let's talk dirty.

A while ago I promised I would write about bondage on a budget.

While I never stopped thinking abut it, I never produced anything. Maybe I've just been having boring sex recently? I haven't smacked the shit out of anyone in a long time. It makes me a little sad, and a little frustrated. I like slapping, and scratching, and biting, and struggling against someone. Its fun.

Have no fears queers, I'm sure I'll get my hands on a lover who lets me smack them as they fuck me soon.

Untill then, I will have to sit on my hands during sex. Not literally, because that wouldn't be the best postion, but figuritively.

Which leads me our first (quick) discussion of bondage on a budget!

Restraints.

We aren't all lucky enough to own a pair of handcuffs. I came across an antique pair in some snobby shop in Lynden, WA (the place with more churches per capita than anywhere) for cheap, but didn't want to give the satisfaction of purchasing anything to the lady who followed me around the entire time in the store.

Yeah, I don't look like money. Doesn't mean I'm going to steal.

Thats another story for another time though.

There are lots of things you can safely use to attach your lovers hands to the bed post, or support beam, or whatever else you have handy.

I personally prefer using discipline and self restraint to keep whoever is in my bed, on the couch, bent over the counter, to stay. It adds to the frustration/exictment of being stuck in this really interesting way for me. I just tell them not to touch me, to keep their hands here or there, and if they don't listen, I'll stop. I'll stop or I'll leave, or I'll hit them.

This generally works.

But sometimes it doesn't.

There are times when a person needs/wants to literally be restrained. These times call for more than sheer will power or dominance. These are the times were I turn to my handy collection of belts and ties. Ties are nice if they are silky, but they don't hold up very well against a lot of force. Belts on the other hand, specifically leather belts, can take a beating (as well as be used to deal out a beating!). I tend to figure 8 the wrists above a persons head, but there are tons of ways to use a belt. Get creative. Scarves can also be great alternatives, but i am going to warn you right now: duct tape is not your friend. It rips skin, its hard to use properly, and its not really all that fun. If someone isn't allergic, its alright over the mouth, but not to be used as a restraint. At least in my experience.

Always remember to leave at least room for two fingers between restraint and skin, while pressure is put against it. Keep scissors handy, or restraints less complicated, for emergency escapes and safety. Have a safe word, mine's 'Philadelphia' which is a longer word then most people are comfortable with, but its the first one that comes to mind. Don't let someone tie you up if you don't trust them, and always release your lovers if they request so (in a way that isn't intended to be denied).

Then there are times when its not just their arms you want to stop from wiggling. Sometimes, I want someone strapped to my bed. This I have to experiment more with, before I can give any sort of advice on the subject. I am open to suggestions though!

As always, play safe.

December.

"i'm not getting anyone presents, because i fucking hate christmas. sorry,"

Can go fuck itself. I sincerely hate this month. Sincerely.

No but, seriously. Fuck december. Fuck christmas. Fuck new years eve. Fuck it not being 2011 yet.

Its hard to work with adorable excitable little kids and be a Scrooge. Their tiny faces glowing in anticipation of santa, or more importantly presents, makes most people all mushy and warm. Let's face it, I just get pissed. You know what? Santa isn't real. Jesus wasn't white. There are no christmas miracles. Frosty never came to life. You won't follow through with your resolutions. Presents are just trying to make up for not loving you enough. A new year isn't a new beginning. Your parents ate the cookies you left out. That tree could still be growing in the earth. Those plastics were made by profits-so-high-it-must-be-ethical slave labor. Snow is just frozen rain no one knows how to drive in.

I'm not really a bitter person. I promise I am usually sunshine and rainbows and sillyness, but this time of the year destroys me. It doesn't help that I'm supposed to reflect on the previous years pros and cons, or my growth. Looking back doesn't make looking forward better, it kind of makes everything worse.

Oh, and a not so hot breakup doesn't really help either.

Yes, I am a Scrooge. I am a mean spirited poor sport when it comes to this month.

But you know what? Its almost half way over, and I'm not dead yet. So, cheers I guess. Being alive is good. Well, being alive can really really suck, and not seem any better than the alternative sometimes, but... um. Well. I don't fancy the idea of anyone i know dying right now. I don't fancy the idea of me dying right now.

I would really really like it if everyone could at least survive until February. Selfish of me, I know, but if you are someone I love and there is absolutely nothing I can do to prevent your death, I'd rather it happen at a time when I could actually process it. When I wouldn't automatically be catapulted into pain overload, and run the risk of creating a dominio effect of your death, my death, other peoples possible deaths.

Like I said, winter is not a good time for me.

It is a time, however, to be very very very thankful for the little things that make me not dead.

Like cigarettes.

And friends.

And chocolate. And tea.

And sealie.

And sealies new friends who haven't been named yet. Besides hipster bear, as seen below.

And chocolate soy milk.

I used to be really sneaky about being sad. I was a great liar for a long time. Until one day my mom discovered a pattern of a need for chocolate soy milk and a slightly less active me. From this discovery on, whenever I went out to get chocolate soy milk, or was found drinking lots of chocolate soy milk, my mother was prompted to ask if I was 'okay'.

It was rather adorable.

Me: *drinking chocolate soy milk from carton*

Mom: "Holy crap! Is everything alright? Do you need anything? Do you want to talk?"

Me: *still drinking chocolate soy milk from carton*

the end!

advice from Paul Baribeau

name ten things you wanna do before you die and then go do them.

Trainhop,

Swing dance on a rooftop with candlelight

Buy a fixer-upper and fix it up.

Learn to repair old pianos.

Find the green dream machine.

Write a book.

Have a gang of friends that cook together on a regular basis.

Act in a play again.

Make wine..

Build a treehouse.

name ten places you really wanna be before you die and then go to them

The Czech Republic, again.

Italy,

Boston,

Mexico,

Alaska,

Denver,

That queer farm in Tennessee.

Halifax.

An undisclosed location, on an unplanned adventure.

Someones childhood home.

name ten books you wanna read before you die and then go read them

Everything is Illuminated

The Little Prince

Winnie the Pooh

A Clockwork Orange

The Secret Garden

Brave New World

1984

Learning to Love You More

Fraud

Morning Noon and Night

name ten songs you wanna hear again before you die, get all of your friends together and scream them

this one!
The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows, Brand New

Quinns cover of "Womanizer"

Coming along swimmingly, Council of Lions

The First Day of my Life, Bright Eyes

Delicate, Damien Rice

Voice On Tape, Jenny Owen Youngs

1 2 3 4, Feist

9 to 5, My Parade

Ghost, cloudbuster

The rest will come in small doses until the new year.

Mostly in the form or rambling memories.

Stay tuned?

today has kicked my ass.

I couldn't get to sleep last night. I kept reaching out in the dark across the sheets for someone who wasn't there. The night held me in a drained half awake state way past my bed time.

All the tricks in all the books and articles will never compared to his body next to mine. Nothing can drag me into dreams like his hand across my chest, and his breath on the back of my neck. The problem with pillows is they never cuddle back. They never cuddle back and they don't say sweet things, or hold me, or tell me their secrets. Or listen to me. Or see through me in the most tragic and still comfortable ways. The problem with masturbation is (for me), it doesn't statisfy my need to connect to another living thing, to his heart beat.

What's worse then trying to get to sleep though?

Waking up alone.

I'm used to jumping in and out quickly, to a hit it and quit it mentality, to fake liberation coming from the parted lips of strangers turned one night lovers turned next morning ghosts. But over the past week, and this whole being crazy in love thing (which I can ramble about later), I've gotten used to morning breath kisses, and sleepy mumbles of affection.

So when I woke up without him this morning, I think I almost cried.

Okay, gay. I know. Corny as shit.

stfu.

you should see what people post on tumblr. at least i only gush a few times a month, rather than a few times an hour.

Today was gnarly. My half a decade old phone isn't working, or charging properly, my car is acting funny, I have a headache, a body ache, a sore throat, and my body can't decided between cold or hot so it went with both extremes at the same time. My early morning three hour shit turned into a 4 hours shift, and then a seven hour shift, and then a panic return trip to find my wallet after being home and getting comfortable.

i feel grumbly.

and like shit.

but at least I have the most gorgeous boifriend ever! who makes me happy, and well, horny, and well gushy. And silly. And nervous. And a good kind of crazy. And and and lots of other things.

now if only i wasn't sick.

i could be having hot sex right now!

(i need to take a trillion mg of vitamins and other immune building things that come in mg.)

((i got cook books today, :3 ))

edit:

even family guy isn't as good without him.

rice mushroom soup is the only thing making today not dominate me with a complete K.O.

and text messages from my prince charming.

nomnomnom

Monty's gonna make recipe book! I'm going to make a recipe book! AND IT IS GOING TO BE AMAZING!

You can all now call me momma chow.

Or Montgomery still, if you want to. Or just super awesome.

Last year I had a baking fit that spanned fifteen days of me trying new recipes and perfecting old ones. It was supposed to last 25 or 30, but alcohol is very distracting.

Very very distracting. So is having a social life, and when you're young, queer, and me, those things have this awkward tendency to go hand in hand.

It was my advent calender. Only better.

So, this year, I'm doing it all over again. Baked goods for the holidays everyone. Baked goods for life. I'm going to stuff my boifriend full of yummy treats and pull out my classic "love me dammit coffee-cake".

Okay, yes, I bake people into loving me. Its manipulative and sneaky, but... but... everyone has secret skills they use to trick others into liking them! Mine just happens to be in the form of delicious sweets.

Think about it!

Musicians make people swoon, artists give people twinkles in their eyes, dancers make people go ga-ga. Fashionistas, nerds, computer programmers, movie stars, the extra sweet waitresses, and on and on and on.

So what if my skill happens to be love muffins?

I also am trying to get a group together for friday night dinners or sunday brunches. I miss cooking with people. I miss cooking for people. I miss filling kitchens with love and laughter and stories.

I miss it.

Can we cook together?

you are a dream.

I never wake up to feeling alright. Last night I had a dream though. A dream that some how reassured me completely. I try not to read much into dreams, but perhaps thats because I never seem to remember them. I only have nightmares that come back in flashes while waking, or dreams so incredibly bizarre the only thing I can gather from them is that I'm afraid of something. Generally, the dreams I remember take place in the same buildings. There's a warehouse, a campus, a home, a playground, a giant valley, and a few other places that don't really exist but are ingrained into me. As if I knew them. As if I spent my entire life memorizing the walls and ceilings.

But this dream was somewhere real to me. Somewhere in a treasure box with the rest of my few happy memories. With, a face and a person I know. Morgan.

I wrote it down. I wrote it down because it was the crazy kind of beautiful I never want to forget.

you mean something to me.

We where wandering around the tide pools I went to when I was young. It was the last place I ever remembering finding peace, and feeling carefree. The rocks were hard to walk on, and I kept falling. Every time I stumbled, you rushed over to catch me. Everything looked like a picture taken with the flash to close, it was so bright and white, with bold saturated colors that bleed together.

I was wearing your coat that definitely didn't fit me. Big nerd glasses, and a ridiculous smile. I was standing over a tide pool with my feet pigeon toed and a cigarette in my hand. You were across from me, with wide loving eyes, warning me not to slip.

It took us all day to drive there, and on the road we never saw another pair of headlights. We were the only two people in the world, and we were invincible. The radio went in and out, until eventually we turned it off and just started singing. My car was filled with laughter and warmth. There were pillows and blankets in the backseat and it looked as through we had been adventuring for weeks.

You had something to show me. You led me to the coast and sat down on a rock. There were lowers floating in the water, these exotic beautiful flowers I had never seen before, and you picked one up for me.

There was a little stachel attached to the bottom of it and you began telling me a story. The story danced before me as you spoke, I could see it happening.

"They used to hid things in the beds of rivers," you said. "Everyone was terrified of the water, but it was the only place they could keep their secrets safe. The only place they could keep their treasures,"

In my outstretched hands, you opened the bag and poured out these little dolls. These little dolls my mother used to keep underneath her pillow, to ward off worry and pain. Dolls that used to carry the weight of my family. But these, these were weightless. Like feathers in my hands. "They'll keep the pain for you".

The ocean was crashing on the rocks, and suddenly we were running. Branches kept snapping under your boots, and thats the only way I knew you were still with me. I could only catch glimpses of you through the trees. There were so many evergreens, and birds and flowers. I was out of breath when you caught me and through your arms around me, proclaiming to the sun and earth that I was yours.

I covered your eyes, and led you to a clearing. When you opened them we where standing on a bluff above the ocean. The waves had settled but the wind kept brushing past us. Gently. You laced your fingers into mine and we were infinite against the sky.

Dropping my hand, you shoved yours into your pockets. I looked at you staring into the distance and told you, "I dare you to stay".

You half smiled back at me, and I woke up.

I dare you to stay. I dare you to love me. I know that I'm messy, and strange. I know that I get intense sometimes, and I have a tendency to miscommunicate. Yes, I am hard to hold onto, but please don't let me go. I'll never push you away again.

You,

You are a promise I am going to keep.

I dare you to stay. I promise to do the same.

sooo...

I have a boifriend now.

A REAL, LIVE, SOMEWHAT LOCAL BOIFRIEND.

A tattoo'd, 29 year old dreamboat. With a great smile, and style. A complete gentleman. He's my prince, but I definitely am not about to let him call me princess.

I don't let anyone fucking call me princess.

He brings me stuffed animals, he gives me lots of kisses, he buys me hot chocolate, he meets all the requirements on my checklist. Yes, checklist, that I made a few months ago. You should make one to. It reminds me not to settle for anything less. Just list the things you want/need from someone in a relationship, and don't let yourself be with people who can't provide them. Oh, and he loves me.

I meet him five days ago. So, this has been a whirlwind of excitement. I don't generally get into relationships until after a few months of being friends/lovers. I am the anti uhaul queer. I don't do love fast, or easy. I take my time. I want to know every inch of a person before I can stay.

But after three dates, well, the conversation came up and he became my new super handsome boifriend.

Anyway, thats not the craziest part.

We all know, or should know, I am a sexual deviant. I like to go home with strangers, and have casual sex with friends. I never really believed monogamy made sense or was a good idea for me personally. Yeah, I make jokes about marriage, and what not. I do date people and have open relationships that I don't really act on. I always thought I needed that freedom.

Maybe I do.

But, the person I am with, believes in being faithful 110%. Not that being poly makes a person any less faithful, but its not the kind of relationships he can have.

OMG. MONOGAMY + MONTGOMERY?! Bullshit! Not possible!

Hey, I like to try new things. I am trying this on for size.

And he is making some compromises. Which is important. Because holy crap if I really couldn't cuddle my friends when they were sad I would explode. The idea of having sex with one person for the rest of my life is more terrifying to me than anything else, almost. So, he said we can be swingers.

I get to be a swinger!

Heeheehee.

As this goes along, i'll give you updates. Don't worry. I'm sure as hell going to have a lot to say about being the poly/open advocate I am while being in a monogamous relationship.

itsreallyreallyscary.

xoxoxo.

bondage on a budget.

So, I know you kids really like reading about sex. I was going to tell you about my first sexual encounter! Then, I found this book. This book which has become my bible.

You can grow plants from leaf cuttings! FROM STEMS!

You can fix almost anything yourself!

BREAD FROM SRATCH IS SO EASY.

Almost all cleaning can be done with baking soda, vinegar, and castile soap.

I'm learning the most amazing things!

Be Thrifty (... not cheap), by Edited by Catton & Suntree. Its a fabulous read.

So what about thrift? Wheres the sex?

Again, let me throw some learnings you probably already know on you.

Sex toys are expensive!

I've never been the kind of kid who has a tool box of sex related things. Vibrators aren't my thing, and I've never had a need for a strap on. When I turned 18, I took the rite of passage walk through of several local 'adult' shops. Price tags weren't placed out front, but through browsing I got a general sense of the cost of things. Let me tell you, that cost was HIGH AND MIND BLOWING. Good, quality, safe toys are a pretty penny, and while I think most are well worth while, I still think there should be more affordable ways to get your 'freak' on.

A lot of things I don't have first hand experience with. I am new to the mighty world of BDSM, and still shy/experimenting. But, I've grown up around kinky friends and lovers, and thus have been given many '100 level' classes, for beginners and beyond. Recently I had an encounter with an undeclared pro domme, who had a way with repurposing household items into bedroom accessories. She introduced me to a world of D.I.Y. kink. Being hit with chopsticks, and rough bristled hair-burshes, is exciting, incase you were wondering.

I'm somewhat overwhelmed with the need to be reading this book, and planning for life. So, sadly, no instructions and tutiorals on this today. Keep you eyes piled through, I'm doing research, I'm trying out different materials, and different advice. I will help you be thrifty kinksters soon!

Promise!

xoxo.

(i was pretty cool this last summer, but I don't understand/comprehend mics)

So, I know only super cool people can make you suffer through their writing. But, I am a wordsmith of sorts, and a spoken word amateur, so I want to share this, and get feedback.

I performed this piece for the first time last night, at an open mic, and it was really well received.

It was only my second time ever performing poetry.

Safe to say i spent the entire night blushing.

It sounds better in person.

LINEAGE

My great grandmother was indigenous to this soil,

a native american with a face not made for pictures, or a story made to be written down,

Or so I am lead to believe.

The only proof I have of this is in my grandfathers sad face.

her son is ashamed of history, but the lines in his face tell the tales of her story so beautifully.

My grandmother was a jew turned catholic,

But I only know of her as a german speaking

knitting, woman with a strict sense of discipline and a bad taste n music.

They raise my father in a castle.

Literally,

With thick stone walls that echoed his secrets back at him.

As the war raged on in berlin, they hid.

My great aunt and her female lover, were slaughter by her husband,

I imagined she died in the arms of her lover

and they drew their last breath together.

He, then, shot himself.

My great uncle died more bewildered by dementia than he came in, bloody and screaming.

And his brother, my grandfather, was taken before him, before I was even born.

Cancer.

But everyone thought his liver would’ve killed him before his skin did.

My mother’s mother smashed his beatles record,

and in the wreckage I found his hat, his hat I will always keep even though it’ll never fit me.

My aunt, however, inherited his disease,

And my family keeps sending her money, as if

another dollar could come between her and the bottle.

Therapy taught my sister to create things, but in some miscommunication

she developed an insanity.

Breaking everything to try and chase out the monsteres manifested by her stress.

My brother used to beat me. Hitting, and cornered me in the bottom of the stairs. He wailed until I lay limp. Until I lay motionless and he felt a little bit better.

Now, he just sees things. THings he tires to write off as spirituality. When he can’t sleep, or distinguish fiction from reality, and we all sit at the dinner table, choking down the word:

Schizophrenia.

My family tree can only grow rotten apples. I was bruised to my core before I even fell.

My genes are composed of more mental diseases than most people even know exist.

The hand I was dealt, was never a good one. But I wasn’t allowed to fold, no I had to keep hold even when everyone kept raising their bets. Check, call, check.

I couldn’t bluff my way into a better life, no matter how many times I lied.

The first time I tried to kill myself, I was seven. I started cutting myself when I was eleven. I needed therapy, but there was no money left for me. No money left to get help for me. No money left for me to even be seen as any sort of diseased.

So, when I was 16, I was hospitalized with PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder, depression, attention deficit, anxiety. There was a sort of freedom in finally being able to say what was wrong with me. A sense of ownership and liberation came with the visibility. But that didn’t fix me.

I am still struggling.

Even though I’ve been growing up sideways, my tree will stand tall, crooked, and strong. If I’m still sick when I’m sixty, which I very well may be, at least I know I have dug my roots deep. Deep into a soil that can actually feed me. I will become intertwined with the earth, the foundation my for-fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, have laid out for me. Because then, at least I know I am built on something. On a history I can grow beyond, and still keep at the base of me. I will have tattooed, from my roots, up my trunk, and on to every twig and branch, the truth my ancestors were too ashamed to even believe.

And when the apples start to drop from me, I will make sure they are ready.

Its really a wonder

...how I ever passed any classes. When I turned 16 I stopped writing off the rack papers. I interrupted assignments as vague suggestions for creative opportunities. Now, my education and high school diploma are hanging in the balance, and I can't bring myself to be any less me. I can't bring myself to bullshit anything, even if I have formally perfected the art of giving teachers what they wanted to hear.

This is the final of three achievement papers I wrote. The first was a vocational achievement, in which I discussed becoming a beauty school dropout. The second was supposed to be an academic achievement, that turned into a paper about a grant I took part in writing for Three Wings/Queer Youth Space (queeryouthspace.org) that attributed to my brutally failing a class. THis last one was supposed to be a paper about a personal experience/achievement. My classmates have written about trips to europe, dangerous hikes, sports, performances, awards, and other things society values as important. I took a different approach.

...a different sort of essay

What personal experience have I learned the most from or gotten the most out of? I couldn’t tell you. My entire life has been one learning experience, one growing moment, one instance of overcoming adversity, one greatly impacting instance after another. Pride is not something I am accustomed to feeling when looking back on my life. Not something I generally express about my history. The largest contributing event in my life is my life, its everything. I am a sponge of sorts, I take in everything.: conversations with loved ones, with strangers, the view from the backseat on road trips, the laughter and tragedy, it has all changed and shaped me. Maybe this isn’t what you were asking to hear, but I don’t mind failing this assessment for not picking one encounter. I can’t force myself to be less raw and honest for the sake of a grade or even a diploma. Perhaps the fact I won’t lie to pass as successful in society is what I am most proud of. I am nothing if not honest.

This honesty I share so readily was a long time coming. The truth happened to me unexpectedly. It was a drunken summer of constantly lying about where I was, who I was with, and what I was doing. The summer I joined a support group intended for survivors of sexual assault. The kind of group meant to bring about kinship, and healing, but left me feeling more alone and broken than before.

Honesty found me in a hospital. In an off-white room with no direct corners and a bed attached to the floor. It found me sitting in a hospital grown next to restraints used for less even-tempered crazies. It spilled out of me and into a man on a folding chair with a yellow writing pad and scratchy cursive. And again into a man over the phone in the hallway that I never got to meet but still needed me to prove that I wasn’t safe. Sobbing in a plastic chair, the truth found me and I haven’t looked back since.

My lies were the blanket I hid under at night, with the childish belief that if I covered my entire body I couldn’t be seen or heard or hurt. But with the covers over my head, the air was hot and hard to breath. I had no way of knowing if the danger had passed or not. My lies were the kind you find slipping on old almost forgotten jeans. They still don’t fit right, but you can’t bring yourself to throw them out. Plus, the little incentives left from last time you find in the pockets will keeping you coming back for days. A lover you forgot why you broke up with, but remember the second you get back together. When its too late. I lied as if I was addicted. As if it was my job.

Anyone who claims the truth will set you free, is mistaken. The honesty that found me didn’t make my life easier, or better, or help me feel liberated. The truth didn’t set me free, but it allowed me an opportunity to live. With honesty I could have self discovery, and exploration. Honesty gave me the tools to know who I was, how I was, and to become someone I actually felt I was, instead a culmination of falsities. Yeah, its hard. I find myself losing honesty constantly, and avoiding it like the plague. Once found, though, hiding is not an option. It all comes out eventually, now I just try to beat honesty to the punch.

I wear my heart on my sleeve.

Or well, rather my face.

While among friends, or in safe spaces, or just in general really, I am very expressive. My feelings and reactions are automatically demonstrated on my face, in my movements and words. If I don't agree with something, you can tell. If I'm excited about something, you'll know. If I am not enjoying something, or I'm bored, or I'm uncomfortable, its really obvious.

There are a lot of situations where this is inconvenient. Like, in any professional setting. Or, when someone catches me off guard and my gut reaction is super negative.

Its never really a problem though. I'm so disgustingly honest, my face is just an extension of that honesty.

I am also very okay being exposed, feeling vulnerable, and sharing.

But.

But.

BUT.

Choosing to be vulnerable is something I am strongly empowered by, as long as it is my choice. I can get up on stage and scream about being assaulted. I can take off my clothes for strangers. I can laugh about my shitty ex-girlfriends, and whisper about the things that hurt me. I can hand be thrown up against a wall, or pinned down, as long as I have a safe word. As long as I always have a choice. Control.

I usually don't think I have issues with being in control. I'm not cautious, I take risks, I get drunk and run around unframiliar cities, I do a lot of 'dangerous' things and am known to have 'reckless' behavior.

Yes, I like to be dominant, I like to be on top, but thats not about control, thats about what gets me off.

But when I checked myself into the hospital at 16, I remember saying sheepishly, "I just, I just feel like I'm losing control". This was followed be a series of degrading and uncomfortable questions, in which I was supposed to prove my insanity. I gave up control of some things to gain control over others. I couldn't choose what to do with my days for a week, I had to go to bed, shower, and do things on a schedule that I didn't make. But after a week, I was able to choose things for myself.

I was talking to a person recently about being able to share the scary traumatic history I have, and it occurred to me then left my mouth, "The more I tell the story, the less it becomes something that happened to me and the more it becomes I have ownership of. The more it becomes mine,"

But when other people try and tell the story for me, it becomes theirs. It is told in their words, with their feelings, and their opinions. In their voice. I'm not upset about the person sharing it, because some stories need to be told to as many people in as many ways as possible, but I am just upset.

So, maybe I need to be in control of some things.

Maybe I need to have something to call mine. Maybe this is my history, because I don't believe in being possessive or valuing possessions. My history, my voice, my body, my mind.

This is my heart on my sleeve.

But I control how much you get to see.

deal?

xoxoxo.

p.s. its weird posting blogs because it all feels like a rough draft to me. like I'm supposed to be writing perfect things that captivate and enlighten and ya da. I have a ton of unpublished ones racking up, and I'm pretty sure I just need to get over it.

Things my first orgy taught me:

Can you keep a secret?

I went to Canada. I went to Canada and went to a gay bar. I went to Canada and left a gay bar to have an orgy with a little red riding hood, joan jett, a Greaser verison of CharlieSpats and the big bad wolf.

Halloween is my favorite holiday.

I feel like every experience I have teaches me way too much. So, I am going to start throwing some of my educations on you.

1. Advocate for yourself!

Maybe you've had sex with all these people before, one of them, or none of them, but what is understood between two people doesn't always translate to a group. Charliespats and I had spent the night and day before exploring each other. I know what he likes, and he knows what I need. That means when we have sex with each other we don't have to talk or explain as much. He can read my face, because I am the only face he has to pay attention to. I can figure out how his body responds to me because his is the only body I have to pay attention to (besides mine).

Throw in three other people, and these understandings and discoveries don't really apply. In order to have a more enjoyable exprience, you need to communicate. You are just as important as anyone else involved, and should treat yourself as such.

No one else can do it for you.

Seriously.

2. So many bodies is not as overwhelming as I imagined.

The idea of an orgy has been something I struggled with. How will I know what to do? Who do I touch? How do I touch them? Will I be able to multi-task like that? What if one person doesn't like my style, but another person loves it? What if I don't want to be touched at some point? What if I have a flashback? How will this not be awkward?!

There's this thing called the flow. Go with it. I lucked out and felt like I had great chemistry with everyone involved, so I can't say what it'd be like if I didn't. Its one of those don't think situations. Don't worry. You can't know what to expect, so try not to expect anything.

3. Boundaries are good for you.

I like to wear underwear. Its not that I don't like my body, i just think panties are fun. My underwear were off and on all night, and sometimes I really wanted them on when I wasn't encourage to have them on.

THATS OKAY. I can steal my underwear, and keep them. Doesn't matter if I'm being dominated, or told differently, because I can have boundaries, and if they aren't respected, I can leave.

One of the participants, Jett, was younger than me. As a golden rule, I don't have sex with people younger than me. This has to do with my history of trauma, and the fact I can't process it. It makes me feel like a predator. So you know what? I didn't fuck her. I kissed her, and enjoyed her company, but I didn't fuck her. One on one, if I wanted to, I would push my boundaries. But, with so many people, in such a fast and causal situation, I choose not to.

Its a choice. Its your own choice. You're right to say yes, no, maybe, and expect followthrough.

But, its also your responsibility to respect other person's boundaries. If someone says no, if someone stops enjoying something, if someone exhibits discomfort or anything of concern, you need to stop. You need to communicate. You have to accept that, and let it. be. Without making the person feel guilty or uncomfortable or pressured. If a persons boundaries prevent you from getting your needs/wants met, you need to find someone else if they aren't willing to bend.

I don't care how many people you are fucking at a time, the same rules apply, and consent is still a conversation.

4. Orgies may not be the best place to learn to do something new.

So, I have no idea how to use a strap on. I understand the harness, and the concept, but I don't know what the fuck I'd do wearing one. I wore one, because no one else was jumping to the offer and I thought it could be fun. But, no one could show me how to use it! Everyone was distracted! I tired, really hard, to figure it out, but it just wasn't working.

Spats got tied up while I was out of the room. When I came back in, I had a 'what the fuck' moment. Not because he was tied up, but because the restraints looked uncomfortable, and unsafe. His hands fell asleep part way though! If you don't know how to tie someone up yet, don't try and figure it out in the middle of an orgy. People can get hurt in non-consensual un-sexy ways.

Same thing with a strap-on. I could have done some serious damage with that thing!

5. Some people may be more attractive to you then others.

Holy fuck do I play favorites. There were points where I wanted to touch one person, and one person only. Or two people. Some points in the evening I wanted to kidnap people and keep them to myself. Whatever the reasons behind the attractions being un-even doesn't matter. It is out of your control. People like who they like and its not something you can change with will power. That doesn't mean you should leave people out, but don't feel guilty about playing favorites.

I do it all the time.

And its fun.

6. The world won't split open and swallow you whole.

There is this whole thing about morals and sex. What's right? What's wrong? Will I go to hell?

I spent good portion of my life feeling like crap because I wasn't living an appropriate kind of life. As if what I did made me evil and unworthy of anything.

Yeah, I was never religious, but I always thought I was a bad person.

Guess what? I'm not. I'm an awesome, honest, and hilarious fucking sweetheart. Ask anyone. Just because my sex looks different from what I've grown up seeing as 'normal', doesn't mean the sex I have is an atrocity.

The sex I have is wonderful, sometimes, crappy other times, but so is every kind of sex. Oh, and sex isn't evil.

Exploring sexuality isn't evil.

I had an orgy and the ground didn't crumble under me. I wasn't engulfed in flames. I was a little sore, and really fucking tired, but other than that- nothing changed.

Well, there may have been some bloodshed.

7. Stay HYDRATED!

Nuff' said.

8. Everyone needs a debrief.

Let's talk. No seriously, let's talk. Things come up during sex, and those things sometimes don't go away when you do. If something happens, or SOMETHING doesn't happen, if there was something that made you uncomfortable, or something happened that you want to say 'thank you' for, I really suggest you find a space to do it in. I got to talk to Spats the next day about everything, but I think it would have been a better conversation to have with everyone involved.

Though, sometimes those conversations don't/can't happen, so find a way to debrief with yourself. With a friend. With a paper, or a heavy make-out session.

Just do it.

I had a lot of fun. I escaped un-marked but everyone else has a little reminder of me on their back.

the last few days.....

I'VE BEEN SO BUSY WITH BEING NOT DEAD. Here are some little things i'd like to shareee!

Last night I went to a meeting to learn how to use quickbooks. An accounting program with cute icons. I ended up three hours later having learned all about entering information and on my way to dessert with old friends. I love numbers, but not as much as I love mud pie. Its funny, I hate money, but I love accounting.

We got some brews and had some giggle-fits before turning in.

I woke up on a couch with that "where the fuck am I?" panic. After finding my pants I remembered I was in my friends apartment. I was in my friends apartment and she and her girlfriend were sleeping in her bed a few feet from me. Water, I needed water. The dishes were overflowing from the sink, so I just reached an grabbed and hoped it wasn't too gross.

They woke up, even though i was trying very hard to be quiet. I'm not very sneaky.

I'm not sneaky at all. Which works in my favor, because it forces me out into the open about everything. I like being out in the open. So do the people I choose my as my friends. The couple in the bed across from me is no different. They're swingers, lushes, people with histories, and stories.

We went and got coffee and talked about the bizarre dreams we had the night before.

Its strange to me that the people closest to me, or that i enjoy the company of most, happen to be couples. My best friends Lo and Davy are engaged and amazing, the couple I had coffee with, Alex and Sima, are fucking hilarious and adorable. They never make me feel like a third wheel though.

I'm more like, well, a little sister or a guest of honor. Its fun to feel special.

On a completely different note:

GUESS WHAT I GOT TO DO TODAY!

It was "mad science" day at the day care I work at. That means I got to play with all sorts of disgusting gooby gooey things. Worms with rings hidden in them, chunky slimy guts, ghostly gack, dry ice, vinegar+baking soda. and bright orange smacking gooby stuff. It was amazing. You can be jealous.

Oh, andddd.....

Tomorrow, my little babes are all going to be dressed up. 2 year olds as lions! Five year olds as batman! Someone is gonna be a UPS driver! I don't actually have a costume! My boss/grandmother is going to be a fifties sock hop girl, so maybe I'll go as a greaser. I got a tunic and could belt it to be Peter Pan. Or, I could be a fairy. Or a mouse. Or a sexy sexy anything, in the evening at least.

I have too many costume ideas and not enough time.

And a different note:

My queer porn career starts this weekend, I'm going to be an adorable transboys birthday gift tomorrow, and we are going to figure out some rough ideas for the porn shoot we'll be doing together over the next few weeks.

dr. love?

No. I have no doctor love.

Seriously, doctors and I haven't gotten along very much in my life. This is for no reason other than my simple detest for tests. What's the point? They have this tendency to never really determine anything for me. I always aced tests in school, and still failed my classes. I passed my driving test, and three accidents and two speeding tickets later, i still feel no safer on the road. The results don't do anything but pass judgement.

Tests at the doctors are no different.

I spent three hours in the doctors office today. Sitting around, waiting to be seen, and then waiting for test results. Do you have strep? Let's test. Nope.

Do you have mono? Let's test!

Nope.

Well, we're going to put you on drugs anyway. Just because we can.

Thanks doctor.

Thanks.

I could have been in bed watching gay movies and cuddling with sealie for these last three hours, but instead you kept me sitting around waiting for results that DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING.

This is why I don't feel bad asking for something for the pain. My tonsils are inflamed, and look horrific. It should hurt a lot more than it does, and I am aware of this. So, I asked for pain pills.

She wrote the prescription and I had a little party in my head.

Not because I abuse medication in anyway, or sell it like i did in middleschool, but because next time i'm in dire amounts of pain and can't sleep: I HAVE VICODIN.

This makes me very giddy.

I get sick a lot. I get injured a lot. I have cramps that would make any person with incredible tolerance and a thing for pain, cry. And, I don't like doctors.

However, I am anything but a germ-a-phobe. Food fell on the floor? Whatevers, its still yummy. You just sneezed on me? Meh. Have a nasty flu, but also a delicious drink? Your flu doesn't make me any less thirsty. Puking baby? Running nose and gobby eyes? Baby is still cute and cuddle.

My dad used to sanitize the door knobs in our house anytime someone coughed. He made me touch everything through a washcloth when I got sick.

Safe to say, dad and I don't get along, but more on that later.

Its really important to me to be healthy. But my physical health has a tendency to come last, like the middle child. I look after my mental health. I watch it like a baby who just learned how to walk, begging them to not fall down the stairs and break. Even when they seem to get the hang of things, i find myself looking over and checking in every few minutes, just to make sure. Social health? That one takes care of themselves. I can send them out into the woods for five days without food and water, and they will come back, full and friends with the bears. They are truly self sufficient. Physical health is my shortcoming.

There are all sorts of ways to be healthy, but letting one aspect of your health go is not one of those ways.

Luckily, I have a nurse mommy. Who brings my home popsicals even if I'm her nineteen year old failure. Its funny with how much I hate doctors, nurses are fantastic.

I was planning on talking about getting tested for STD/I's today which are the only tests ever worth it, even if petrifying, but I'm too tired to start talking about sexual health.

And I have stand up comedy to watch as I avoid the work I should be doing.

xoxo.

Ouchie!

I hit my head on a corner of a cabinet. As if it didn't hurt already. My hearing went all fuzzy and I couldn't move for a second. Scary stuff kids.

But I called up Evergreen Healthline and talked to a nurse! You can call anytime from anywhere and talk to a nurse about anything. Your friend is puking and convolsing after doing too much coke? Your lower region smell funny? You blew off your hand with a firecracker? Hair falling out? Feel cold all the time? Hallucinating? Have the sniffles?

You can call. And get some advice. Confidential, quick, and friendly.

425 899 3000

I think mandated reporting law apply. So if you are going to harm yourself, or harm others, you should still call- but I don't guarantee they won't pick you on a watch.

In lighter news, definitely watching the secret garden and feeling like poop. I took a five hour energy yesterday and woke up feeling like there was a party in my head and I wasn't invited. It was like a caffine hangover that wouldnt end. I was supposed to clean house today!

Oh, but this movie is so wonderful.

Can't

tear

myself

away.

I wanted to talk about something a little more serious today. I have a friend who is in an emotionally abusive relationship. Okay, well I generally have a couple friends in not-so-healthy relationships, but this one worries me more than the rest.

She keeps going back to them. I sat her down and read her a list of signs of an emotionally abusive relationship, and her dating rights. She is aware she is being abused, but doesn't value herself enough to leave. Doesn't think she can leave.

I have been in several abusive and unhealthy relationships. The longest one went on for over a year. I was so in love with this girl, that I didn't care how she treated me. She really had little to no respect for me.

Everything I was, was a mockery to her.

My gender identity? It was dumb, and not factual. Being off anything other than male or female was a waste of time and not possible.

My boundaries? No means ask again. Again and again and again until I gave up and fucked her. She would make me feel incredibly guilty and selfish if I didn't. What's worse? In the middle of our relationship, I was diagnosed with PTSD and hospitalized, she was out of town. When I got out and she got back, she wanted things to be exactly like they used to be.

One time, I told her I wished she would compliment me on something other than my body. She laughed. She laughed for about an hour, and asked if she could tell her friend what I just said, because my want to be recognized as a person was just so hilarious.

Don't get my wrong, there was good too. We talked a lot, had really great communication skills, and had a lot of fun together. She would bring me flowers and I would take her out to dinner. She held me when I had flashbacks, and appreciated everything I did for her.

The good is not worth the bad. Relationships that don't make you feel good about yourself aren't good for you, generally. Get out. Get help. Its never simple, but its always the healthier thing to do.

I have a long history of sexual assault, emotional abuse, dating violence, and being with jerks. A lot of people do. Especially in communities of minorities, sexual and otherwise. I let girls, bois. qenderfucks, treat me like crap because I didn't know what a healthy queer relationship looked like. I didn't have any role models showing me. I couldn't turn on the tv and see models of healthy relationships, or unhealthy relationships or any relationship like I would be having.

Some resources:

http://www.safeschoolscoalition.org/RG-datingviolence.html

^ very queer local resources.

http://lovegoodbadugly.com/

^ not so radical in language, but great concepts.

And just a little extra something I try to always keep in mind.

xoxoxo.

OLD.

Hey guys.

HEY GUYS.

Today is my birthday!

I am another year older. One more year not dead! WOO!

No, but seriously, one more year not dead is a huge accomplishment for me. With the way I live, drive, drink, dance, runaway and do crazy things, trust people, yada, its amazing I've made it this far.

I have had some crazy birthday celebrations in years past, there was the green and pink party when I turned 14. Everything was pink and green. EVERYTHING.

The Rainbow Fish party when I was 7, and we put blue transparent paper on the windows. The room felt like an ocean. I wore a fuzzy green shirt with a flower on it.

The year I wore a pink tutu and fishnets to school, a princess shirt, and a tiara. I was in the seventh grade.

Yeah.

Last year, when I ate velvetta with my family, and got molly moon's with my friends.

The year before, I was working. My mom brought baby cupcakes and my coworker shove a bunch in has mouth and said chubby bunny.

Birthdays have never been exciting or important to me.

But, I'm celebrating this one by going to films form the queer underground, eatting dinner with my grandmother, and then breaking into the radical feminist queer porn scene.

Thats right.

Porn, my friends.

I am going to be your neighborhood sex worker. More or less.

Now now. Don't be shocked. You know I don't do anything for shock factor. (Or, well, you should/do now).

I've always been like this. Open, honest, sexy. Now I'm just getting paid for it.

And I am soooo excited.

You should be excited too.

Given my history of sexual assault, I believe this will be a liberating experience. I am reclaiming power of my body and my sex life, owning it. I'll let you know how it goes.