Yes, I know… I just wrote a post on being a femme Dyke, but it has been quite the mental mind-fuck being in love with a man. I’ve actually been playing with men for a long time, but still always identified as a femme Dyke. But now, being in love with a cisman, I can no longer ignore the big penis in the middle of the room.
So, I am officially coming out Sapiosexual.
Liking any person without being sexually discriminative, because of their wisdom, smarts and your shared learnings.
A form of sexual orientation characterized by a strong attraction to intelligence in others, often regardless of gender and/or conventional attractiveness
Sapiosexuality Isn’t Gender Oriented
This alone is my saving grace for the heterosexual sex I have been having in the past and present. For the first time in about 5 years, I feel at peace with my choice of label for my sexuality.
Weltschmerz is the depressing feeling you get when comparing the actual state of the world to the picture you have in your head of how the world should be, and knowing that the picture in your head can never exist.
What does Weltschmerz literally translate to?
Weltschmerz is a compound noun made from the words Welt (world) and Schmerz (pain). It therefore translates to ‘world pain’.
What is the nearest English equivalent to Weltschmerz?
World-weariness. It is also sometimes compared to a state of depression.
I’ve personalized the iconic photo below of the stunned-shocked Omran Daqneesh from a few days ago as a representation of the feeling that’s been growing in my heart for many months now, often threatening to drown out the real-life world I live in. The past few days have been increasingly difficult to plow through as I feel more and more helpless to do… or change… one thing going on around me.
As I write around the Web, I keep being asked, “What can I do to help?” I’ve gathered some well-known (and hopefully properly-run) organizations we might find a way to assist. Obviously, this list will not be complete or exhaustive, but it’s a beginning. I wish I could have helping agency connection links to all the conflicts/wars/evil around the world, but this post would run on forevermore.
While I crouch filled with rocks, I will try to do even a grain of sand’s worth of love for those in excruciating pain and circumstances.
Ways to Help in Syria
WARNING: I need to preface this with, as I searched, I came up with sites extremely negative and even violently angry about every one of the following organizations. I have been warned that ISIS is pervasive online and I saw that clearly during my research. When researching individual organizations, be aware of the hate out there in the Netiverse.
SAMS Foundation – SAMS Foundation is a nonprofit humanitarian organization established in 2007. Its volunteer physicians deliver direct medical care in Syria, Jordan, Turkey, and Lebanon. Charitable gifts are tax-deductible.
The White Helmets – “When the bombs rain down, the Syrian Civil Defence rushes in. In a place where public services no longer function these unarmed volunteers risk their lives to help anyone in need – regardless of their religion or politics.”
As you can imagine, the list is exhaustive, so I encourage you to Search: “How Can I Help Refugees” or “How Can I Help <fill in the Conflict here>” You can even Search: “How Can I Help Refugees Without Money”
Lastly, SPEAK UP! I know it is heart-wrenching to look at the images, to imagine the horror these people are going through, but we cannot look the other way any longer.
As I begin writing about sex in this blog, you will see me using the word “cunt” much more often than “pussy,” or even vagina/vulva. It is similar to my reclaiming the word “Dyke” instead of lesbian.
A lesbian is a woman who has sexual and emotional relationships with other women. A Dyke is the same… but only more so.
As a midwife, I needed to use proper terminology… it was the professional thing to do. Using the words “vagina” and “vulva” as often as the words “the” and “May I touch?” The vagina and vulva are two distinct areas of the woman’s anatomy. They are often used interchangeably, mainly by men, driving me bonkers. I correct them whenever the issue arises.
“Reappropriation of ethnic and sexual slurs starts as an act of bravado by a few of the oppressed, then may become an empowering mechanism for a much wider community. It’s pleasingly ironic that those discriminated against have learned the Orwellian trick employed by the state and the establishment of hijacking everyday language (as in ‘doublespeak’) for their own nefarious purposes. Alternative discourse ousts and replaces the discourses of power.”
Arguments abound about who can, without judgment, use these reclaimed words. Said in the wrong crowd, one could get someone yelling in their face to shut the fuck up.
It is why I have reclaimed the word CUNT. To me, it is a woman’s genitals, only with more Power. Greater intensity. The cunt has explosive energy behind it. My cunt is in my control and only my control. As a rape survivor, any way I can grab and keep my body is awesome and a requirement for my emotional and physical safety. I give my cunt to the person/s of my choice; no one takes it from me without force.
In Boys on the Side, Mary-Louise Parker’s character, talking with Whoopi Goldberg’s character, struggles with the word “Cunt.” This exchange, while long, is worth the giggle.
— I don’t call it anything. I just wasn’t brought up to talk about a person’s anatomy.
— That’s probably because you don’t have a word for it.
— That’s just ridiculous. I do, too. It just doesn’t often come up.
— Okay. What is this, below the belly button?
— I’m not gonna say ‘pussy’ if that’s what you’re after, okay, I hate that.
— Okay. So, what do you call it?
— Down there.
— Oh, come on! ‘Down there!’
— Well, ‘vagina’ seems so formal.
— But you make it sound like a basement!
— Okay. Honestly?
— Fine. ‘Hoo-hoo’ or ‘cissy.’
— You’re kidding, right? A ‘hoo-hoo’ or a ‘cissy,’ what is that?
— Well, that’s what my mother called it. I had a ‘hoo-hoo’ or a ‘cissy’ and my brother had a ‘noodle’ or a ‘dingle.’
— And that’s what you still call it, huh?
— Well, it’s better than ‘pussy.’ Or ‘beaver.’ What’s that about? I never got that. Or worse…
— Worse? Did you say worse? Now, what could be worse? I have to hear you say it.
— Well, you know. I’m not gonna say it.
— Oh, come on! ‘C-U-N-T.’ Come on, please?
— I don’t think so.
— Please? It’ll free you. Try it!
— There’s a policeman within the sound of my voice.
— Give him a thrill.
— I don’t think so.
— I’m gonna wet you.
— No! You’re such a baby!
— Okay. Come on.
— All right. (whispered) ‘Cunt.’
— What? What was that?
— I said it!
— No, you breathed it! I want to hear you say it.
— All right! All right. All right. ‘C-U-N-T, cunt.’
— ‘Cunt.’ ‘Cunt.’ ‘CUNT!’
Part 1, My First BDSM Experience, I fell in love with a Dom over the Internet. In Part 2, Meeting My First Dom, I flew to meet him in San Francisco, his collaring me right before we began our first Scene. Part 3, My First submissive Scene, Gerald and I begin our sexual consummation before he has an attack of morals, leaving me crying alone on the bed.
Lifting My Head
When I finally stopped crying, I logged onto the computer, not even sure what I was looking for (except Gerald, of course), but there, in the irc room I played in, was a single person… very strange as it was usually packed with people. That new person was someone I’d never seen before.
Her (nick)name was Joyous.
I don’t think Joyous quite expected what she got, but she was a champion listening to me dump all my pain and sadness out via the keyboard. She listened as this crazy submissive, who’d gone to visit her first Dom, sight unseen, cried her eyes out and tried to figure out what to do next. She never said a judgmental word.
When I finally took a breath, I learned Joyous was a submissive, which surprised me because, in text, submissives typically use lower-case letters, Dominants, upper-case. She said she wanted any potential Dom to know she was a force to be reckoned with. I loved her already.
It was late and I still hadn’t seen Gerald in chat. Was completely lost with what was going on with us, so sat talking to Joyous, minutes turning to hours.
Gerald Logged On… Finally
Around midnight, Gerald finally pops into the room still holding just Joyous and I, his Private Messaging (PM) me, falling all over himself with apologies. I sat listening, the tears flowing all over again.
He said he’d been trying to figure out how to work things out with me for the week and thought he’d come up with a solution. I sat listening.
He said he would come see me as planned and that he had promised to Scene with me, that he would honor that, but he wouldn’t be able to come for another day, trying to get a couple days off work without his wife knowing. (I am sure I rolled my eyes.) He said he just couldn’t have any more sexual contact. I nodded my understanding. He said he had to go, but he would call in the morning when he got to work. Then he vanished.
I’d been talking to Joyous in the room while Gerald and I talked in PM and told her I wouldn’t see him for a couple of days… what was I going to do in San Francisco by myself? She said, “You’re in San Francisco? That’s where I am!” She then told me she was actually on vacation for two weeks and would love to take me out to see “her” city. I couldn’t believe the luck.
The next morning, at 8:00 am on the dot, Joyous knocked at the door and when I opened it, she and I hugged like we’d known each other for years and were just reunited. Still wearing the collar Gerald had locked on me, I was a tad worried about going out with it. She laughed and said no one would even notice, grabbed my hand and out the door we went.
Two subbies Traipsing
We walked arm and arm, up and down those brutal San Francisco hills, wandering in and out of stores, eating in delightful restaurants and talking talking talking, telling each other secrets and stories from our respective lives.
She took me to Mr. S Leather where we giggled with the salesboys, trying on various pieces of leather gear, paddling each other with wooden implements and holding up various toys, fantasizing about what we would do with this or that.
We went to Romantasy, an exquisite corset shop. Talking to the sales folks, I learned they custom make corsets for people of any size. (I was fat, remember… not used to owning something as beautiful as a corset.) I bought a lovely black crinoline skirt that day, ordered a white one several months later. When we left, I took their card and tucked it into my pocket. I have it even today.
The highlight of the day was our visit to Good Vibrations. This (at the time) woman-owned and operated store, still open today (where I buy the majority of my toys), was unique back then. Quality toys, expensive as hell, but worth every cent, lined their walls and shelves. It is where I bought my first Hitachi Magic Wand. I know we easily spent 3 hours there.
The Setting Sun
Joyous and I went to dinner on the Wharf as the sun was sliding into the Pacific Ocean, having a couple of bottles of wonderful wine, toasting our new friendship and amazing luck at finding each other.
As we ate, I talked out a plan to emotionally make it through the rest of the week. I was already mentally releasing myself from my servitude; that helped. Joyous offered scenarios and I played them out to see if they were workable. By the time it was dark and dinner was over, I felt sure-footed and ready to face Gerald in the morning.
Joyous took me back to the hotel, walked me up to the room and hugged me tightly before saying her good-bye. We said we would talk tomorrow, hugged again and she was gone.
I never saw her again.
I am of the belief she was an Angel who came to help me that day. We never exchanged real names, phone numbers or emails. I am baffled why we didn’t. Even now, the day with her remains one of my fondest memories in life. It was through her, I was able to stand tall facing Gerald the next day.
Gerald had collared me and I swayed waiting for my instructions. He went and sat in the big desk chair and called me over. I crawled and sat quietly on my knees at his feet. He patted his lap and I lifted up and laid my head on the crotch of his jeans. I inhaled deeply, finally being where I’d dreamt for so long. I wanted inside that material.
I looked up, into his eyes, and asked if I might pleasure him. He nodded slightly; I began unbuttoning, then unzipping, his jeans. He lifted up so I could pull them off, grabbed his boxers while I was at it. Then he stood in front of me. My breath quickened as he took his shirt off. There was my Master, the man I loved so intensely, naked in front of me.
Fuck he was gorgeous. He wasn’t a classic American beauty… slightly paunchy, very brown, not the most well-endowed… but I saw him through the veil of love and desire. I ached to Serve him.
And I did.
My hand reached up and held his cock as I lifted higher onto my knees. I know I moaned as my lips enveloped his dick that first time. My mouth… my lesbian mouth… easily remembered the proper movements to pleasure a man. My tongue swirled, my lips pursed, my mouth expanded and contracted, nudging him towards what I ached to consume.
I felt him put his hand gently on my head and I swayed with desire, feeling him pushing into my mouth. “Use me! Use me!” was what was coursing through my mind as I pulled him ever deeper inside me.
Then he softly pushed me back. I was confused and looked up into his eyes. He smiled and said we should get onto the bed. Oh. my. god. We were going to fuck. He’d said he wasn’t sure if we would or not, but now we were. I am sure I floated to the bed.
As Above, So below
I waited for his instructions. He laid down on his back and I honed in on his cock again, picking up where I’d left off. It was incredible Serving my Master this way. I had craved it for so many months. Too soon, he nudged me to move, onto my back.
I breathed so heavily. Hungry.
As he took his cock in his hand and the head tickled my labia, I held my breath.
He stopped moving.
Then lifted off of me and laid beside me.
And started crying.
Almost inaudibly spilling words about his close call with infidelity, saying, “How could I even consider cheating on my wife? What was I thinking?”
I laid there, naked, exposed… and quickly filling with shame.
I grabbed the sheet and covered myself as he got off the bed, dressed and left, apologizing about a hundred times. I said nothing.
When he’d walked out the door, I buried my sobbing face into the pillow.
I have many stories about me and censorship. They will unfold in time.
Yesterday, in my Facebook Memories, came this amazing post I wrote on August 2, 2010. It begs to be shared here.
Open Season: you have been warned
The Internet has no walls.
It pays to remember that. While I am meticulously careful to not talk about clients on-line or in articles/posts without their permission, there is a whole different set of rules when reading through the Internet’s public domain.
Therefore, I am serving notice: If you write something publicly, whether in a blog, in a comment in a blog, in a comment to a newspaper or magazine article, in a comment to someone’s post… my spring boarding off of it is fair game. IF YOU DO NOT WANT ME OR ANYONE ELSE TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR WORDS, MAKE YOUR BLOG PRIVATE.
If you are in Facebook with me, I might just use the context of what you are saying, without using your name, when I write something to be seen publicly. I will not quote or reveal discussions in private chats, Skype sessions (without okay) or in private emails. If you have friends that comment to something said in Facebook, their context is also fair game. IF YOU DO NOT AGREE TO THIS, UNFRIEND ME NOW.
Note to public figures (and you know who you are): You and your words, wherever they are, are fair game. I grudgingly agreed to ignore one very important comment made in Facebook a couple of weeks ago. I WILL NOT DO SO AGAIN. If your words come over my Newsfeed, you and your words may very well be written about. If I find them randomly over the Internet, they are also fair game.
Netiquette continues evolving and I do try to keep up on the legalities and ethics of writing on the Internet. There seems to be confusion lately about a writer’s boundaries, some thinking it should be here and others agreeing it can be way over there. I am laying out my boundaries so there is no longer any confusion when it comes to my writing.