It’s terrifying sometimes, being seen – truly seen. In those moments I want to shrink back, slam the door and retreat into the gloom, where this vulnerability is reduced to memory and potential only. For so long I have carried the habit of holding others at arms’ length, making sure no one ever got too close – close enough to hurt. It was lonely, yes, but it was safe. I was safe.

I am revealed now; all of my pieces and parts have been seen and can be seen again on a whim, smeared on a slide and placed under the lens of a microscope for careful examination. The kicker is that I’m still safe, really, under her gaze. She does not mishandle my revelation. Every new facet of me turned under her loupe, she cherishes. But it is just that: new, uncharted territory, the new frontier of my being, and I cannot know for sure just what that territory holds within its undiscovered boundaries. To give myself over to an unknown–it’s reckless and joyful and maddening, but at times I am sucker punched by a fistful of fear, wondering if I have gone too far, revealed too much. Questioning myself: why can’t I just stand alone as I have always done? Why do I give myself over for another’s study, or approval? Why do I feel compelled, why do I FOLLOW the compulsion to show her everything? Why not retain a little mystery?

Therein lies the true mystery, or perhaps the solution: my thought processes need to be switched from thinking that the mystery is diminished with each new bit of me that I reveal. Each of us, we are beautiful mysteries gift-wrapped in human skin, but even more so than that, we are masterpieces of fractal art: mystery built upon mystery, sinking down further and further until the naked eye, the loupe, even the microscope can no longer discern the separate puzzle pieces. They can only marvel at the sheer beauty of the universe they have discovered – ever expanding, ever building upon itself in an endless, infinite scroll of glorious human nature.

To that end, I let go of my fear. I let go of the death grip I have on my own self, and I give myself over unto revelation. I peel back my protective layers and let the underlying surface of my mysteries shine through, beckoning her in to look further, to discover more, to dig and sift – gently, please! – until the universe of my spirit lies before her, and she is awed by it. I am not diminished by this openness any more so than a galaxy, a nebula, a newborn star is diminished by being captured in the lens of the Hubble. I AM a revelation, and my mysteries delve deeper than any mind can fully comprehend. Such artistry as this should be shared, not locked away in a vault whose walls are built of fear. The most satisfying developments in our lives are often the most terrifying at first, but I will steel myself and take that leap – I will leap into my stars, touch them, dance among them, and let them shine.

Protected: The Silent Companion

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Protected: Distant Music

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:


Blood and bone,
Sweat and rain;
Feeling whole and fatally alive
Beneath the storm.

Each breath a revelation
Sheathed in pulsing lungs,
Every scream a blessing
From a warrior goddess.

Fists beat cadence
On willing flesh
To match the beat
Of a quickening heart:

Prey – sacrifice –
Ripped forth and offered
With cupped palms and bowed head
To the Almighty Mother.

Blood roses bloom
Beneath slicked skin –
A garden planted
By steadfast hands,

Watered by tears and glory,
Fed with murmured pleas,
Moans, sighs and, finally,
The flood of rich essence

Bursting forth
After the dam has cracked,
Been shattered, and
Swept away.

New Beginnings

I am learning to be alone again.

Relationships are funny creatures; no matter how much we work to retain an individual identity and fight against the codependence that tries to seep into the cracks, a little bit of The Meld still happens. We still become accustomed to having that person very deeply involved in our lives, whether that means spending weekends together, running errands together or what have you. Then, suddenly, all of that changes. Oh, perhaps we have a bit of an inkling that it’s coming. We start feeling that the relationship has reached the end of its natural course and will probably fade away soon, like the last ember of a campfire quietly dimming into the darkness. Nothing fully prepares us, though, for the aftermath of extricating our separate identities and absorbing them fully back into ourselves. Even if a friendship remains–even if a good friendship remains–it’s not quite the same, and adjustments must be made.

I reflect on these concepts most calmly. I accept the slight ache that comes even with a foreseen separation. I know that the decisions mutually made were for the best, for both parties. And now, I readjust. I accustom myself to not being so in need of alone time because it is much more readily available. I acclimatize to moments of complete silence and stillness. I prepare for being completely open to my own mind, to being subject to moments of intense reflection and self-evaluation whether I want to face them or not. I steel myself for the brutal honesty of my own unhindered thoughts, because I no longer have anything behind which to hide.

It is time to come to know myself again, intimately and without bias. It is time to reexamine the cracks and chinks in my armor and adjust–remove?–where needed. It is time to reevaluate my faults and become acquainted with the new ones that have popped up largely unnoticed. And, because I am not composed entirely of complex configurations of  shortcomings, it is time to recall the good that lies within me, to embrace and harness that power so that I may be a source of illumination upon my own journey as it enters into this new phase, and also to shed light onto those who walk with me. I am full of love, but first I must turn it inward so that it can reflect upon the mirror of my spirit and, in turn, shine more strongly outward.


As of late, I feel as though I have been perpetually seeking. There is something just outside my grasp, almost outside of my line of sight but I know it’s there. And I want it.

One of those things is a Top. I crave surrender—of control, of myself. Particularly in the surrendering of the self, I crave someone into whose hands I can give myself in good faith and in complete trust. Succinctly put, I desire a Top who won’t fuck me up—not in the bad ways, anyway. I know so well how to handle myself, the ins and outs of managing someone like me, that it is so, so difficult to let someone else do the handling even for a little while, particularly because I have been not so well handled in the past. Maybe those people just didn’t care enough to learn, or maybe their desire in the first place was to mishandle. I couldn’t tell you. I can tell you, though, that those experiences make it verrrrry difficult to trust someone enough to give myself completely over again. I think perhaps also that people who could potentially fulfill the position of a Top in my life see that hesitation and either don’t want to deal with it, or think it a sign of lack of interest. It makes me wish I could more readily wear my heart on my sleeve, but.. well, if it’s on my sleeve, how in the hell do I protect it?

On the flip side, and in holding to switch form, I seek also a bottom who would kneel to me as I would kneel, in turn, to my Top. This is somewhat thrilling and scary for me, as I have never held a dominant position over anybody before. I do identify as a Top-heavy switch and sadist, and do most certainly contain a more dominant energy, but it has never been exercised on a person for more than the duration of a scene. But I want it. I want to go there with someone. Not only for the practical purposes that a service bottom would fulfill, but to experience that power dynamic and energy exchange. I want to feel the weight of someone’s trust upon my shoulders, and learn to bear it with pride, humility—yes, I believe those emotions can coexist—dignity and caring.

And, yes, it would be lovely not to have to do a lot of housework. And to tease them by denying them pleasure as I pleasure myself. And to rib them for not making the coffee perfectly, but still let them know that they have not lost my approval with a soft touch over their head and down their neck.. ending with a swat on the ass.

This thought just occurred to me: what if my Top were also my mentor in learning how to successfully navigate the dynamic between me and my bottom? I’m sure this idea isn’t new to the realm of D/s. But would it work for me and my dynamics? Could I find someone who is comfortable enough in their Top energy not only to top me but also to help me top another? The idea is exhilarating.

I honestly couldn’t tell you if I will ever encounter either of these dynamics in my world. I know that I am not an easy bottom and therefore not many Tops or Dominants would want to take on the extra work, so to speak. I also know that due to how reserved I tend to be around other people, it’s harder for me to make connections with others despite how much I may want to. I sure as hell haven’t yet gotten up the courage to tell a few of my Top crushes that they make my knees melt! So I guess we’ll see. I have gone this long as something of a “freelancer,” so of course I can continue doing so. But I will certainly keep my eyes open and, though she may be heavily guarded, my heart as well.

Review: Crash Pad Vol. 6

Crash Pad Vol. 6: Wide Open is the latest in Shine Louise Houston’s famous series of episodes involving real, queer sex. Like the rest of the DVDs, this one features vignettes of queer duos—either real-life couples or pairings just for filming purposes—getting it on in whatever way they do best. In Volume 6 we see all sorts of things from boot licking to cock sucking, belt lashing to bondage, queer femmes to transguys and more.

I also have Volumes 4 and 5 and loved them both, so I was really excited about Volume 6, but unfortunately it fell a little flat for me. I did enjoy the scene between James Darling and Cyd Loverboy—there is something so hot about someone being tied up and forced to admit their secret desires—and also the scene between Tina Horn (a favorite of mine) and Casey Grey because (a) Tina Horn really does have an amazing ass and (b) Casey Grey is one fucking HOT Top, but otherwise I felt like the chemistry between the participants was a little lacking. And I’m sorry, but as much as I love Syd Blakovich, I really have no interest in watching massage in a porn video.

Another drawback that is unfortunately pretty consistent with all of the Crash Pad videos is that the sound quality isn’t very great. I can understand why this is, since I don’t believe there’s anyone in the room with the actors holding a boom mike over the bed, but it’s still really unfortunate because I’d like to hear the words being said and I’d like to hear the moans, groans and other sex noises more clearly. In fact, sometimes it frustrates me so much that I can’t hear what’s going on—despite my volume being turned all the way up—that it basically turns me off and makes me not want to watch the video. Maybe the actors also just aren’t speaking up enough; I don’t really know, but it can be a little aggravating in the less-than-pleasant way.

So there you have it. Would I classify Crash Pad Vol. 6 as horrible porn? No, I wouldn’t. It’s still real queer porn made by and for real queers. It’s certainly still a flying leap above your more stereotypical het or even lesbian porn. But if you’re interested in the Crash Pad Series, I would more highly recommend Volumes 4 or 5, or perhaps one of the earlier volumes which I have not yet had the pleasure of viewing.

Thank you Babeland for your continuing generosity in review products!