Split Vision

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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.
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Building Lust

It takes more than getting out the ropes and my vibrator to get me here. Foreplay often begins by being in the moment and not assuming we’ll get here at all.

Building lust, building desire, building an energetic fire is important. Why? Because not everyone has access to being turned on whenever the people they care for are. Because being filled with lust is its own particular type of delicious torture. Because feeling lustful energy thrive is where a lot of the fun begins…

Being in the BDSM community is liberating and it can also feel like a lot to navigate. People get all sorts of things out of sceneing, and sexual pleasure is often one of them. This is not true for everybody though. Kink is not synonymous with sexual gratification, and not everyone wants sex mixed in with their kink. I, for one, enjoy a wide variety of kinks, and respond happily to various forms of pain play. I love to Dominate, it turns me on to see reactions from the person I’ve been entrusted to touch and handle. I love to seduce, and I feel quite powerful in that position. Whether I get my partners off sexually or non-sexually, I find I’ll often get myself off energetically through the experience. As a sub, taking pain and turning it into energy which keeps my Top/Dom high and working on me is thrilling. I’ve enjoyed kink scenes five hours long with no “sex” involved and felt higher and more turned on and more intimately connected to my partner than any sexual intercourse I’ve ever had. There’s great value in a wide array of connections and experiences beyond what society considers “the norm”.

When I negotiate BDSM with someone I almost always negotiate scenes that are non-sexual. To me this basically means “don’t touch my junk in a sexual way, and don’t expect me to touch yours”. I usually just plain don’t want my kink mixed up with sexual expectation. Except sometimes. That sometimes is something that evolves over time with a very tiny portion of my play partners. Why is that so? I don’t know, really. I do have a lot of sex-specific baggage, and while I can feel safe with the right person beating me, needling me, or any other number of nasty and perverse things, the moment someone expects sex from me I frequently shut down. My body warms up to sexual feelings extremely slowly — over years of consideration and intrigue sometimes — if at all with most people. Chemistry matters too, and I find I just don’t feel sexual around a lot of people that I do feel extremely sensual or even turned on around. These days I don’t feel the need to change this. I spent years thinking I was broken, and it destroyed my sexual impulses more and more deeply to feel so “wrong” about the way I’m wired. Thankfully I’ve learned to feel intense and even orgasmic pleasure in non-sexual ways with people who respect my boundaries and enjoy turning me on and playing with me. I don’t think my reality is that strange or rare. Even though culturally we’re taught to “want sex” (meaning intercourse, oral sex, anal sex, and other genital-centric stimulation), people experience pleasure in very different ways. If pleasure is something you value, it’s only fair to learn how to find it for yourself, and to respect how your partners get theirs (similarly and differently) too.

So how do we start? Everyone is different, and what works for some people will be the opposite of what works for others. Talking about your preferences when negotiating matters. This means you need to know something about what turns you on and what cools you off and you must be willing to say it to the people you want to play with. Everyone assumes to some extent that our experiences and the way we function is how others operate. Challenge these assumptions in yourself and ask your partners questions instead. Some of the suggestions below will sound great to you, some maybe not so much. That’s great information to start thinking about. Communicating about why you do or don’t like a certain approach will help your partners understand your sensuality and sexuality more usefully. Take it slowly with new partners, especially if you’re having a hard time reading what they want. There’s probably a reason (psychological, emotional, physical, chemical, etc.) that you have to do some work to get that fire going. If I’ve learned anything about sex and BDSM, it’s that it’s worth taking your time to get a proper fire roaring before going for the gold.

One way to get people into a playful mood at the same time you are is by agreeing to beforehand. Schedule a specific time and space to scene together. Looking forward to your date is a form of foreplay and helps people prepare to be sexually or sensually open when the time comes. This could make it easier for someone who has a hard time giving into their feelings, to look forward to doing just that. “Wanting to” is a first step on our journey to pleasure. Anticipation can build desire: wondering what you’re in for, preparing yourself thoughtfully in the way that you dress or plan a date, making choices which make you feel special or that send energy into the person you’re meeting. Building desire might also help you break the ice when you finally come together to play.

Knowing someone’s sexual and sensual triggers (if they have them and you have permission to engage them), can be a wonderful starting point for play too. Maybe every time someone hums in your ear, bites your neck, grabs the base of your hairline, tickles your sides, runs their finger down your spine, pinches or scratches your skin… you get turned on? Maybe you have triggers that immediately turn you off too, or certain activities you can tolerate but they kinda cool you down, or maybe you absolutely love a certain activity but only when you’re already super turned on and if it’s initiated prior to being in that headspace it’ll send the whole scene crashing down. We learn these things little by little about one another, and it’s important to be able to talk about them. For better and for worse the triggers of another human being are theirs. Try not to take feedback about someone else’s body personally. They’re telling you what works and what doesn’t work, and even if it worked in the past, it might not today. Celebrate how you can connect, and respect the ways you cannot. Pressing someone to accept something they don’t enjoy can be harmful. Also remember that people make mistakes. People don’t always understand the unfavorable reaction another person has to something they themselves enjoy. It’s important to educate one another about our feelings and not assume someone intends harm when something we don’t enjoy happens. It’s important to hear people when they express displeasure (or ecstasy) and learn.

Grounding myself and slowing down is my favorite way to enter into sensual and sexual play. Clearing my head, and breathing for a minute before I touch someone and touching slowly and curiously usually helps me find an ember to ignite. It may feel strange not to expect anything outside of the moment you are in, yet is one of the things that works for me as both giver and receiver of physical attention. The moment something is assumed, I find our symbiotic footing is often lost.

Clearly saying what you want and expect can be really helpful. Sometimes people have anxiety about not knowing where things are headed or what they’re supposed to do to please their partner. A way to alleviate that tension is to be clear. For instance, I find it’s easier to relax at the gynecologist’s office when my doctor tells me what to expect while it’s happening. Being told, “I’m going to touch your thigh now. The lube is a little cold, and I’m inserting my fingers now. You’ll feel some pressure as I feel around for a moment. Tell me if anything hurts.” (medical play anyone?), helps me accept what’s happening to my body in a way I might not otherwise. You can build an entire scene this way with a person who relaxes around knowing what to expect, if you are willing to talk about your intent as it unfolds. Also, asking for feedback can be really hot, as can guiding and teaching someone what works for you when you’re both prepared to give and take, speak and listen, ask questions and offer feedback.

These are just a few ways to reach out and connect. At the base of my desire and my lustful feelings is a need for energetic connection. Energy is important. I can get off thinking about certain people without touching myself or even being touched. Sexual and sensual energy belongs to our bodies, and it is an art to share it pleasurably with others.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

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~Thank you.

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