Looks like this poor blog is on death’s doorstep again – whoops. Then again, being sick for most of February doesn’t exactly help matters.

My coherency isn’t in peak form tonight given that for the last three nights I have had the most bizarre, disturbing dreams that left me feeling more exhausted than when I went to bed, but I’m feeling the urge to write. I don’t really have a subject in mind–I just need to expectorate some words into this text box.

I’ve been doing a little bit of thinking about the reasons I originally started this blog. I wanted to examine and document my thought processes and journeys through the realms of gender, sexuality, BDSM and poly. Well, the poly is no more. I will not share the boi and don’t want the boi to share me. Period. Re: the gender and sexuality aspects, obviously I am still a queer femme, but I feel like I have that figured out. Yes I am always evolving and yes I am very fluid but, well… I am what I am and that’s all that I am.

I suppose the BDSM aspect is still alive. I have become active with a self-identified-women-only BDSM group here in Portland and I love it. They are a wonderful group of people and I have felt like I belonged since day one. I get out to their munches and discussion groups for social hour, and even a little bit of play occasionally, although really that’s just another social aspect for me. Yes, I am very social with my floggers in hand – ha!

That’s something else I’ve come to realize about myself: that kink play is not in the least bit sexual for me. And thinking back on it, it really never has been. Playing does not sexually arouse me–it fulfills something else, I guess you could say. A desire for connection, perhaps? The catharsis that inflicting pain or having pain inflicted on me brings? I can tell you one thing for sure: I am really getting the hang of Florentine flogging, and I feel like a fucking goddess on Earth when I get my twin floggers going perfectly to the beat of some badass music, feeling the impact reverberating from the handles up into my arms and shoulders. It’s magical. But sexual? Not so much. And at the end of the day, y’know what I really want to do? I just want to go home, to my boi (we’re speaking hypothetically since the boi and I are still separated by many miles and hours), and be nothing but myself. Not a Top or a switch or anything else that comes with labels and titles and expectations–just me.

Speaking non-hypothetically, though… I cannot begin to tell you how much I am looking forward to the day when I really can go home to her.


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