ABCs Of Kink: TRUTH OR DARE

December 9, 2016 by

Photo from an interactive installation I created at Kayafas Gallery in Boston. Photo by RADskillZ Photography 2013

I love the game Truth or Dare! I find it fascinating to observe what people do and don’t have a hard time trying out, sharing with others, negotiating to change, or taking a pass on… Obviously there are people who play who are more cutthroat and less generous with their playmates (who are no fun and potentially unsafe), and there are people who aren’t interested in pushing their boundaries for a game or are specifically uncomfortable around others participating (people whose internal selves are saying: I probably should not play), but when you do find that magical combination of  people who are creative, have healthy boundaries, are good at advocating for themselves, and have a fun sense of adventure together, it’s just plain ‘ol wonderful chemistry and fun!

I have always been a game player, a game maker-upper, and a game tailor. I was the oldest kid in my family and so was looked to for something to do, and it didn’t hurt that I liked making things up, running around, and being bossy. Having an active imagination, I would spend a lot of time making up adventure fantasies for whomever was around to play, I would plan out ridiculous physical stunts for us to pull off, or I’d imagine new versions of already tried and true games in an effort to spice up the afternoon — obviously I grew up with a yard and not much media around.

The years did not make me less apt to play with friends though, and as I’ve gotten older so have the parental advisory labels on my reindeer games. It’s been wonderful to find like creatures in the years since high school — those mischievous bright eyed imps who also get off on experimenting with social situations, creating safe places to do the unusual, and negotiating the inspired and the odd in rooms full of the willing! I have so many good playmates spread over the country at this point, that it is impossible not to want to tour almost continually just in an effort to expose myself to my friends’ brilliantly twisted minds. One of the more recent moments I got up to some-such silliness, myself and another twinkle-eyed imp were found three-legged racing buck naked in clown shoes through a ginormous party… (this was like last week, practically.)

Once I recreated my bedroom in a gallery, and laid on my bed for hours in a building full of people milling around looking at art. I displayed a sign saying “What do you want? Just Ask.” and was wearing the slip and sweater I usually wear around the house while I’m working. It led to some really interesting conversations and interactions with people. It also led to a lot of side-eye and nervousness from gallery patrons. A few people would watch, and then leave, and then come back… over and over until they would finally come up and ask me what the piece was about. It was too hard for them to decide a thing they wanted, and just simply ask for it. Anything at all. To hard to find out by trying. There were really fun people who played too. A couple who asked to get in bed with me, people who wanted to cuddle as we got to know each other, some people wanted to read my books and go through my drawers… I loved that piece, I’d love to do it again… Someone hire me to do it again!

Anyhow, present day! As I was crossing the country recently, sitting in my car for hours on end speaking with no one (oh boy), I had the idea to create an online version of Truth or Dare through ABCs Of Kink. This is that blog explaining it all and inviting you to play. Hopefully it’ll be a thing that entertains you, keeps inspiring me to write, and becomes a fun back and forth…

~ ABCs Of Kink TRUTH OR DARE ~

GAME RULES:

  1. You decide: Truth, or Dare
  2. Fill out the form below to create a Game Card
  3. After reviewing the Game Cards I’ve received, I’ll choose one, complete it, and blog!
  4. Fill out as many Game Cards as you like, and I’ll write Truth or Dare articles periodically for as long as you’re inspiring me to play…

Have fun dreaming up Game Cards, Dear Readers! I do hope you’ll be a shiny-eyed adult imp with me, courageous enough to ask for what you want.

Play On,
~ Karin

If you like my blog, please check out my Patreon Page and consider supporting me, or just click here: Support the Artist

~Thank you.

Filed Under: Perspectives on Kink Blog Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Getting it Wrong Like a Pro

December 4, 2016 by

If I am going to care about being correct, I must also care about being wrong. ~ Karin Webb

“If I am going to care about being correct, I must also care about being wrong.” This is my social media status today, and I think it’s true. The thought was sparked by a lot of conversations I’ve had recently, where a theme emerged which over the past year of presidential campaigning here in the USA seems to only have amplified post election. The theme is one I might politely call a “hold on thoughtfulness”, but honestly I feel it is better served with the moniker “bullying”. There are deep implications to our society’s welfare, and to our own senses of self if this behavior deepens or becomes normalized.

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Photo by Justin Moore

What, you may ask, does this have to do with sexuality or kink? Well, it’s going to take another step or two to get there, please stick with me… A recent discovery of mine was the Wall Street Journal’s “Blue Feed Red Feed: See Liberal Facebook and Conservative Facebook, Side by Side” interactive article site. Reading it helped me see how very differently people are fed what “truth” is. On the site you can check liberal and conservative facebook feeds next to one another pertaining to a specific issue. It’s fascinating to see the different ideas contained within rhetoric on various political and human rights issues from one side to the other. Take the stream for abortion: the ideas, argument points, what’s assumed is the “normal” way of thinking, the ideologies it is assumed the readership agrees with or takes for granted, the article’s clickbait title skew, and a variety of other points of departure between the bubbles becomes overwhelmingly apparent. I draw the conclusion that the issue of abortion is about completely different things to the conservative than it is to the liberal, and so it is with most every subject. On this site they do not stream on the subjects of sexuality education, rape culture, bodily autonomy, sex negotiation practices, queer politics, or race though if they did I would probably be shocked at first and then maybe like, “ooooohhhhh, I get it now!” about half the things some of my conservative religious family says and does surrounding many of those realities.

And that would be a step in the right direction.

If one can understand the direction another is coming from, the landscape of the conversation can change. We would know something about where to start our conversations, and could start by knowing where our neutral agreed upon territory lies (should there be any). We could work out how to disassemble the assumptions we’re both making about what we “know,” and we might be able to nimbly navigate questions and assumptions about one another’s perspective before the conversation starts feeling like a snowballing fight.

It seems the way people are debating one another these days lies on the “agree to disagree” throw away without examination or respectful debate amongst peers side of discourse, or else a full-on negging battle ala dating website troll abuse… I find myself asking more and more frequently during (what I thought was a) debate conversation, “didn’t people until recently have the ability to calm themselves down and speak logically to one another, or listen to the other side of the conversation and engage thoughtfully in a counter argument? Have we forgotten how to ask questions of one another rather than make accusations? Have we forgotten that we don’t have to take disagreements so personally? Have we forgotten how to agree upon respectful boundaries within discourse?”

The answer to these questions matters. The answers matter because hate groups as of last year were on the rise and the Southern Poverty Law Center reported that “Hate in the mainstream had absorbed some of the hate on the fringes.” Thus our research is showing as a nation we’re polarizing because of the rise of hate groups. It seems to me that the only way back towards center, back towards sanity and a means for peaceful evolution and opportunity for reasonably negotiated personal growth, is by seeing one another as worthy of being right (in some way) too… Can’t we “stand our ground” on sane discourse and not be pulled into disowning or slur-filled anathema?

Now I am not arguing that we should respect people spouting vitriolic hate or personally harmful rhetoric in our faces to the tune of “but you must have something reasonable to say because you’re speaking”. National discourse looks like an abuse cycle these days, and it is up to all of us to niether take on nor dole out the abuse, which means we must become comfortable with the idea of being wrong.

It has got to be ok to be wrong. If we can not be wrong, we are at the mercy of our unfolding shame‘s recoil. If we cannot be wrong we cannot continue to grow. If we cannot be wrong we will never close the gap between ourselves and people we do not fully understand. If we cannot be wrong the planet is doomed to war and will never have peace. If we cannot be wrong we can’t get creative about where our conversations are heading, or have the ability to direct things toward a kinder end for ourselves or another. If we cannot be wrong we cannot ask questions, pulling ourselves out of the point of view we are clinging to, willing to see perspective from another vantage point. If we cannot be wrong we cannot recognize nor examine our own potentially unhealthy or toxic behaviors. If we cannot be wrong we cannot ever find a way back to those we’ve wronged and ask forgiveness or strive to live in better harmony. If we cannot be wrong we cannot give the gift of acceptance to those who are right.

The photo above is from a puppet show I wrote called “The Crunkruckle”. It’s about an orphaned girl who lives deep in the forest, and all the kids from town think she’s a monster… By the end of the story her only friend, a wolf pup, is shot dead by townsfolk out of spite for him stealing a chicken. At the moment this picture was taken the Girl is falling to the ground sobbing over her wild friend’s limp body. Her monstrous visage dissolves away from the townsfolk imaginations and for the first time they see her as a wounded human child, not a strange ill-intentioned beast or threat to their way of life. Her raw display of pain shakes them out of a theretofore unexamined superficial paradigm and into a larger understanding of a dynamic shared existence… Was it the girl’s job to educate the townsfolk about her life? Of course it was not, it was the town’s burden to understand their disadvantaged outlier before trouble started. So infrequently though does the dominant population challenge its justness until trouble has already begun, at which point the dominant population has numbers and not an examined platform of ethics on its side.

Ok, ok, getting round to kink and sex and stuff: Speaking of numbers, if we are engaging in what I like to term “the advanced math of sexuality”, and something goes wrong, who do I want to have in bed/kitchen table/bathtub/woods with me? You guessed it: someone who can see through the knee jerk reaction of their complex feelings (perhaps including about being wrong and/or making a mistake), and who can get quickly and efficiently to the part where they fix the mistake/get me out of harm’s way/get me to medical attention or help/don’t make me feel bad about what went wrong while we join together as a team to make things right. And I work toward knowing myself well on these counts too should I be the one in the wrong. I won’t be playing with that person again if they cannot listen to my needs and make room for my experience amongst the list of their own desires. I won’t be playing again with someone who tries to wear me down into doing what they want to do against my wishes, or who gaslights me, or violates negotiations meant to protect my/our emotional, physical, sexual, or psychological health. I won’t be playing with someone I find abusive, narcissistic, or controlling. At the core of enjoying the advanced math of sexuality, all boils down to effective and vulnerable communication for the unshackled (yet perhaps actually shackled) enjoyment of all parties involved.

Dealing with the sting of being corrected when learning something new, or of having one’s POV criticized with a stronger argument; assuaging the sick feeling in your stomach when you know you should say something because you fucked up and it matters that you own up to your misjudgement; steadying the terror of standing up for your beliefs in the face of a threat… Being able to overcome all of these feelings and be true to one another and ourselves are the traits which make us a whole community capable of growth, capable of becoming more tightly woven to one another in community, and capable of a healthy momentum forward.

To Breath and Being,
~ Karin

PS. In the middle of writing of this post I got word of the story on NPR: Army Corps Denies Easement For Dakota Access Pipeline… The work of the Standing Rock Sioux over these many months, the accompanying protesters, and supporters of this protest from across the nation engaging in peaceful protest armed with a clearly articulated point of view helped bring us this decision. Through standing steadfastly and peacefully, listening and speaking truth to power, our country has (for the moment — we’ll see what happens next) been brought to a place of respectful understanding and ethical retreat from wrongdoing in the form of treaty violation. I’m sure there are more arguments in our future, but for now I’m happy that peaceful demonstration outdid the other side’s violent and bullying retort. So be it.

If you like my blog, please check out my Patreon Page and consider supporting me, or for one time donations, click this link: Support the Artist

~Thank you.

Filed Under: Brain on Download Blog Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Identity Stories

November 27, 2016 by

My Identity is a series of stories I haven’t pieced together yet, and I never fully will.

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Thank you Veris Meyer-Wilde for the flier design, and Jonathan Beckley and Rachel Leah Blumenthal for the photos

My Identity when I was young was often reds and tans and warm colors all around.

My Identity at nine was momentary red cheeks, shamed for struggling to put a sports bra on for the first time; pulling it on awkwardly from the feet up backstage in public. Other dance kid’s mothers looked disapprovingly on at my illiterate struggle with the things of a girl. I was told “never do that again”, embarrassment filling my face as I blinked the tears away and erased that moment with adrenaline dancing on stage. I didn’t want to wear it anyway, even though I was mortified by my puffy areolas and awkwardly budding breasts.

My Identity had been red fire-spitting anger and deep aching years earlier. 7 years old. Before I had breasts or other markers of a what-you-want-to-call-it body I was told I had to start wearing a shirt when I was in the summer sun outside. Told this by my father, shirtless himself, covered in dirt and tan in the garden working next to me. I bitterly went about the deed of covering up and never lost desire for my body’s bare skin in the sun.

My Identity was warm rust-red corduroy jeans, stitches attaching a tag picturing cowboys on the back, age 5. I thought I was so tough, so fine! I loved those pants, they made me feel like me when a lot of things made me feel disappeared like I thought I was supposed to be.

My IDENTITY, age 4: threatened and sexually manipulated by an older boy I liked. Escaping from the terrible situation, anxiety through the roof, and then punished for being out of my bed… It sticks with me, This Identity. I still don’t know how to feel safe with most people I like. I have a hard time trusting it will end up ok. I worry I’ll get in trouble or that I’m always doing something wrong. I don’t fight or flight, mainly I freeze and exist elsewhere…

  • Letting someone know I like them is so hard for me to do
  • Saying no follows close behind
  • It takes a lot of time
  • Embracing that I’m a survivor helped me know how to deal with my presentness in the midst of feeling terror and/or turned on
  • After years of struggle I’m still getting clearer

My Identity sneaked a lot. Quiet very early mornings exploring the knife drawer (and paying for it in cuts and blood), finding candy on a high shelf and trying not to make a noticeable dent while “tasting”. Makeup and hairspray packed secretly to school with me and I defiantly put it on in the Jr. High School bathroom. Put it on horribly… Oof my identity. I felt like I needed to be “a girl who looked good”, and I thought looking good meant make-up. I felt so uncomfortable with it on my face and in my hair; being seen like that — weird bad girl-drag in public and I didn’t even pass. I got called out by kids for looking awkward as I tried to fit in like they were doing so perfectly. Eventually I stopped trying and figured out how to comfortably wear me. I let my face be clean, probably mostly reading “dykey woman” to the world, even as my boy face sometimes likes eyeliner and a little tan color on the cheeks when he dresses up. Lipstick still never makes sense to me. Luckily I am a theatrical artist, and I can let my drag be drag; my characters tell me how they want me to gussy up for them, and I can hide behind my Clown Identity when bad make-up makes it to the stage.

My Identity was wrestling with boys and always winning for years through adulthood. I stopped that in large part when I embraced BDSM and Kink. Being punched kicks a cooler set of chemicals into my blood, and the people I play those games with don’t get as frustrated ’cause everyone leaves victorious. I feel lucky and like an equal when I get chosen to receive.

My Identity watched my father shave when I was a kid, so excited to have facial hair myself someday! I was crushed at the realization it wasn’t going to happen… Though who knows, I do want to take T.

My Identity also wished I would grow up to be a unicorn. It was every wish I made as a kid — “because I could be anything”. My young self was sure I’d have a bump on my forehead by the time I hit puberty and I was disgusted with life when I realized that it was never going to happen. Fuck the fourth grade.

My Identity is a lifetime of having biracial family. I care about friends, colleagues, and role models who have skin colors, nationalities, and ethnicities which are not predominantly european/white like my own. I learn every day to better love these people with struggles I can know about but cannot know. I also struggle to understand how to embrace the not dominant parts of me that are not-white, because I don’t look not-white. I’ve spent a lot of years listening, considering my internal emotional reactions to new thoughts, learning from and questioning the space I stand in concerning privilege, questioning what to do with the privileges that I have in this world… I’m not done.

My Identity is thoroughly and completely used to being rejected and admonished, used as an example and embarrassed by religious folk. Even family on Thanksgiving. I’ve been put down for not having Jesus Christ as my saviour, and been unable to engage mythologically or philosophically at the table without being made to feel defensive from personal attack. “Born Again” bizzarro meaning-making has trumped my words and ideas about how to find goodness in humanity outside of organized worship… I’ve been harassed by friends who wanted to convert me, and thrown away/disowned/cut off by family who will not accept the queer love beating in the center of me.

My Identity when I was younger, on a basic level didn’t know what “no” meant, because my no, when I said it at 4, hadn’t created a stop. It was run over and backed up on and sarcastically negotiated with before being picked up, violated, and punted out of sight. “No” begs me ask questions. I want a clearer understanding of meanings, wishes, desires, and dissatisfactions going on behind the scenes, attached to the word and moment. Hearing “no” can feel like opening the doors on a fancy grand ballroom I have never been in before — there is so much to look at and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing and I can’t stop staring at things and asking questions about what they are. I’ve learned this is not generally the conversation someone telling me to stop wants to hear in response… Now I know what it means, though I still sometimes feel lost on the road of knowing what (after stopping) next to offer or do.

My Identity would come home from a show, and numerous times has had partners turned on by the male drag or female drag or any number of character masks I walked in within. I secretly have perseverated on and worried that the heightened personas I was wearing were more attractive than I was underneath. Worried my identity will never be as stimulating as the lines I draw on my face, wigs I don, and other people’s clothing I put on — to look like identities other people recognize, desire, and accept.

My Identity fears it cannot be seen, though in reality I think my friends sometimes see and accept me more easily than I see or understand myself. There is a special blindness caused by not seeing yourself in culture everyday, celebrated on TV, depicted on billboards and in magazines, or even clearly championed in the safe-spaces one seeks out to feel free, that I am afflicted by. I think it’s probably a good thing — a reason why I think and critique artistically — but I mostly don’t exist comfortably or easily.

My Identity dressed in the trappings of high femme-ininity feels dumb and inadequate. When I put on those shenanigans I am often disappointed and even angered by the people who compliment me more, smile at me more, buy me drinks, or touch me and speak intimately with me after shows without asking. My everyday dress and presentation isn’t a hetero-normatively acceptable or popular display of “female” which I am often assumed to be (nor do I feel particularly feminine), so when I slide into a more femme look, with stockings and sparkles and skirts and bras and wigs, and I am immediately handed that mixed bag of privilege-and-abuse which (while I enjoy looking in the mirror at the charade) also makes me feel alone and all-wrong and invisible and objectified and insignificant next to this “look’s” obvious priority. If I were a girl-identifying-girl I don’t know if I’d feel differently. Who I am is a fish out of water dressed this way, people’s opinions aside… And on top of the internal argument quietly happening, I experience a rush of those sub-conscious teachings I’ve gathered through the years and worked to peel away piling back on me. I start to feel like the real me, without this femme costume on must be shameful and ultimately ugly. I re-feel the crisis-creating dirty impulse to hate what I have, who I am, and who inside I want to be.

My Identity feels so fucking powerful onstage — sharing myself fully, deeply, authentically, and nakedly with a room full of people who know they should not touch me — it doesn’t even matter if I’m in the clothes of another or not. My presence on my terms in front of humans who want to be there and will let me lay out the rules of the evening. Being a Performance Artist makes calm powerful playful fun consensual safe outrageous anything can happen it’s going to be ok sense to me.

My Identity read “The Leather Daddy and the Femme” by Carol Queen, and for the first time absolutely understood what being turned on by erotica meant! I felt my sexually submissive side come alive and knew I wasn’t alone in my fantasies of gay leather culture, Tom of Finland, for some reason ok with my cunt, deeply desiring to be Mastered as somebody’s boy…

My Identity enjoys the freedom and feeling of dresses (it still just wants to be naked) and feels like a tomboy regardless of what I put on. I feel like I’m in costume or in drag as my dress gets more “appropriate” or “girly” or “straight passing”. Give me high fashion dresses and designer heels, and with a sculpted haircut I’ll bind my breasts to match — those looks play with feminine as its own righteous narrative story. Power inside of drapery. The boy me really likes those clothes and I enjoy this not-a-girl feeling of femininity.

My Identity has been told by countless Butches over the years that they just see me as “a girl”, not androgynous or butch enough to be like them. Especially by the ones who’ve been attracted to me.

My Identity has been told by a quadrant of lesbians that the variety of people I fuck and feel makes me wrong, dangerous, a fake, worthless, unloveable, unfriendable, and not welcome or ok.

My Identity has been told by scores of gay men that I’m meant to be nurturing and not sexy and my cunt is fishy; that I do not deserve to exist in the world because they do not [sexually or otherwise] need me.

My Identity has been told some version of that last one over and over by all types of men my whole life…

My Identity was pressured and coerced during social and sexual situations many times growing up and through adulthood. By men mainly. Men who are cis, though there were a few trans ones in the mix and a Butch or two reminding me that misogyny is equal opportunity. My identity sometimes doesn’t know how to navigate my attraction to dominance with my sexual trauma from childhood. Who am I if I don’t do what I’m supposed to do? What is my worth? How do I get this one right for anybody?… And I most often click with other submissive people in relationship — not historically the most rewarding or satisfying combination sexually.

My Identity often just wants to be collared and treated like a cat. No, really.

My Identity likes a pat on the head. So even though it’s more depressing, some days I choose passing.

My Identity has often been labeled “femme” by others even though that has nothing — NO thing — to do with how I feel in my body. I have never even once wanted to be thought of as femme (and I love and celebrate femmes), I’m just not one of them. It makes me want to scream and punch, and I get embarrassed really quickly when I’m called that or am treated that way; I don’t even know how to be in the room any longer — in part because I realize, clearly, that “I” am not.

My Identity my whole life gets called “lady” in restaurants and by random people who shouldn’t be calling me anything, and has fired back numerous times:”I’ve never been a lady, and I don’t think I’ll start being one today”. Lately though, since moving to the South it happens so frequently I find myself not saying anything at all. Why? Because I’m afraid; because I don’t want to make the people I’m with uncomfortable; because I’m not used to it being such a normative norm, and because I don’t trust Southerners to understand (as I do the Northerners or Coastal people); because I feel my identity around others — my self-ness — is a dangerous imposition to claim. I break my own heart every time in that silence.

My Identity intersects with family whose gender is named “interesting”. It flirts with ex-lovers who have been butch, trans, fluid, and androgynous. It is informed by so many friends who are trans and on their various three-dimensional journeys through everything… I have spent years quietly asking myself if I am even allowed to identify as something other than that space I’ve held for others over a lifetime? I’ve been “the girl” in relationship and in the world as a comfort service, I’ve played that role as an act of submission to a universe who hasn’t cared to ask me who I am. It has felt good to make my masculine-of-center partners, friends, and family feel visible and valued as different from me, or my feminine-of-center partners, friends, family feel comfortable, loved, and empowered as similar to me… but it isn’t my inside feeling of self at all.

My Identity lit up the first time I heard the term “social dysphoria“. I don’t have much physical dysphoria when it comes to gender, but that other one, oof! Yeah, I’ll take two. Dysphoria has nothing to do with transness at all, but it was the first time I had words for what I actually do feel and it helped me know that my feelings were ok.

My Identity often tells people I might play with that I’m kink-sexual rather than sex-sexual. It’s the safe thing to do so that I don’t have to deal with the messiness of sexual coercion or disappointments or wrestling with myself later to say the no I mean now but don’t know if I’m safe yet to say… And it’s “pat”. I like pat, but sometimes I feel like I’m betraying my rabidly sexual side because of always being afraid first. Upfront cock-cunt-or-junk-blocking is easier than disappointing, but when our connection warms up, I don’t actually know how I’ll feel. In truth the thing that turns me on most is not having sex expected from me at all, so I guess this plan works even though it seems like throwing up a wall. I’ve learned it’s ok to get there a lot slower than I used to.

My Identity breathes easier because in my old age I’ve found more and more beautiful people who gracefully and playfully accept and celebrate my boundaries and definitions of me.

My Identity goes something like:

  1. a submissive masochistic playful boy wanting a SirLady/Daddy/Mommy/Queer-ass Kinky Family
  2. androgynous sensual sometimes animal rough-and-tumble creature-body, and
  3. powerful Artistic Woman who doesn’t want to hold that space in bed for most yet thoroughly enjoys saving Menstrual Blood in a bottle for spells against the Patriarchy, calling out misogyny, loving on other Women, and tasting/feeling/fucking/pleasing pussy.

My Gender is:

  • Creature/imp
  • boy
  • Woman

And I am so many things, but of note I like these:

  • photo-on-11-27-16-at-12-46-pm-6Boy on a runway in a skirt and heels
  • Feline
  • Connection Slut
  • Experimentalist
  • Sensualist
  • Shapeshifter
  • Grandpa
  • Artist
  • Genuine
  • Courageous
  • Karin
  • Me

To Breath and Being,
~ Karin

If you like my blog, please check out my Patreon Page and consider supporting me, or for one time donations, click this link: Support the Artist

~Thank you.

Filed Under: Brain on Download Blog, Perspectives on Kink Blog Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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