I’ve moved!!!
Come visit at kinkinexile.com and please, please, change your pointers and blogrolls.
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Raffle!
It seems this is going to be a week of vibrator reviews, but first a big Happy Birthday to Dr. Carol Queen. Thank you for inspiring so many young women, myself included, to let our inner sex kittens out to play. May your courage, your voice, and your hutzpuh continue to change the world.
Good Vibrations on Valencia had a busy night last night. The store was packed for two fabulous events: a book party for Open by Jenny Block, and Carol Queen’s birthday party. I missed the book party, but met my boy at the store in time to see some colorful go-go dancers do their thing. I gotta say, Carol knows how to party (did we have any doubts on that front?). There were some fabulous performances, and of course a raffle to benefit the Center for Sex and Culture. Now I’ve never won a raffle in my life, but a girl can hope can’t she? So I bought some tickets just in case, and you guessed it, I won! My prize was a Good Vibes gift bag with all sorts of goodies including the ultra modern looking Nea vibrator, O’My natural strawberry cheesecake flavored lube, and other goodies. Stay tuned for the reviews…
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Tags: community, fun stuff
G-Twist by Fun Factory
Last week I had the pleasure of a visit from my favorite zombie sex expert. After attempting to eat our way through San Francisco (starting with exotic fruit in China Town and ending with the famous bread pudding at Tartine) we hit Good Vibrations. Now mind you, I was in no way in need of a new vibrator, but I had been thinking of getting a g-spot vibrator for a while, and the G-Twist from Fun Factory looked, well, innovative.
I must say I’m biased when it comes to toys. Fun Factory is one of my favorite brands. The high grade silicone, German engineering, and fun colors won me over years ago. The G-Twist was something a little different though. It’s about 6 inches long with a slight curve, wave-like ridges down one side and a bit of flare at the base. I was a little concerned that it would be too long for me to insert fully meaning I’d miss out on the clitoral stimulation provided by the flared base, but the sales girl mentioned that the toy is flexible such that I can insert it as much as I like and bring the rest up to meet my clit. Ok, I’m game.
I brought it home, inserted the AA batteries thoughtfully provided by the manufacturer, and gave it a try. Definitely liked it but it could use a little more flexibility. The ridges look out of place at first, but feel amazing especially around that sensitive (though often ignored) vaginal opening. The curve was definitely designed with real life anatomy in mind, and I had no trouble maneuvering it toward my g-spot. The length worked for me, but the flexibility did not. The G-Twist is flexible enough that I could maneuver it to warp over my clit while it was still inside me, but it had just a bit too much resistance, which created an uncomfortable amount of pressure. Aside from my unorthodox use of the toy though, I also found the control a bit confusing…pick a direction and turn to start it, keep turning to increase the intensity, and ooops, you turned too far and now it’s off. Rinse. Repeat.
All in all though, definitely a worthwhile toy to have.
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Tags: toys
Pride
I went to my first San Francisco pride last weekend. It was huge and corporate. Miller light had the cutest boys; no beer bellies on that float. I marched with the bisexual contingent, and for the first time wondered why we still do this. There were so many families. Kids in rainbow outfits holding balloons. It was so wholesome I wondered if I hadn’t taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. It was good in a lot of ways too. Good to see so many people so excited; good to know that the gay dollar is strong enough to make corporate giants dust off their rainbow flags; and good to spend time with people I love. And it was good to see, for the first time, a gathering of radical faeries. I spotted them late in the day and I was glad I spotted them at all. This is what it’s about for me — the transcendence, the trespassing, the radical sex and the outrageous notion that pleasure is valuable and valid.
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Party girl
Last night I went to a party. There was a beautiful woman wearing a strap on. In front of her, on his knees, was a naked young man. As I walked by glancing at their scene the girl smiled, inviting me to join. I got a bit closer and she pulled me in. I love people who look like they are enjoying what they’re doing. I like women who smile, and ooze sensuality from every pore. She pointed at the kneeling boy who waited patiently, head bowed, and told me his name. She showed me hand commands, and how he responded to them. He didn’t say a word. Sometimes you negotiate with the sub, and sometimes you negotiate with the mistress. She introduced me to a second boy; it was his first play party. She moved through her scene with a certain inviting grace; I stayed and played a while before we went our separate ways.
I have not played much at recent parties. I think it’s a west coast thing; the parties are bigger, more standoffish. Maybe it’s a new city thing. I said last night that watching people in pain disturbs me. It makes me think about this as pain rather than pleasure, and I don’t want to do it any more. I think really it is something different. Watching other people play can be hot, but I rather do than watch. For all that I agree that voyeurism is participation, I’m not really a voyeur. I had the opportunity to do a lot more play last night, but I wasn’t in the right mindset to bottom to a new person. I want to go into my scenes with intention and I want to come from a centered place – I just wasn’t there last night.
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Pain and Catharsis
Last night I went to a workshop called “Pain and Catharsis” at the Citadel. The workshop, taught by Lark and Keri, combined elements of body work, and newage spirituality to address the challenges and rewards of pain play.
It was mind-blowing. From the presenters’ upbeat and compassionate style to their practical and sensible advice this was one of the best BDSM workshops I have ever attended.
“I came for the sex and stayed for the transcendence.” This comment by Lark really resonated with me. Kinky sex makes me wet. This is the first and foremost reason I do this. My sexlife has at times been a place to explore my politics, my relationship with the universe, my comfort with my body, and of course my bond with my partners. However, if it isn’t hot and if it isn’t making me happy, I have no business doing it. But what I’ve found is that when it is hot, and it makes me oh so happy, it also takes me to a different place. It changes those bonds, and those politics, and those relationships in a positive way.
“BDSM is not therapy…you have to do your work outside the dungeon.” This is something Keri said in regards to the distinction between catharsis and re-traumatizing. We all walk through a big bad world and we all bring our pasts with us to our play, but both Lark and Keri addressed the need to come to kink with positive intentions. We do some scary damn shit in our dungeons and bedrooms and it’s important to come from a place of loving kindness, to borrow a term from my yoga practice. Thinking of which, it’s also important, in my opinion, to know that when we are playing with scary, socially taboo and possibly trigger-y things sometimes you will hit landmines. Sometimes you may want to hit landmines as with what Dossie Easton calls “shadow play,” and sometimes it will come out of the blue. Years ago, early in my yoga practice, I was having a really hard class. I was doing forrest yoga which is all about finding sweetness and joy in your pain, and I was having none of it. Finally, when the class was almost over, I was in shevasana and I just started sobbing. I broke wide open and all the pain and bitterness and anguish of rape that I didn’t even know existed came pouring out. I hadn’t been thinking about it, I hadn’t been thinking about it for months, it just bubbled up out of the abyss. The reason I went back to that yoga class though is that feeling that, and naming it allowed it to dissipate. I don’t have to carry that around with me anymore. My yoga practice informs my BDSM play in a lot of ways, but while I might do some of my healing on the yoga mat, I try not to do my healing in the dungeon. Some people do, and more power to them, but I find that the intensity of my bond with my partner and the energy created in my body is enough that it requires my undivided attention.
The workshop also covered a lot of practical tools for coping with, and making use of pain, but you’ll just have to catch Lark and Keri’s next class for all those juicy details.
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Craving
Earlier I wrote about burn out; today I’m thinking about craving. You know that feeling you get deep down in the pit of your stomach when you recognize something in another person? When, unexpectedly, you see a man on his knees, or catch the glimps of a collar as someone brushes past you on the train? Or the memory of that mind-body satisfaction after a heavy scene (however you personally define heavy). Perhaps the twinge of glee at inventorying last night’s bruises.
There is something about kink that feels like coming home. That’s the part I crave most — the rightness of it; the knowledge that this is exactly where I want to be and what I want to be doing.
What do you crave?
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How do you shop for porn?
You’re in a bookstore. You brows the erotica section for a while, pick up a couple of things you like, and move to a nearby display. Then you remember another author you meant to check out, so you turn back to the erotica section and find that a gentleman who had been kind of in your filed of vision while you browsed is now actively picking out books.
Do you excuse yourself and reach for the book you wanted?
Wait until he’s gone then come back?
Look over his shoulder to see what he is reading (if he’s cute)?
I find the social constructs around buying and consuming pornography to be fascinating. The whole process is an open secret. Everyone does it. Everyone knows everyone else is doing it. And yet we like to pretend like it’s not happening.
Well sorry to let the cat out of the bag, but Yes, Ma’am: Erotic Stories of Male Submission edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel is quite excellent, and I just had to spread the good word.
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Burnt out
I’ve been remiss about posting. I’ve been remiss about writing in general, not just here. I have not gone to a play party, or bought a new toy. Haven’t found a new use for common household objects, or had in depth philosophical conversations about the nature of kink. If it wasn’t for all my friends being kinky, I would wonder if the kink scene still exists.
I guess I just got busy. Woke up and found myself writing web copy instead of porn. Maybe I burnt out; got tired of talking about why and how we do this, and wanted to just get to it already. And then we all got busy. I went from 3 or 4 regular play partners to one boyfriend with no ceremony and little notice. Looked at my calendar and realized I skipped a play party to make dinner for my boyfriend, then looked at myself and realized I didn’t much mind.
Axe was taking about whether kink is a want or a need and you know, for me it is very much a need. It’s one of those things that doesn’t drive me crazy with it’s absents (few things do); rather it creates a growing void. Subtle, but noticeable.
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A while ago I was working in a private show booth at a peep show. I had a guy come in with a special request. He walked in, locked the door, and starting putting 20s into my counter — clearly a regular, but not one I’ve seen before. So I start playing up my school girl theme of the evening, and asking him what he wants to see. I always give customers a chance to tell me what they want even though most of them stutter along about wanting to see whatever I’ve got. This guy knew exactly what he wanted.
“Dominate me.” It wasn’t a command; more like a whispered plea.
How do you dominate someone through a glass wall? I’m sure it can be done, but with a complete stranger, I’m not the girl to do it. Still, I was on the clock. I went straight for the fantasy talk and he kindly provided the fantasy. Either my dirty-talk skills benefited from the on-the-job training I’d been getting, or some men come on command, but a few rounds of “don’t you just want to lick my shoes you filthy little slut” later and I thought I had another satisfied customer under my belt.
But as soon as the guy’s orgasm was over he turned beet red. He practically burrowed into the wall while trying to simultaneously put his pants on, shove a very generous tip into my box, and apologies for making me do that. Pants on, he ran out of the both faster than any customer before or since.
It breaks my heart that anyone would be so ashamed of their desires. I swear, I want to take them home like lost puppy dogs.
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