My brain gives itself high fives and winds down with comforting, less exhaustive endeavors. My body, left behind stiff and unused but for fingertips, aches and grows less responsive, ornery, sullen, and complaining.

When I work in an office I fight with people. Bare teeth. Rue the day I was born on this planet of unremarkable moments, and wish the insidious poison I taste in my mouth from biting my lip wasn’t blood, but strychnine. I learn a different truth: I have no tolerance.

So are the well worn rounds of my desire, pride, depression, and shame broken down by occupation. Am I a body person, a heart person, or a head person? It’s about gender and it’s not about gender. It’s about my search for truth when there’s no truth to be found.

###

He raised me to the hospital’s bright florescent nova and did not proclaim my life a journey for me to discover. Instead my vulva, fresh from the womb of my Mother was labelled “specimen No. 1” and I was degraded for the first time in my blinking moment of an existence. Degraded not because I was assigned “girl”, and to be “Woman” one day, degraded because I was proclaimed fractured, un-whole, because I was set upon a path of lists and checkboxes (illustrated with many points of power and mystery, but still), proclaimed belonging to a path that was not my own.

No path of lists and checkboxes is holy.

Discovery of my body henceforth was defined by predetermined conditions printed in millions of books, on billboards, and writ loudly on boxes at the breakfast table. Instructions dripped from the lips of all who spoke my name. Expectations and projected pitfalls were branded into the minds of every human I met on this bit of spinning rock we call home. I was promised to another in that moment. I was told to rut deeper in the furrow of advertised femininity, chained to a sex and a story brought on by the glance of a man who had cut my Mother against her will minutes before. He had flashed his knife blade, slicing it through her pelvic floor to bring me out at a pace which pleased his pressing schedule and desire to sew a straighter line. His comfortable manly rut. All the rage in 1978. Have we changed?

###

I remember little hearts springing from my eyes the first time I saw a spiked mohawk and rivets, piercings, and tattoos screaming, “I AM ME! FUCK YOUR LISTS AND EXPECTATIONS!” Still, it took me years and shored up courage to shave my own hair from its scalp. I learned the starkness of nowhere to hide from my newly unframed face. No shield by way of lengthy bangs and curtains of hair. Each expression, every fleeting thought and emotion laid naked in the open, recognizable and bare. I was undateable except for the boy with blue hair and tan skin who also loved mischief and disposing of lists.

Acting school isn’t a place to challenge beauty standards, only emotional norms. Our range should be invisible but for the tremble of a lip, a single tear, staunchly empowered vocals, and the lyrics of our limbs. Pretty at first glance always. No “risk” of individual expression will be tolerated in this industry of uncreative creatives. To be popular with casting agents, director’s couches, and audiences painted with an expectation of status quo was our aim.

The week I graduated I pierced my eyebrow, threading spikes and arrows through that fresh hole in my face. I reclaimed the bit of flesh above my right eye in an act of defiance, satiating a starved desire to be myself first, and the “neutral” instrument of a bourgeois patriarchal entertainment industry no longer.

###

I am neither nor. I am both and all.
I am whole.
I am whole.
I am whole.

I whisper to myself in throes of depression and anxiety. I try to convince myself of worth, but when will I be paid a living wage for the labor of gathering “likes” while helping others see beauty where no one else cares to nurture or hold? I admire others far more than I enjoy myself, but I am stubborn and selfish and I journey on.

I like the way I feel until I don’t. I love the way I create until I tear my work apart. The cycle of brilliance and demolition is a rut I am lost deep within time and time again… Raised to the artificial light I was ticked off “female”. Lesser than. Nurturer. Worth/less without a mask of make-up and willingness to wear heels five days a week. I resent this lie which is absolutely not a lie. I plod too modestly along.

I am overqualified, under-qualified, and angry about the paths which may lead me out of debt and constant struggle, and I have no tolerance for them at all. I do not accept social graces as other than the controlling violence I know them to be.

###

A girl, size zero, ate half her yogurt cup in acting class and cried that she was overweight and we attended her, talked it out, held her pain and soothed her edges. I was terrified to exist in the room that day, so many sizes larger than a zero myself, having a body with substance and strength. I cried in anger and angst about the hell this lifetime is. There would be no return to acting class innocence, knowing others’ perceptions of me must be monstrous indeed. I would never be flat enough, tall enough, straight enough, whatever it was I needed to be enough of to work my way out of debt in this, my beloved industry.

###

I do not wish I was less educated, I wish I was less poor. I do not wish I was built differently, I wish the world celebrated humans with bodies. Everything hurts. I am a toothfull thing, dark and mushy in the light, and I do not know how else to be. I am writer and an artist, truth-teller with no fact-check available for my version of truth. I am sensitive and sad. I am at moments wildly excited and hopeful, as only a creative knowing the uplifting fervor of might-be-attainable dreaming will be. I am flawed (oh so flawed) but my flaws are not measured by diamond commercials and lipstick shades, in skirt sizes and shaving cream standards of shame. My flaws are wrapped up in the fact that I have a problem with love. I don’t love myself as wholly as I love others. This makes me a good person perhaps, but also a monster.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art.
Please visit my Patreon, offer one time Support or email me for other options. Thanks.

Filed Under: Brain on Download Blog Tagged With: appreciate my body, body dysmorphia, gender dysphoria, how to listen to pain, how to love yourself, media, poorness, self love, struggle

To a Day of Thanks and Mourning

November 22, 2018 by ABCs Of Kink

TDay is a hard one for me. I don’t celebrate it for plethora reasons. Family is one of them. Today commemorates my break-up with the born again Christian missionary contingency of my family when I was 15 in an incredibly humiliating and painful scene — a family which still (to my perspective) refuses to speak with me because I ask questions, do not adhere to religious authority, and live my life as authentically as I know how. My marriage to someone of the same sex years ago was an issue, I’m sure my gender is one, I’ll bet being a kink writer and sexuality educator etc. counts. I know that calling out hurtful behavior and asking for a conversation a number of years ago broke the camel’s back and has resulted in radio silence since. I usually spend this day alone, and feel the freedom and weightlessness of quiet resilience when I do. I’ve had the experience of being deeply triggered in the past — thankfully I think I’m past that intensity of emotions.

I’m not telling you this so you can feel sorry for me. I’m sharing my experience because this day is a complex one. It’s a day of celebration and family gathering, and it’s also a day of genocide, betrayal, and much pain. It’s a day defined by the political spin machine which persists in its lies to this day. It’s a day in a week of advertised over-consumption between food and things (no coincidence that consumption is both nourishing and self-soothing — what stories are we nourishing, what fears and pain are we self-soothing?). I believe that until we can speak with one another about our differences, our pasts, our pains, and try to navigate through acknowledgement and acceptance of each person’s roots, until we learn to have hard conversations and take manageable steps toward peaceful coexistence with those who we do not understand (even sometimes those who have mistreated us), we will never celebrate anything as the family, the Nation, we could be. The American dream is not a picture perfect reality bought with dollars and social graces. My American dream is living in acceptance and celebration of the richness of diversity this land contains. No one of us deserves this land, it is not ours. We belong to the places we set down our feet and dreams, and we owe that land commune-ity. We will create and become the dirt of this place after death, which is a powerful acknowledgement, yet life was meant for the living — the beautiful, vibrant, multicultural, mutiperspective reality of our autonomous brains and bodies coming together to create better life and more life before the finality of each body’s return to earth. Love each other. Rise above pain. Be uncomfortable on someone else’s behalf instead of superior and steadfast in your resolve. Clay is malleable, as are our minds and bodies…

Back to my family for a moment… my cousin, the one my age, had a baby this morning. I heard about it from my siblings instead of directly from my aunt who no longer speaks to me. I still texted her congratulating her on being a grandmother and asked for my cousin’s number. I still wished her a happy thanksgiving. I’m pretty sure those things mean something to her, and though there is a hole in my heart from her silence from all these years, I prefer not to play into it or be victimized. I don’t know if she’ll respond. That’s ok. It’s funny that this day, of all days, I should reach out… appropriate I guess. Our lives are built in circles.

To a thoughtful day however you do or do not observe its gravity. We are all expected to reflect, today, on the meaning of where we come from. Perhaps this will lead each of us to more clearly know who we are and who we can still strive to be. Much love to you and yours.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Support my writing on Patreon. For one time Donations: Support the Artist or email.
This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art. Thank you.

Filed Under: Brain on Download Blog Tagged With: a better nation, day of remembrance, family issues, genocide, growing up, overconsumption, political spin machine, religion, Thanksgiving is hard, the meaning of community

Phone Sex

November 20, 2018 by ABCs Of Kink

I’ve been picking up shifts as a Phone Sex Operator (PSO) lately. It’s been fun and interesting, and I think I’m suited to it. I wish it paid better and I wish I got more than one call per day currently (it is what it is, hopefully in time I’ll build an actual client base).

My first experience with phone sex was many years ago. I was working at a sex store owned and run by women in the Boston area, and someone brought in a bunch of prepaid phone cards to give to those of us who worked there. It was really fun to call in, flip through a bunch of ads, and pick someone’s extension to chat on. I enjoyed it a lot. I never got too far into it though. At the time I was in a relationship with a person who didn’t support my sexual experimentation and didn’t want to talk about my kink interests. We weren’t really having sex either, so I felt guilty getting on the phone with a stranger halfway around the world (or next door?) for turned on moments alone. It didn’t feel right, so I didn’t continue on.

So far each call I’ve gotten has been completely different. My first call was what I thought phone sex would be like when I signed up for the job — a role play fantasy scenario with the objective of finding a fun journey to my caller’s orgasm! I enjoyed the scenario, and a half hour later was off the phone feeling like I do after a good Dom session or performance — happy and excited for more.

The following call was a bit different. The person on the other end just wanted to talk about “guys sucking each other’s cocks”. The rhythm of our banter was rhythmic and uncreative — a gratuitous repetition of words with hard edges — the sheer delight of dirty words sputtered about. Taboo revelry. What I found interesting was that every now and then he wanted me to tell him that masturbating while watching guys suck each other off was ok.

Done and done! Of course it’s ok — it’s sexy af and great stimulus for getting off!

… so we chatted on

… and on

… and two hours later I was beginning to think this person might never be finished. I was rather tired (it was late) and I was ready to sign off, but didn’t want to end the call without him being satisfied, so I asked if he wanted to come, and he affirmed. I kept up with our banter but started to punctuate our repetitious cock-talk with the demand that he come for me, and that he come now. It worked. Yay!

I’ve thought a lot about that client’s needs since our conversation. The missing piece from his fantasy seemed to be permission to (or maybe even the goal to) come. Granting him permission and demanding that objective defined his pace more than anything else. Speaking with me he was fed imagery and language he wanted, he was literally told it was ok to be turned on by that imagery, and at the end of our discussion he was ordered to get off. I love the psychology.

Another caller had a cuckolding kink. He wanted to talk about his relationship and to connect with someone who understands and accepts his desire of being cheated on. He wanted to know how to talk with his partner about it, and how to navigate the possibility of exploring cuckolding with her. He wanted advice and support, and later on he wanted to maybe do some sexy role play… Our conversation lasted an hour and was very enjoyable. When I checked in to see if there was anything else he wanted, he brought up role play again, but said he didn’t have the time. We’ll speak again hopefully. I wish him well on his journey of discovering new play styles with his partner.

I’ve been quickly hung up on, had one call end with both of us laughing, I’ve helped a couple friends decide where to cum, and (honestly) been a little skeeved out by one caller… The mind is a never-ending creative place to share and explore.

It’s pretty great to pick up a phone and plug back into this old intrigue. It’s even better to be paid for it. If you’re ever interested in chatting with me, you can find a chat line of mine on Niteflirt. I also work for another company, but get a smaller cut. I take all kinds of calls — sexy, therapeutic, silly, fantasy, educational, personal, just listening to someone while they say things outloud… the option is yours.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Support my writing on Patreon. For one time Donations: Support the Artist or email.
This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art. Thank you.

Filed Under: Perspectives on Kink Blog Tagged With: aural sex, fantasy play, fun and flirty, niteflirt, PFO, Phone Sex, PSO, role play