REDIRECTED TO MAYBEMAIMED.COM: Maybe Maimed but Never Harmed

People often draw analogies between things in kink sex and vanilla sex. They do this sometimes out of necessity and sometimes out of a desire to avoid the overhead of defining every term they use, but mostly they do it (as I'm about to do) because it's something they've heard done before.

I've never "flown" in a scene. That is to say, I've never "checked out" or "seen my body from outside itself" or "felt like the pain was sexually pleasurable," or many of the other things lots of people who do what I do and claim similar labels as I claim have often told me about their experiences. Typically, they call this experience flying, and I've usually heard it discussed as though it was the BDSM version of an orgasm.

Well, if flying is the BDSM version of an orgasm and scenes are the BDSM version of sex, then I've never come.

Of course we all know that different people play differently and for different reasons and different goals and it's all good no matter who you are or what you're into or whatever, but whenever this subject gets brought up it makes me feel a little anorgasmic in regards to kinky things.

A part of me is always wondering if I'm just too technically-minded, too focused on comparing experiences with descriptions that I've missed the boat already in the same way vanilla people sometimes seem to me to be so concerned with orgasms and ejaculations that even when they experience them they sometimes didn't know that they had. And then part of me says to myself that it must be practically impossible not to notice something like an orgasm ("oh, you'll know!"), so a kinky scene orgasm should be similarly impossible not to notice, and since I've never noticed one I've probably never had one.

A lot of people talk about flying by talking about how pain, when experienced at a certain intensity, rhythm, and circumstance, makes the rest of their existence kind of fade out and brings into focus only the lovely sensations of the moment. I can understand that very viscerally; one of the reasons I love BDSM (and kinky sex, and sensual experiences in general) is because they help me get out of my head and into my body, for lack of a better description at the moment.

However, these same people tell me that the pain is sexually exciting. That's not something I can relate to. Friends have told me stories about whippings and beatings that have left them wet or hard and rutting in place, making their very thought processes change somewhat dramatically. I wonder what that sort of an experience would be like. It honestly doesn't really make a lot of sense to me, because as I've said before, pain doesn't turn me on.

As a perfect and somewhat humorous example, take a very sexy takedown scene that happened recently. Having been pulled away from Eileen for purposes completely unbeknownst to me at the time, I got worried about her when a friend said they had ended their scene because Eileen seemed "a little ADD at the end." Strange, I thought, Eileen only gets that way when something is wrong. I should go check on her.

I quickly turned around and started walking back toward her when several more friends appeared and stopped me. No, hang on, I told them, I need to check on Eileen and make sure she's okay. Then, when they pulled a hood over my face and quickly grabbed me by my limbs, you want to know what my first thought was? It was:

Oh, this is a takedown. Eileen's probably fine.

This was no surprise to Eileen, who later remarked, I knew your brain would keep working. It did. My second thought was, "In takedowns, the victim gets to struggle. I'd enjoy doing that!" So of course I struggled as much as I could while staying (as) careful (as I could) not to inadvertently kick the wrong person in the genitals.

This illustrates a very typical experience that I have when I play: I'm very often completely conscious of what's going on and very aware of the reality of a situation. When Eileen and I play with knives, I'm not scared that she'll purposefully cut my throat, or gouge my eye out, I'm scared that she'll do it accidentally. (The risk is what's appealing.) When she whips me, I'm often adjusting my position and I'm motivated to do so by the conscious awareness that my back is no longer straight after that last stroke and that it should be made straight again, or that the sound of the whip and the feel of the air it pushed toward me means the whip is approximately four inches in that direction so I should turn appropriately.

Really, and I'd hate to destroy people's illusions of my kinky sex if they have any, but I'm actually extremely unsexy in my head when I play. Rational thought processes are not really that sexy no matter how you try to dress them up. Everything sexy is entirely about emotion.

Getting beaten with a nightstick is just that; a stick and a body. It's all very mechanical and not very hot. However, with some feeling in there, like being forced to the ground and invited to violently show the emotional aspects of aggression by fighting back, then physically losing and giving in to overwhelming force, now that's sexy.

It's very, very hard to get me out of my head. The only two things that have ever succeeded in doing so have been intense pain and intense pleasure (not necessarily orgasmic pleasure), and even these things don't manage to do it for very long stretches at a time. The way lots of people describe flying, it seems as though they experience some kind of emotional or spiritual climax too abstract for words. This is all wonderful, but is far too abstract for me.

I don't deal very well with abstracts. I'm a rather technical person, obviously, so I like things that make sense and which are grounded in rational thought. When people try to explain things to me that they say are based on "auras" or "energies," I usually just smile and nod. I have no problem with these things, most recently evidenced by a sudden interest in my social group with tantric practices, but I'd prefer to keep a critical eye pinned consistently in that direction.

So when I think about flying, in all the experiences I've had the one that comes closest to it has been getting suspended in rope bondage. Because that's when I was in the air, swinging around, and that's what flying means to me.

When I was a child in elementary school, a friend turned to me and said one day, "Hey, what color is that crayon?"

"Blue," I said.

"What does it look like to you?" he pressed.

"Um. It looks blue," I said.

"What if it looks green to somebody else?"

Hmm. Now here was an interesting thought I had not previously pondered. How would I describe what this blue crayon looks like to someone to whom this crayon looked green. I first thought that I could use the word "green" to describe "blue" but quickly realized that method of color-swapping would fall apart when I needed to explain what green looked like to me. (Would I call it blue? We'd be back in square one, only with the terms reversed—even if it "worked" to avoid a situation wherein I was handed a green crayon when I wanted a blue one, the colors would still look "reversed" to the other person.)

This elementary thought experiment is not just relevant to recess periods in schools. It's something everyone grows up trying to figure out and is an example of the budding awareness in children that different people think about things in different ways.

The exposure to this thought started me thinking about how to use words to convey meaning. Eventually, after this question had been percolating on the back burner of my mind for literally years, I came to an ever-evolving (for lack of a better word, pun intended) conclusion that the only way to convey meaning perfectly and be assured that my meaning had been understood perfectly—that is, understood in exactly the way it was intended—was only possible through some kind of Vulcan-esque mind-meld telepathy communication mechanism that I'm probably never going to get the chance to experience in real life. That's a pity, really, because the fact of the matter is that verbal communication is a pretty pathetic substitute for mind-melds.

The problem of trying to figure out whether or not someone really understood you is very hard to solve. In computing, guaranteed-delivery protocols like TCP have built-in methods for acknowledging the receipt and integrity of a message (TCP uses flow control algorithms and checksums for this). That is to say that when the sender transmits a message, it waits for an acknowledgment from the receiver that says it has been saved correctly. (Technically, this is still not guaranteed to be perfect but it is extremely reliable.)

However, human communications are not always so simply verified. There is no checksum I can calculate for my message, for instance. People do often use similar protocols to that which computers use for the purpose of acknowledging receipt of a message. Sharing a telephone number is a pretty good example: "My number is 555-5555. Did you get that?" "Yeah, you said 555-5555, right?" "Yes, that's right." "Great." See how much back-and-forth there is? That's all a (social) verification protocol.

However, the more abstract or emotional the payload of your message gets, the greater the uncertainty of successful verification becomes. Little wonder couples fight about "not being understood" over and over and over again. Communication isn't just a matter of transmitting a message, it's about receiving (and believing) an acknowledgment that states the message was understood as it was intended. That's quite a tall order, especially when you consider how difficult it is to express your own emotions accurately in the first place. (It is for me, anyway.)

So what can you do to help mitigate this situation? I strive for precision. I say what I mean (transmission) using the most accurate words (payload) that are most likely to reproduce the originally intended meaning (checksum) in the listener (receiver). Yes; precision such as this is actually a learned skill.

But there's still a problem here. What if the person I'm talking to thinks of green when I say blue? (Even this is not so abstract a question when you consider I am partially colorblind in reality.) Clearly, we have a miscommunication. That fact might not even make itself evident immediately, but it probably will at one point or another if we keep interacting.

More to the point, what if they think of binary gender ideals when I say I'm bisexual? (After all, that's what my blog's tagline labels me as—a submissive and bisexual man. More people read that tagline than have read this far into this particular entry.) Do I use another word, such as pansexual, to try and get readers thinking about gender fluidity and try to steer them away from making an assumption about gender that I think isn't true?

I've chosen not to do that for this simple reason: when I say I'm bisexual, I'm not talking about gender fluidity, I'm talking about my own sexual orientation.

The claim that the word bisexual implies two binary genders isn't one that is actually a part of the word's literal definition (though it has become so engrained in today's understanding of the word that you'll find this assumption even in most dictionaries). People will tell me that "bi" means two and therefore bisexual means "one of two sexes" (like bicycle, literally "two wheels") but this definition still assumes that the "bi" in bisexual is talking about two singular points—man and woman.

Instead, possibly because I never liked riding bicycles and while still a child I was diagnosed as bipolar (a medical condition that causes one's emotional state to swing wildly between euphoria and depression), I have always understood the word bisexual to refer to the range between two points, and not just two points, and, even more to the point not just a range of gender identity but of sexual identity and gender role and a whole lot of other things, too.

Gender theorists such as the estimable Kate Bornstein talk a lot about the existence of many different axes of various qualities that, together, make up a person's gender identity. However, at their fundamental level, these axes all have this in common: they are a range between two points. That's what the "bi" in bisexual means to me.

That's the only thing that makes any logical sense for the "bi" to refer to that doesn't also have some kind of assumption concocted from cultural subtext. After all, sexuality is generally accepted even in the mainstream to refer to psychological, spiritual, physiological, social, and emotional makeup of an individual.

That's why I don't like the word pansexual, by the way. I don't think it's quite as precise.

That doesn't mean it's wrong to use the word pansexual to describe oneself or to use it for the purpose of raising awareness of issues relating to gender identity (in fact, I encourage raising awareness of gender identity issues in whatever way people want, as long as they're nice to each other about it). It does mean, however, that using the term pansexual (like its near-synonyms polysexual and omnisexual and a slew of others) validate its use for a more ambiguous meaning. It makes the term obtuse. I don't like that.

Overloading terminology in that way causes problems for people who wish to be precise in their use of English to maintain accurate communications.

It is not my fault that people are ignorant of gender fluidity, even though it is occasionally problematic for me that they are. However, I don't see why I should have to dull my communication tools (the English language in this case) in order to accomodate their ignorance. Instead, would it not be more mutually beneficial to simply educate these people about the gradations of gender identity that exist? And would it not be more effective to do this by specifically discussing gender fluidity rather than overloading a perfectly acceptable term used to describe a perfectly legitimate sexual orientation (namely, pansexual) for this secondary purpose?

Is this love of precision too idealistic to work? In a casual sense, yeah, probably; I consistently have to define the words I use to remind people to take me with utter literal understanding, for the most part. (Even the word literal, by the way, has its etymological roots in scripture—in literature and writing.) But then again, I've found that this works exceedingly well once people learn that what I say is what I mean and what I mean is all that I've said.

It also makes people aware of just how much subtext they assume is present in their communications with other people after they start seeing how often and to what extent they have added it to conversations with me. Communicating with subtext is all fine and well (really), but it is dangerous to do so without intending to or without an awareness of what part of the message was subtext and what part was not.

Where do I start? Do I begin with the retelling of the stories from years now long past, or with this weekend? It's hard to tell what would be more effective. This weekend, while filled with spectacularly virginal experiences for most people in the realms of play, pain, pleasure, and of course sex, was actually somewhat old news to me. After all, unlike for most of my friends, this was not my first BDSM convention.

So what was new for me? Some play was new, like participating in a friend's gangbang fisting along with seven other people, getting suspended in rope bondage by two switches, and getting jumped by I don't even know how many people for a "forced" sex scene. Those things were new for me, but after the fact I am finding that my mind is reflecting on quite another element of this past weekend that is new to me.

For the first time in my life and the first time in all the (more than five) years I've spent in the public BDSM community, I felt that other people who are not necessarily friends actually respect me for more than just my pain tolerance, that they began to actually see some things about me that don't have to do with how hard I like to be hit.

As a person who primarily bottoms, I've often felt that people in general only listen to me when I talk about what it's like to get hurt. It's as if, in their minds, all I am is a punching bag. For some reason, it's hard for people—even other bottoms—to see bottoms as anything else.

The awful phrase "take it like a man" rings loudly in my ears whenever I see this because more than anything else I see it cause self-doubt in men who bottom, and makes them afraid they won't be able to "take enough pain." I will instantly confess that I, too, once felt and sometimes still feel this pressure. I think this is stupid.

Mind you, I have little trouble playing the part of a punching bag. In fact, I rather like it, I think I'm very good at it, and wish I had more opportunities for it sometimes. But after more than five years of interacting with people at large, being a punching bag is a very unsatisfying, frustrating social existence. It's made even worse by the fact that I'm a rather picky punching bag to begin with—I don't let just anyone hit me. You have to earn it first.

On the first night of the three-day weekend, as a kind of appetizer scene, I got whipped 'til I bled and that night the white hotel sheets were speckled red. Shortly after the whipping scene was over, Anita Velez, the official event photographer, asked if she had permission to take a photo of my back (I said yes). After that, Eileen and I found her again and asked her for a photograph of our own.

On the second night, after I fisted my friend along with seven other people, I got suspended in a rope bondage scene, and then after that I got jumped by I don't even know how many people who all beat my arms, ass, thighs, and chest 'til they were bruised using a rubber nightstick, an acrylic cane, and some other heavy objects I couldn't identify due to the spandex hood they put over my head. They pushed an NJoy wand into my ass and then made me go down on some of them while beating my already-whipped back with what I'm pretty sure was a rubber tire tread flogger. (I had felt that particular rubber flogger before.)

On the third night I got bound in a hog-tie with my hands behind my back and my legs kept bent with thick leather belts. Once secured, I was again beaten on my back and ass, this time with what I could identify as a (probably deerskin) flogger, a flat paddle-like object (but it was small, so I'm guessing a kitchen implement), and a heavy rubber taws, among other things. The rubber taws hurt the most, especially when it struck my already-bruised ass.

So like I said, I rather enjoy playing the part of a capable punching bag.

Of course, I got the usual, "Wow, great job," awed comments from all sorts of people who had seen us play (and who I didn't even know were watching the scenes). I also eventually overheard from second-hand accounts that others had more negative remarks, such as things like "That's wrong; you should never crack a whip on someone's back." (Fuck that, whoever you are, by the way. I'll play the way I want, thank you very much.)

Of course, this wasn't really the hardest Eileen and I have ever played with a single-tail. I even have another picture of more marks taken some time ago, for example. I have been beaten much worse before, like the week before that previous photo was taken; Eileen gave me my first caning which an inch-wide acrylic artist's cylinder, which resulted in purple and yellow bruises that lasted well over a week and a half. Another time, my friend who made the tire-tread flogger brought over a wooden table leg and bruised my thighs so badly that they swelled to the point where I could no longer fit into my jeans.

Nevertheless, people were still impressed by the intensity of my play this weekend and they still expressed their respect in the form of an appreciation for my personal preferences for pain. Misguided as I think this expression is, I did (and still do) enjoy the recognition.

This kind of misplaced respect happens to me all the time. It's happened many times in the past, when "heavy" single-tail scenes have earned me the respect of someone who prior to witnessing it didn't seem to think very much about me.

In 2003 I was a fixture of the New York BDSM scene among the ranks of TES members, quickly earning a reputation as the quiet, shy boy in the corner who watched but never played. Reminiscent of all my school years, most people treated me with an uninterested attitude evidenced by their neglect to acknowledge my words or my presence. Later that year at TES-Fest I had my first single-tail scene that ended with band-aids and a giddy if somewhat worried pair of tops who relished in retelling the story of how the waifish, quiet boy took the hardest whipping either of them had ever given. I'll admit to being very surprised at my own enjoyment and what I interpreted back then as "stamina" and now simply call my usual preference. All of a sudden people were coming up to me and remarking on how impressed they were with me.

The lesson was clear: to get noticed, play extremely hard.

Even though I was certainly getting noticed a lot more, I hardly felt respected. Perhaps that seems strange to many people because playing that way is exactly how a lot of people who bottom, such as myself, earn respect in the scene. (We would all also be wise to remember Richard's words when he reminds us that the scene is actually representative of a tiny minority of kinky people and we are, for the most part, the public exception to the normal kinky person.)

We play "hard." We can "take more." We have a "higher pain tolerance." We can "handle it." Tops respect us because we can challenge them, bottoms respect us because they'd consider themselves broken by things we consider warm ups. People think we deserve respect because of the way we play, because they are scared of how we play. And they're completely wrong.

Bottoms who don't play as hard as I do feel bad about it; they feel frightened and inadequate. What a horrible shame that is. Tops who don't want to rip open flesh or turn skin rainbow colors or emotionally batter a bottom until they sob and beg also feel bad about not wanting to do these things. Again, what a horrible shame that is.

Respect should not be accorded based on someone's preferred physical intensity of play, and yet every time I play that way in public I get at least someone coming up to me and saying, in an often dejected tone of voice, "I could never do that." I try to tell them that they don't have to, that it's silly to think they should try if they don't want to. As Eileen said cleverly before me,

And then let's talk about the fuckupery of according respect to a scene member based upon the intensity of their play. What kind of logic is that? That's like saying that you respect The Rolling Stones more than The Beatles because The Rolling Stones are louder. Respect isn't about what people do in the scene; it's about how they do it. I have young friends who have been in the scene just as long as me, who don't get the respect I do because they don't have the balancing factor of being intense players as a weapon to carve out a place for themselves. God help you if you're perfectly content with a light spanking now and then. The patrionizing smiles will probably drown you.

(Emphasis added.)

In other words, I'm not more worthy of respect than any other bottom because I have a higher pain tolerance than they do. If you respect me for that reason, I feel invisible. I'm worthy of respect because I have impeccable judgement, a razor-sharp mind, incredible intellect, a generous attitude, a commitment to my scene partner as well as myself, and because I respect these same things in others. If you respect me for that reason, I feel seen.

So this weekend I didn't feel respected when I was asked "How much were you really struggling in that take down scene?" I didn't feel respected by the people who thought I was on the Power Bottoming panel because I like to limp for days after I play. I definitely didn't feel respected by all the people who stopped me in the hallways and told me what an intense scene they saw me do (though, again, I did appreciate the kind words and enjoyed the obvious admiration and surprise—I don't look like someone who likes to scream until my throat is hoarse, but I do).

On the other hand, I did feel respected when a fellow attendee approached me and asked for my opinions regarding TES's web site (and others) because he had heard people mention my name in conversation about the topic. Likewise, I also felt respected when people came up to me privately after some of my presentations and told me that they thought I had made good points, that I articulated myself well, and that I exposed them to something new and provoked some new thought or insight inside of them.

Thanks to the transman who told Eileen and I that we had finally articulated his primary kink in our Sexual Teasing and Denial presentation. Thanks to the young woman who taught me the word cyberbalkanization in my Sex and Technology presentation. Thanks to the people who congratulated me on my bravery and willingness to get naked on the first night in front of more than thirty clothed people during the demo for the G and P Spot Stimulation presentation.

In other words, thanks for seeing underneath all the cuts and bruises and welts. Thanks for rejecting the rhetoric that to be worth a damn as a bottom you need to have a pain tolerance that rivals a super hero's. That's the kind of thing that makes most men think they need to be stoic and "strong" when they are in pain, which is stupid because the last thing a sadist wants to see when they're hurting someone is a lack of painful reaction (duh).

The people who did this with sadness and envy in their voices made me the most upset at the BDSM community's constant self-aggrandizement through what amounts to nothing more than fear mongering. The people who I think should be the most ashamed of this are the ones who call themselves teachers, who present so-called "classes" in thinly-veiled attempts to advertise themselves as "intense players" in order to earn what they think is credibility and respect, like the one Switch encountered and wrote about in her post.

Those people are spreading a culture of fear through BDSM that is damaging to people's self-esteem (both bottom's and top's), to the BDSM community's image in mass media, and—most importantly—to their own partners. Playing at a certain physical intensity is simply one very mechanical aspect of what makes a scene work. It is natural that players with more physically intense tastes would be drawn to one another. There should be no reason to fear that you're "not playing hard enough."

It's just a matter of BDSM chemistry. No one's going to put you down for liking blondes over brunettes. Don't let people put you down for liking, or not liking, a certain kind of play.

This image has been removed. The new photo is still available at the current mirror blog site.

Unfortunately, for some reason, Orgasm Logger has been brought down due to network connectivity issues. This means your counters will have stopped showing up and the Orgasm Logger web site is unavailable. This is remarkably bad timing (is a network outage ever good timing?) because I am off at The Floating World in New Jersey so I can't even begin to troubleshoot this issue until I get back to my home base in Manhattan late Sunday night.

If this is purely a network outage and the fault of my ISP, then Orgasm Logger may be back up at any moment. If something else is going on, then I'm going to troubleshoot it ASAP and get it fixed as soon as I can. Sorry about the nuisance may have caused anyone; unfortunately I don't have the funding for any kind of more reliable equipment or service at the moment.

On completely unrelated notes, The Floating World is going pretty well. Susan Wright's presentation on media strategies for BDSM was absolutely fantastic; she's an amazing speaker, extremely well-organized, and made tons of great points.

She impressed us so much that both Eileen and I are considering taking her media spokesperson training program to learn more about how to deal with BDSM in the media. Unfortunately, her class was scheduled opposite the fucking machines class, but frankly I think it was totally worth it.

The only downside to her whole presentation, if you could call it that, was that since Susan's also incredibly hot, and since she was wearing biker boots, a short black mini skirt, and a sheer top, there were times I had a lot of trouble concentrating on what she was saying.

After all the classes, Eileen and I had a lot of pent-up energy, so we played with our single-tail whip in the dungeon. This morning, I awoke to find the sheets on my half of the bed bloodied, but that's hardly a surprise. The best part for all of you, however, is that we got our pictures taken. Yes, the picture is of my bloodied back.

Orgasm Logger is back up. As suspected, the issues turned out to be related to the network outage, either by my own equipment or the ISP's. All fixed now.

Also, the weekend at Floating World was an amazing blast and I suppose I should write about it at some point, but not when I'm half asleep and having trouble sitting down on a sorely beaten ass comfortably.

This Kink on Tap is kind of an extended addendum to our previous episode where we talk about and introduce the topic of sexual teasing and denial and chastity play. If you haven't listened to that episode already, I strongly urge you to do so.

The best part, however, is that Tom Allen from the Edge of Vanilla joined Eileen and I to talk about his personal experiences. Of course, the advantage of having someone on the phone is that you can ask personal qusetions and get immediate, personal responses.

There's no shortage of that in this converastion, where Tom shares a lot about his own reasons for enjoying chastity, the way in which this kind of sexual power play developed in the relationship with his (very blessed) wife, and of course why this kink in particular is often thought of as being very "vanilla." I couldn't help but share some of my own opinions and experiences as well, and Eileen does the same.

Lest you think that Tom's always this cerebral, however, don't forget about his super-hot chastity porn. My own fantasies tend to drift towards slightly more painful tastes, but that doesn't stop me from being the first to admit that I've sprung more than my fair share of hard-ons looking at Tom's stuff.

As always, I hope you enjoy this episode of Kink on Tap and invite your feedback of any kind (though especially regarding audio engineering) either as comments here or by emailing kinkontap+feedback@gmail.com. Have something you want to hear talked about or a story you want to share? Write to me at kinkontap+viewermail@gmail.com (and don't question why it's called viewer mail, 'cuz I wouldn't know what to tell you).

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I've never been a manly man. When I was younger, I watched quite a bit of television. I remember lots of the imagery I was presented with quite vividly. In almost every case, I wanted to be the girls. Growing up, I quickly learned that wanting to be more like the girls was a desire frowned upon by pretty much everybody else—not least of all, by the girls.

These days, the same things still come up in daily conversation as they did in years past. "I wish I could lose ten more pounds—I don't feel pretty," I hear women say all the time. In response, everyone simultaneously begins talking about the oppressive nature of our culture's media campaigns. "Oh, come on. You don't have to look like every model in the magazines. You're smart, you're kind; of course you're hot," they'll say to her in an effort to comfort and sympathize.

Most of the time, I think women's self-image issues are physically, though not emotionally, unfounded. All but one of my girlfriends were, to use the obvious example, heavier than the BMI charts would have them feel comfortable about. My femdom fantasies have always been tilted toward larger girls. Hula dancers were an ironic motif, but I attribute this mostly to the healthier, more attractive weight Hawaiian girls tend to carry. I'll never understand the fetish for stick-figure girls. That can be sexy but I think women are sexier if they're shapely.

Issues men may have with their body image, however, are almost never even recognized. If they are, they discuss how unmanly boys feel and offer ways to feel more manly. Nothing we see in our culture tells boys that it's okay to want to feel pretty, to want to be treated in ways similar to the way we see people treating girls. If a boy, like me, wanted that, they call him a sissy and expect him to want to feel bad about it. I find this fact, an association often cited between cross-dressing and humiliation, nothing less than repulsive.

Furthermore, every time I've ever hinted at having body image issues of any kind at all, a very strange thing happens. Rather than address these issues, people turn to my girlfriend and give her a once-over. Then, they turn back to me. "How can you think of yourself as not attractive?" They ask, puzzled. "Your girlfriend is so hot."

Granted, my girlfriend is hot. But what, pray tell, does that have to do with my own self-image? You've just told me that my own self-image should be measured by how hot my girlfriend is. Call me crazy, but my girlfriend's attractiveness should not be the scale by which I measure my own.

Is that what you'd say to a fat girl, by the way? Oh, you're totally sexy because your boyfriend is super skinny. What kind of logic is that? It's not only completely missing the point, it doesn't make her feel better. In fact, it often makes her feel worse. And that's exactly what doing that does to me: it makes me feel worse.

Why is it a taboo to discuss men on the basis of their looks? Even in romance novels, where the gallant and obligatorily handsome man plays center stage, most descriptions about his looks center on his other attributes. His strong muscles. His virile penis. His healthy hair. It's not about the way he looks, it's about what he can offer in every other realm; wealth, health, or power. Even here, men's sexual attractiveness is being judged on everything except their looks. This is crazy.

To top it off, even the pretty men, who were called the derogatory term "twinks" in gay slang for quite a while, are usually portrayed in as decidedly not delicate a manner as possible; sweating profusely, working out, doing some manly chore, or otherwise being rough and tumble. The message? Be ruggedly handsome, sure, but don't be pretty.

By this culture's dogma, being pretty is a woman's job. Women are the ones who are "supposed to" do the attracting; men are supposed to be attracted. But this is insulting, and unfair. Wanting to feel pretty often goes hand-in-hand with wanting to be pursued. The emotions are the same: love me, I'm precious. But being pursued is the woman's job, as if they are the only ones allowed to feel as though they are precious and worthy of loving attentions.

This whole fucked-up mess does a lot of things for men. It makes us get paid more at work. It makes it easier for us to attract people into old age (where, I'm sorry, looks are just not going to follow). It makes it harder to objectify us in ways we don't want. And, unfortunately, it makes it a lot harder for us to talk about body image issues—especially if you're like me and you don't even want to have the traditional Vin-Diesel-the-body-builder look and instead want to look like the lithe, nubile, pretty young things you only see cast in the gender role of supreme femininity.

Well, I have a confession to make. I like dressing up as a girl because, in part, it makes me feel pretty. It does this because putting on frilly panties is the only time I feel the culture in which I live is telling me that I might actually get away with being pretty.

This confession, low and behold, is not uncommon. Men who want to feel pretty end up wanting to emulate women because we have no other choice. Why can men, secure in their masculinity, not also be pretty? Even the dictionary is stupendously unhelpful here. Defining "pretty" results in this definition from Princeton's web dictionary:

pleasing by delicacy or grace; not imposing; "pretty girl"; "pretty song"; "pretty room"

(Emphasis added by yours truly.)

I have been called graceful. I have also been called delicate. I've been called pleasing a bunch more times than these other two things combined.

People I don't know ask me if I dye my hair when they look at its color in the sun (I don't). They ask me if I've ever played the piano when they notice the way my fingers curl around cups as I drink (I haven't). They have remarked on how carefully I treat all my belongings, and how thoughtful I am when I am hosting a guest. But they have never called me pretty.

It may surprise some of you to hear this, but Eileen is actually the first person I have known that has called me pretty. She is fond of my ass and these days I might call it one of the prettiest parts of me, but it was not always this way.

One night many years ago, well before I even consciously thought about why I kept wanting to feel pretty, I was lounging with my then-girlfriend in the bedroom I shared with my brother. I remember only a single sentence from the conversation we had that night. It was this sentence that my girlfriend said to me that cued six years of body image issues centered around my butt: "I would like it if your ass was firmer."

What did firmer mean, anyway? It meant that I should have more of a boy's body. I didn't have a muscular gluteus maximus; I didn't have the body of a strong, rugged, self-respecting man. But you know what, I didn't want that body, either. And that should've been okay.


Addendum: For those interested in a bit more academic self-education (the best kind, if you ask me), I would highly suggest reading the Wikipedia articles on sissyphobia and effeminacy, for a start.

A particular passage of interest is cited below, and serves as a wonderful example of the fact that cultural ideals change with time. My message in this post, if you are to take one from it that I did not actually intend when I started, would be to stay aware of this constantly changing cultural stereotype—in all cultures and in all situations—and to avoid letting cultural noncompliance result in prejudiced or oppressive actions of any kind.

Pre-Stonewall "closet" culture accepted homosexuality as effeminate behaviour, and thus emphasized camp, drag, and swish including an interest in fashion (Henry, 1955; West, 1977) and decorating (Fischer 1972; White 1980; Henry 1955, 304). Masculine gay men did exist but were marginalised (Warren 1972, 1974; Helmer 1963) and formed their own communities, such as leather and Western (Goldstein, 1975), and/or donned working class outfits (Fischer, 1972) such as sailor uniforms (Cory and LeRoy, 1963). (Levine, 1998, p.21-23, 56)

Post-Stonewall, "clone culture" became dominant and effeminacy is now marginalised. One indicator of this is a definite preference shown in personal ads for masculine-behaving men (Bailey et al 1997).

My personal experiences written above are likely the result of my interaction with New York City's leather subculture, as that community is my primary social outlet (for now).

It's time for a brief interlude during all my ranting on porn. Let's get back to some of this practical stuff.

This time, because I can, I want to talk about what every big sexuality community web site does wrong and what they can do to fix it. Because, frankly, alternative sexuality organization web sites suck my big fat web developer's dick. (There is plenty, though not an overwhelming amount, of geek-speak ahead. If you want to flame me about that, don't say I didn't warn you.)

Before I rip into these web sites though, let me first acknowledge the incredible hard work that I'm sure mountains of volunteers must put into these things. No one is making money off these sites and, as such, it's understandably a lot harder to spend the time doing things well. The fact that this stuff is even up online in the first place is really a credit to a lot of people's passions and commitment. Three cheers for all of you! (Seriously.)

Okay, now that you know all of this is just a good-natured jab to try and make things better, let's get into the meaty parts where I totally rip your web site to shreds and tell you how badly you're stuck in the last century.

In the true style of proper web copy (more), here is my conclusion first:

Most BDSM organizations' web sites utterly fail in their mission to attract people to their events because they are intimidating, hard to use, and decidedly uninformative.

And, the natural fix for this problem:

Make BDSM organization web sites friendlier, easier to navigate, and immediately useful.

You can stop reading now if you don't actually care about this stuff, but if you do, are at all curious, or—and especially—if you manage one of the web sites I'm talking about, please keep reading. You'll thank me when you're done.

The Design Problem or Don't Scare Away the Newbies, you idiots!

TES's web site serves as a wonderful example of this first point, that BDSM organization web sites are stupidly intimidating. Why? Here's why: when the average kink-curious person is searching for BDSM web sites and they see TES's sad design, here's what they're thinking:

• It's an inverted white-on-dark design so clearly what they are doing must not be normal or okay. (This person is already probably surfing the TES site under the cloak of darkness in their computer room hoping their spouse or their parents won't walk in on them. Why are you making it seem like that's the normal way to get information about kinky sex from you?)


• It uses lots of colors intended to signify scary things, like deep red and lots of black and mettalic colors, so they must be really dangerous people. (Do you know how much courage it has taken this person to even consider going to a kink event? Why are you making them feel like their fear is justifiable?)


• They have really tiny text for things I'm interested in (like all the main event descriptions) and really big text and graphics for the things I'm not (like their own logo and big welcome banners), so maybe they're not actually the group for me. (Don't you get that this person has come to your web site for information about how to be kinky in their own lives? Don't focus on the welcome message, which nobody cares about, focus on the reason they're coming to your site in the first place!)

This is classicly fucked-up design and is unfortunately all too common. The net result is that these types of designs make people feel anxious and afraid and turn site visitors away from the rest of your content pages. Don't do that.

Contrast this general design sense with, for example, the Polyamorous-NYC web site. While it has other problems, design is not one of them (for the most part).

Whereas TES has lots of light-on-black, some horrendous yellow color, and lots of big red headlines and a logo that looks like the blade to a guillotuine, Poly NYC has several pinks, a neutral beige, some blues, and white along with a picture of three people smiling and holding hands on the home page.

Which site feels more welcoming to you? If you were a hot and sexy 18-year-old looking to explore alternative sexualities, which group would you feel safer checking out first, based solely on the web site's design?

I think BDSM people really like to brag about how incredibly intense and perverse they are. After all, we kink hard on danger but this is no excuse for confusing your fantasy with your real-life goals, you morons, so stop that shit right the fuck now, okay?

In fairness, TES is not the only group that suffers from this design problem. Dom Sub Friends, the Lesbian Sex Mafia, and to a lesser extent Gay Male S/M Activists do as well. But TES is by far the worst. Sex stores have the same problem. Contrast something like Purple Passion's web site with, for instance JT's Stockroom. The difference is night and day, literally.

The Usability Problem or Stop Making It So Hard To Browse Your Site, asshat!

This is big, so let's start somewhere that's got a big database. DSF is often cited as having a great database of links. But in reality, it's not great, it's just massive.

Granted, massive can be a facet of usefulness. After all, eBay is fucking massive. You can find just about anything you can kink with on eBay. (Or Amazon, by the way.) However, the distinguishing factor between eBay's database and DSF's database is findability, not size.

To an untrained eye (by which I mean, evidently, by DSF's web site administrator's eyes), findability just means "use a search engine." (DSF doesn't use a search engine on all their resources pages, just some of them, by the way.) This, unfortunately, is totally missing the boat.

Why you need to think about what you're doing or Obviously you're too busy jacking off at the computer

First of all, how do you think search engines work? They work by analyzing structured data to produce information that is ultimately relevant to the user's needs. Do you think all that data just structured itself? No, someone had to structure it, someone had to think about how to present it, and someone had to think about how to do all of that in a way that meets the user's goals.

Taking this out of the theoretical and back to the practical, let's take a closer look at DSF's resource pages. First thing you notice is that they have a "BDSM Resources" page on which there is an incredibly strange, unnatural distinction between "Organizations and Forums" and the rest of their "BDSM Resources". Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't you consider organizations and forums to be BDSM resources on a BDSM resource page? Why the separation? What's the point?

It's pretty common knowledge that only the most persistent users will click through a web site to find what they're looking for. Most users will click on one or two links and if they haven't found what they're looking for, they'll go back to their search engine of choice and try all over again. Then lather, rinse, repeat. As a web developer, every decision you make impacts your users, so you damn well have a good reason for doing something. If you don't, you're doing it wrong.

Of course, this problem is much easier to tackle when the volume of information you have isn't as large. Look at NYBOL's web site to see the complete opposite spectrum of the very same poor architectural problems. What is that? An entry for the "let's see who can make an entire web site on a single web page" contest? They don't even have a lot of information and they have given absolutely no thought to how their content should be structured.

There are two primary navigational modes users are accustomed to on the web. These are search and browse. Listen closely because I'm only going to say this a hundred billion times: users search when they are answering a question or trying to solve a problem. Users browse in order to learn about a problem or to gather information. When you think about how to structure the content on your web site, you need to think about how users will interact with this content in those two modes of navigation.

As an example of a web site that does this relatively well (and which took me a grand total of maybe three or four hours to implement, literally), take a look at the way Conversio Virium organizes its content.

• Main navigational tabs provide hierarchical structure to the content of the web site. The constitution is in the about CV section, the presenter guidelines are in the meetings and events section, and information about specific leadership positions are in the membership section. Makes sense, right? (Admittedly, it's not always so clear moving forwad, but hindsight is always 20/20.)


• The single search bar in a prominent position at the top of every page searches all the content on the site. (Being objective, I will also note that the serch results page for CV does need a lot of work. I did only put about three hours into the implementation of this site, you recall.)


• Content is organized according to strict guidelines using categories and an events calendar, allowing faceted navigation so that users can either search or browse the site and end up at the same content by following a variety of paths.


• Finally, the content itself cross-links to other relevant contents. Posts link to other posts. Events link to previous posts. News items link to events. Static pages link to each other. The more links you have, the easier it is to find what you're looking for.

These days, this sort of thing is actually pretty easy to do at least decently well. Simply knowing how to make good use of a content management system helps a lot. TES uses Mambo, but they failed to provide the kind of faceted navigation of their site that CV provides for their's, and so their CMS isn't as useful to them.

I could get all technical here and start talking about why these sites should be getting rid of their URL cruft, why they are browser-hostile (fucking overuse of frames and JavaScript), and a dozen other topics, but you'd all be bored and obviously no one is reading this anyway. So, hoping that we've got this point down, I'll just move on.

Make Yourself Useful or Stop Trying to Top Your Users, you freakin' sex addicts!

If all of that isn't enough already, let's talk about one last point. (I promise this'll be the last point I make and that you can all go back to jacking off at your own brilliance soon, as I too will do.) Usefulness. This is the most important point out of all three of my points today, so if you're scanning this post and want to read just one point, I hope it's this one.

You need to make your web site useful, or no one will use it. Well, duh, but what does that entail? Here's the process, broken down into really simple steps:

1. Find out what your members want to do.


2. Make it possible for them to do that thing they want using a web site.

I swear, that's all there is to it. Let me give you some examples.

The BDSM calendar that no one uses

Almost every single site I linked to above has some form of events calendar. TES and DSF both have so-called "dynamic" calendars. GMSMA, LSM, and Poly-NYC, among others, have so-called "static" calendars, which are really nothing more than unchanging pages that have some information about their next event. The problem with all of these calendars is that they are either totally useless or not-as-useful as they could be for the following reasons:

• You can only view them on the page they're published on. If I am interested in DSF meetings and GMSMA meetings, then I have to make my own page or my own calendar that combines both of these group's information.


• You can't safely link directly to events because the location they are published on eventually changes (such as when being archived). If I want to link to an LSM event, I can't, because the event itself isn't a permanent fixture anywhere. Instead, I have to link to their events page and hope that my site users find the event on the page, if it's still there.


• Moving data out of this calendar into any kind of actually useful form is nearly impossible. Copy-and-paste is a waste of everyone's time (computers were invented in order to obviate the need for humans to perform repetitive tasks).

The group with the absolute worst calendar scheme has to be OneTaste NY (and why is a fucking MySpace profile the thing that comes up on Google when I search for that phrase, by the way?), which—despite having a relatively decent calendar on their web site, actually—chooses to email me a massive hunk of HTML vomit every few weeks with their entire calendar for the month stuffed into it. Yuck! Why don't you promote your web site calendar instead and offer an iCalander subscription feed or something like what CV does? You have the technology! You can rebuild it!

The only people who use these calendars are either devoted members of the club already, in which case you could probably force them to jump through rings of fire and they'd still do it just to get a look at the calendar, or are the people creating the calendar, in which case why do you even need a calendar since you already know what's going on when? Answer: you don't. You just suck at web development, is all.

(As an aside, there are a number of email-only subscription newsletters dealing with alternative lifestlye events. These aren't really web sites so I didn't say anything about them, but a word to the wise: please stop writing out these emails as though they are really long love letters. If you're going to put out a newsletter in plain text as an event listing, for god's sake, use some kind of convention to indicate the thing is actually a list, okay?)

A final note: all your print calendars need to have your web site's calendar address on them, and you do actually have to change your web site calendar once in a while to keep it up to date. What's the point of a calendar with the wrong information on it? Sheesh.

Anyway, moving on….

Other Web Sites Are Your Friends or The point of a link is to link you to something, dimwit!

The mentality of "stay at my site longer" is sooooo 1995. I'm serious, there's nothing you can do to prevent web site users from going to another web site. Just give up the whole idea that your one site will ever be the be-all and end-all of information about any topic in the world right now, because if you don't you'll never be able to make a good web site for as long as you live.

Instead, actively embrace the idea that the more outbound links you have that go to good places the better your site will be. Why is this so? Because users like being linked to good, interesting information. They appreciate a useful service, whether that be in event information, educational material, or whatever else you can offer them. The way to do this is with links. So for fuck's sake, link liberally!

In the BDSM community world, this means you need to link to other group's web sites! Why is it that the only community web site I know about that links to other organizations on every page is Conversio Virium? (May, you made the CV web site. Oh, right, thanks. I forgot.) Seriously, why the fuck does TES not link to DSF? Or to LSM? Or to GMSMA? Or to MaST? Why does GMSMA not link back to TES?

Why are all you arrogant fucktards so concerned with recruiting members instead of actually being the useful, educational, supportive organization you so proudly claim to be? None of you are actually doing what you so nobly claim to do, and it's about time you got off your high horses and started actually doing it. And you know what, the best tool you have to do that with is your web site. So come on, GET ON IT!

And by golly, I didn't even get into the really fun bits like implementation and search engine optimizations. I mean, seriously, why is CV's site the number one hit on Google right now for the search query "floating world bdsm"? That should be embarassing.

That was the end, but here is an outtake for humor's sake

Let's start with none other than The Eulenspiegel Society, the self-proclaimed oldest and largest BDSM education and support organization in the United States. Smack-dab on the top of the home page, TES proclaims their web site to be, and I quote, the official TES® web site. As if there are hordes of unofficial TES web sites out there on the Internet. They even italicize the word "official" to make it stand out more, to remind us that we are actually at the center of the BDSM universe. Please, get over yourselves, TES web site committee members. Neither you nor your organization (and especially not your web site) is that impressive.

While we're on the topic of italicizing things, by the way, take a look at how they've italicized it. Do you know what this code is called?

<P ALIGN=Center> <FONT SIZE=+3>Welcome to the <I>Official </I>TES</FONT><FONT size="6"><B><SUP>®</SUP></B></FONT><FONT SIZE=+3> 
        Web Site.</FONT>

No? It's called HTML vomit, that's what it's called. font elements have been deprecated since HTML 4.01, which became a W3C recommendation on the 24^th of December, in 1999. Did you hear that? Nineteen-ninety-fucking-nine. What the hell are font tags still doing on your home page? Has it not been updated since 1999?

To be fair, this exact problem plagues pretty much every web site built by people who don't actually know how to work with the Web, which includes the vast majority of every so-called self-proclaimed "web designer" out there, which is also, coincidentally, apparently pretty much every tech-savvy kinky person in existence.

Morale of the story? Get someone who knows what they're doing. And yes, they will either be very generous or they will charge you through the nose—and yes, you're gonna like it.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Just earlier today a friend sent me to this Savage Love article in the Village Voice. It's about pegging, aka strap-on sex. We've all talked about this before, remember. The reason this article stuck out like a bright and red sore thumb in all the otherwise mundane vanilla-oriented sex advice columns was the nugget of wisdom by the ever-wonderful Violet Blue shared in response to this woman's concerns:

Everything I've come across so far seems to be playing into the stereotypes that plague male- on-female anal sex. ("You're going to take my cock up that little ass," etc.) I don't peg my man to work out my aggression, I peg him because the prostate is a wondrous thing.

When I point at other submissive men who are blinded by their own irresistible cravings to think before they act and tell you that they have hurt me in my sex life, this is (an example of) exactly what I mean. When I point at pro-dommes and tell you that they are cheapening me to other dominant women, this is exactly what I mean. When I point at the media and say that this is why I feel like it is invading my bedroom, this is exactly what I mean.

Violet Blue responds with some much-needed reason to all the craziness:

Pegging in most porn is festooned with stereotypes of shame and pain, like most sex in mainstream porn," says Violet. "And, unfortunately, these stereotypes have seeped into online sex culture. But you don't have to be Mistress Asscrusher, and he doesn't have to answer to Worthless Buttslut, in order to enjoy strap-on sex. Like I explain in my book, most couples who peg do it because it's fun, intimate, new, exciting, and quite loving.

I've said it before, but I guess it behooves me to say it again: I don't see anything wrong with Mistres Asscrusher or Worthless Buttslut, but if you start to expect that of me (by behaving in ways that show it—I couldn't care less what positions you fantasize about me in as long as they remain fantasy) then you are actually hurting me and it doesn't matter who you are or what your orientation, submissive man or dominant woman or albino monkey or whatever, you're not going to see much respect beyond that I accord fellow humans coming from me. Respect like that is and always should be earned—you don't get it just because you're of an "alternative" sexuality.

Addendum: I was just talking to that brilliant friend of mine who asked me what the hell my beef with pro-dommes is. It's a fair question. She asked me to describe it in twenty words or less, because she was tired. So I did:

Pro-dommes have a monopoly on the expression of female domination in the majority of online and real-world kinky contexts.

One thing led to another in this conversation, when she finally remarked that she never thought she'd see "the personal is political" from this side of the sex wars, but yeah, ok, I can see it. Being completely untrained in feminist theory I'd never heard that word before, so I did a little bit of searching to find out what she's talking about. I have no conclusions, but I wanted to share what I found because I feel it is inherently relevant to the above post.

• A Z-Magazine editorial on the various meanings of the phrase "The Personal Is Political" through time since the late 1960's. (I highly recommend reading this first.)


• Wikipedia's article on identity politics.


• Newsgroup archives discussing the origins of the phrase "The Personal is Political".


• and more….

In brief, I am beginning to wonder if this phrase and its related political associations are an accurate description of the feelings of systematic marginalization in the post above. I'll leave further speculation, however, for a time after more significant rumination.

This morning a friend asked me to give her an image that turns me on, followed by an image that is iconic of a "top" or a "domme" and then to determine whether the answers to those two questions share any key visual elements. Yes, this friend's really smart, by the way.

In response, I told her that the first thing that popped into my mind of an image that turns me on was Eileen's lips and tongue during the blowjob she unexpectedly gave me last night, but that's only because I haven't been able to stop thinking about it for the past twelve hours or so. In fact, if my friend had asked me for an image that turns me on another day, I probably wouldn't have said blowjobs at all.

The last significant mouth-on-penis action I've received hasn't been for more than two and a half years. Before that I wasn't even that excited about blowjobs. Handjobs always felt better to me anyway, so I wasn't very interested in getting them, though I don't think I ever turned down the opportunity. All my partners were far more skilled with their hands than their mouths anyway but more interestingly—and more to the point—I liked handjobs more because it was easier to bottom to them.

Few men can deny the fact that having someone else's hands around your genitals can be a vulnerable position. Of course, it isn't always intended that way (unless you're me, in which case it probably is) but our culture is saturated with images and stories of men's genitals being vulnerable in the hands of women. It's even in our slang: "She has got me by the balls" means that I am well and truly dominated by her control of the situation. I'm not sure why this is supposed to be a bad thing (</sarcasm>), but it is.

Contrast this with any imagery of blowjobs displayed by popular culture and the exact reverse is true. For some reason, people seem to think that putting your penis in someone else's mouth gives you some kind of control over the situation and makes the person whose mouth is around your genitals submissive. This has always been somewhat baffling to me, because it is far easier to hurt my penis with your teeth than it is to hurt it with your hands. Is my penis somehow more vulnerable to teeth than a so-called "Alpha Male"'s is? I'd love to know if it is, as I've unfortunately had no experience putting real live penises in my mouth.

(As an aside: if you want me to feel submissive while you make me go down on your cock then you should use something along the lines of a ring gag (NSFW) while you do it. Not that there aren't other ways to make fellatio into a submissive act—you could close my nose so I have trouble breathing, or hold a knife at my neck, or you could just whisper in my ear that you know how badly I want to drown the back of my throat in ejaculate, but the point is that it's all about how you do what you're doing.)

I think blowjobs are so riddled with unnecessary connotations of submission that whenever my previous partners went down on me they were, in effect, submitting. (As another aside, these particular past partners were for the most part submissive women, which I'm sure had something to do with it. Why my dating history has a 3-to-1 ratio of submissive women to dominant women is, however, another frustrating post entirely.) While I enjoy sexual stimulation from a talented mouth as much as the next man, girls who go down on me with a disposition that is solely intended to please are just not as sexy as the ones who do it with a mind for taking control of me.

There are two times in life when people will show you their true emotions. The first is during a round of poker. The second is during sex.

It should probably be obvious, but maybe it's not: submissive men like assertive blowjobs, not amiable ones. In fact, in case one thing doesn't lead you to the other, submissive men like assertiveness and control in general. We like assertive handjobs and masturbation, fucking (of many varieties), kissing, and pussy-licking. In other words, we enjoy all the very same sexual acts anyone else does, but what we enjoy most about them is the assertiveness and control of our dominant partners.

So when Eileen took hold of my wrist and placed it behind my back as she enveloped my penis with her throat, I nearly shuddered from the hotness. There was the key visual element that combined one of the sexiest things I have ever seen with my iconic image of female dominance: assertive and control, wanting me and taking me. She took me, this time, with her mouth.

She licked my cock from base to head and from head to base, not in worship to me but in her own indulgence. Whereas before I was used to blowjobs being a rather piston-like up and down motion or a stationary sucking sensation (penises aren't straws, by the way), Eileen's mouth slowly travelled all over my shaft. When she combined a powerful suction on my penis' corona with vertical strokes from her tongue I had to say it out loud: "I'm going to orgasm if you keep doing that." And in response, she eased up just enough to make it possible for me not to come.

In response to my friend's second question asking for an iconic image of a "top" or "domme," I responded that to come up with one is actually pretty difficult. After all, there are so many different looks that I associate with dominance. Does the so-called iconic female dominant have long hair or short hair? Is she dressed in tight clothing or is she lounging in bathrobes? It can all be hot.

So my answer was that an image iconic of a female top or domme for me, at that moment when she asked, was a tall woman wearing jeans that shows off her ass nicely and some kind of tank-top-like shirt, probably black. It's comfortable yet sexy—sexy because she's comfortable. And in my fantasies, she's holding something, like a knife in her right hand and a coiled rope in her left, not to be too specific about it. (I realized later that I was actually just describing Eileen in one of her more playful moods, but that's besides the point right now.)

Clearly I have a thing for the outdoorsy look, but what I really have a thing for is the confident type. This should be no secret (and if it is, I pity you and would like to invite you to listen especially close right now), but confidence is always sexy. Always. It's sexy to me when you look into my eye and feel confident enough to know you can make me hard just by licking your lips.

Confidence is about being sexy, regardless of orientation or activity. Assertiveness and control is about taking that confidence and applying it to a particular sexual power dynamic. Like, you know, leaving me literally laughing on our bed from desperate arousal after giving me the most dominant blowjob I've ever felt and then smiling as you tell me there's not a chance you'll let me orgasm tonight.

I've been really, really pissed off the last couple of days weeks months years. I thought it was getting better and I was beginning to get out of my bitter and jealous funk, but it's just not happening. Might even be getting worse; instead of ranting on my own blog, now I'm ranting in the comments on Elizabeth's blog (sorry about that, by the way). Pretty sad, really.

I had a long converastion with Lady Lubyanka today, whom I am almost certain thinks I am a very angry and very smart troubled young boy. (She would not be entirely incorrect either; but I did have to look up the word erudite when she called me that today. She's such a sweet charmer.) Then, later, instead of spending dinner with friends I became too upset to be social and wanted to leave early, and this ended up as a very long conversation with Eileen about what was wrong.

So what is wrong? A lot of things are wrong and were never right; these things have hurt me from the first moment I interacted even remotely sexually with another person, but they are especially painful right now because of a few personal experiences that I'd much rather not go into on such a public forum. I mention that now to tell you, dearest reader, that these things are not solely the belidgerant words of an angsty youth. These things do happen. They happen all the time.

Even though there's no help in this post, I ultimately thought that writing about how to make things better without also showing the hurt may not actually be that effective. So here is the bitter taste of reality submissive men drink day in and day out:

I wanted to write about the incredibly aggravating notion that regardless of orientation, dominant or submisive, men are expected to be the pursuers while women, dominant or submissive, are expected to be the pursued.

I wanted to write about why many submissive men are just as responsible for debasing their own sexuality as the many pro- (and so obviously not-so-pro-)dommes who take delight in squashing them down while lifting them of that burdensome weight in their wallets. ("Thank you for stealing my money, Mistress, would you like another dollar?")

I wanted to write about the lack of empathy so prevalent in the public BDSM scenes where more often than you'd probably think (more times than I can count and over the course of two relationships) people of all sexes befriend you if you're a guy for the purposes of getting closer to your girlfriends, both significant other(s) and otherwise. After all, you're a guy: you're just a dime a dozen anyway and another twenty like you will walk through the door in the next two minutes. But oh my god, is that a breast standing next to you? Is there a photographer in the house? Someone must capture this moment and make it last a lifetime! (I still remember the near stampede bee line that was made towards my then-girlfriend when we came out to our first public BDSM meeting. It's happened lots of times since then, too; mostly I'm just used to it now.)

I wanted to write about how most people assume that if you're a guy you're probably controlled by nothing more than that little blood-shot rod of tissue called a penis, and how incredibly shameful I feel to be male because so many times these people are actually correct in their accusations of men. (See above. 'Nuff said.)

I wanted to write about how submissive men will pretty much always, without fail, lose a race for sexual satisfaction out of any gender/sex/orientation combination you can come up with. Always. I've had a sex life that any submissive man you point at would kill to have, yet stick me in a room with other orientations and I'm still the first one sidelined, the last one standing by the fruit punch and chips, so to speak. It's not like it hasn't happened before, and it's certainly going to happen again.

I wanted to write about how if you're a submissive guy you're treated with near-fear if not written off if you don't call youself worthless or think you're only value comes from how much money you make. My god, he's submissive but he likes himself. He's gotta be like the unabomber or one of those kids from Columbine—he's clearly fucked up in the head. No self-respecting male would actually be submissive. I mean, he's submissive? Doesn't he not want to be respected? (Yeah, keep talking Einstein.)

If you are a man and you have had any experience at all interacting with almost any sexually oriented community (including non-kinky contexts), maybe you're pretty pissed off, too. Worst of all, maybe a lot of people are telling you that you don't have a lot of reason to be upset. After all, you're a man, and the world handed you an easier time of things than, say, if you were a woman or if you were living in a third-world country. Shut up and be grateful, you selfish little prick.

I'm not ungrateful, you should tell them, I'm very grateful for the things I have. But that does not negate the unjust, oppressive, systematic starvation of my sexual identity, the hurt caused by the intentional and the unintential assumptions made about who I am and what I should enjoy based on it, or the pain from seeing how excruciatingly invasive all of this has become in my bedroom.

That's what I wanted to write about, but I'm clearly in no state to be writing such things. I'm way too angry about it to make any kind of coherent sense. So like I said, move along, keep channel surfing. There's nothing to see here that you haven't seen a million times before.