Doing it wrong: I am not a supermodel

I wish more people realized how wonderful their bodies were and displayed the confidence shown in this article. I know I will wear what I damn well please, and I’ve found the most confident I am in my body is when I go to festivals mostly naked.


So… I just want to go on record as saying that I don’t look like this.the fantasy

Or this.


I don’t.

I love the boots and shoes and shiny “Dominatrix uniform” kind of clothes. So I wear them even though I don’t look like this. I have repeatedly… REPEATEDLY heard about how you have to look a certain way in order to even think about wearing thigh high boots or latex or to let your body show. Usually I hear it when I’m in jeans and a sweater. Because they’ve forgotten that I’m a latex fetishist who doesn’t look like a supermodel. I hear it from men and women. I hear people say it about themselves… “Oh I could never wear that because I’m too big.” It makes me sad. It makes me angry.

I hate that we live in a world where people can’t even wear clothing that they want…

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Sexy Tales

Awkward Stripper Moments

We had expected a sexy decadent night of high-end steak and strippers. The New York Times review of the steak house Robert’s inside the Penthouse Strip Club in NYC made the place sound like our exotic dream. As a couple that loves steak dinners and strippers we thought it would be a perfect pairing. R and I soon learned that while the food was scrumptious, the ambience was not. Thus began our night of the most awkward stripper moments.

After making our dinner reservation for eight pm, R soon learned that it was actually the hour that the place opened. When we arrived they weren’t ready yet, so we walked around the block. When we returned we were lead to the second floor of the Penthouse. We sat in a completely empty restaurant, and it was super awkward. We did have fun having shots poured down our mouths and kissing the chest of the shot girl. And she was very courteous in checking with me before instructing R to put his hands on her behind. It couldn’t make up for the fact though that this was not what we expected.

Our table had a great view of the stage. Sadly no stripper ever danced upon it. Later some strippers did arrive, but as we were in a couple only one, very unfortunate looking stripper, ever did approach us. By the end of our tasty meal only one other couple was dining, and there was one man in the club who was getting his share of lap dances. Let it be known that it is a sad thing to be a man alone at a strip club. It screams, “I’m super creepy”. Men usually come in groups, and if you’re weird enough to spend your evening getting lap dances alone then you definitely don’t have anyone in your life. It’s worse if you go in the afternoon alone. At that point you probably need a support group.

At the end of the meal we promptly left the club. As we walked down the stairs the manager came to ask if we’d like to head to the lounge. It was all I could do to keep from scoffing, “Why the hell would we sit in an empty lounge with no dancer onstage.” Instead we went to a dive bar, got some cheap drinks, and then headed to the Lace Strip Club in Times Square. While Lace was not nearly as fancy as the Penthouse it had two things that the Penthouse sorely lacked. It had strippers dancing, and it had other people. We were shown to a couch facing the main stage. We ordered up some budlights and set about enjoying our evening.

Since we’re a couple we’re much more rarely approached, which suits us since we like to carefully pick who we pay for lap dances. Tonight we did have a few ladies approach us, and most were sweet and left quickly when we told them we were fine at the moment. Then a very voluptuous blonde stripper approached us. I don’t mean voluptuous in the good way either.

All my feminism goes out the window when I go to a strip club. I am paying for sex appeal and I don’t want to waste it on someone I don’t find attractive. She gave us the normal stripper spiel and asked if we’d like a lap dance. We told her we were fine, but thank you. Then she sat there. Just sipping on her drink and looking pissed off. She didn’t get up. She just sat, and we kept thinking, “What the fuck do we do? Should we go get a new seat?” Finally she got up and walked away without saying a word. We thought the most awkward part of the night would be the restaurant, but boy were we wrong.

Luckily my R bought me three fabulous lap dances, and he had one. Sadly I won’t get to see my Little Pet R for a while. Tonight I am off to backpack through Eastern Europe for two months. Hopefully I will have some fun stories to post, but I know they will be harder to come by since I won’t have my pet to slap about. Last night was our last full night together, and we both cried on and off continually (a different night then the strip clubs).

Life Drama

The Return Of My Ex-Sub

I see him glance at me from across the room. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen that face, so I can’t be sure. The old timey hat, the feather stuck in it, the black shirt. It’s all adding up, and fuck I think it is D. D and I met at a festival a year ago. It was passionate, and it was amazing. He is the one who got me into kink. He was my first slave, sub, whatever you want to call it. And quickly when the distance, and our lives got in the way it was over. In the end I choose R, but even if I hadn’t D’s flightiness would have ended things. I want a free hippy at a festival, but in the real world I need someone sturdy that I can depend on.

I smile at him. He walks over. I stand up. Wow, D’s shorter than I remember. Awkward chit-chat. Why wasn’t he at the festival? That sort of thing. I motion down at R who’s sitting half naked on the floor on a leash and drinking out of a dog bowl. I ask, “Oh do you remember R?” I don’t remember his reply, but I think of course he doesn’t. He might have met him briefly at a party a year ago when R meant nothing to us, and D and I were wrapped up in each other. I’m sure he remembers my telling him R and I were making things official though.

All of a sudden the conversation is over, and he’s back standing with his friends across the room. I always thought if our paths were to cross again we’d be more of friends than this. I thought he would be better at not being uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable though. I like to think it’s because I’m there with a faithful sub and looking sexy as ever, and he’s there just with friends, but who knows if that is true. He barely moved about at the party though. He sat with his friends in the couch area and just watched. He didn’t try to meet anyone, or walk around and watch scenes, and he didn’t seem like the gregarious man I met at the fire bar at that festival who instantly had me attracted.

I’m lucky, I know. I have the sub and the boyfriend, the future husband. I miss that completely free point in my life where I could do whatever and whomever I wanted. I miss yanking D around by his headlamp out in the field as if it were a leash. I miss the passionate kissing next to the burn while I wore that old timey hat with the feather in it. I don’t miss it enough that I would ever give up R though. Next year R and I plan on possibly talking about how physical I could get with someone at this festival. And it would be nice to escape and get to be young and dumb again, but at the end of the day I want to come home to R, the man who makes me dinner and holds me when I cry.

Sexy Tales

Nuzzling Like Lions With Another Man

I would never wear clothes if it were socially acceptable. Pasties and panties and nothing else are my own personal heaven. I just spent a week at my own personal utopia. Where and what is this utopia you may ask? It’s at a burner festival in the woods. No, we’re not a music festival. Instead we stem from Burning Man, and we are about building a community and artwork for a short period of time. This festival is my magical place where I can walk around the woods in my pasties, panties, and handy utility belt and hula-hoop to my heart’s content. Sadly, my partner R did not join me in this adventure. To say that he hates the woods is an understatement, and not everyone is ready to go a week without showering.

This is my first year that I attended this event while being in a monogamous relationship. Usually I troll the nighttime parties searching for my new partner in crime that can also be my partner in bed. Last year I had the pleasure of meeting D who not only introduced me to my first kink party, but also whom I met my boyfriend with. D and I had experienced an intense passion in the woods. This year unfortunately that would not be allowed. I had talked to a female friend about us possibly having our first full sexual encounter at this festival but that never found its way to fruition (female only sex would have been okay with R). I had made plenty of friends this year though, including a man I’ll call Beard Guy. He was new to the festival so I quickly took to becoming his official tour guide. Supposedly the first thing he saw when he entered the festival was me hooping naked, and from that moment on he knew it would be a thrilling week.

My second night hanging out with Beard Guy was at the event where we burn down a fifty-foot bug. It is a giant party. Beard Guy sat on the sheet I had layed down on the grass. I was beginning to feel the effects of a friend called Molly, and he was drunk. He began massaging my shoulders and scratching my head. In my state it felt amazing. I loved him touching me and I wanted it to continue for as long as possible, but I had to make my situation very clear (I hate being a tease).

“I’d love to spend the night wandering from party to party and cuddling with you, but I need to say that I do have a boyfriend and the cuddling is fine, but please do not try anything else. Don’t kiss me, don’t anything.”

He agreed. He remembered the boyfriend I had discussed with him previously and this arrangement suited him fine. We continued to snuggle. I’d pet his hair or his beard, and when the bug finally burned down we ran around it holding hands and howling like coyotes. We joined members of his camp who were also rolling and spent the night petting each other’s heads and enjoying the tactile sensation. You know it’s a fun night when you spend time in what is called a seizure dome. The men also took turns bull riding this rocket, and I learned Beard Guy did not need any hands to stay on. Finally Beard Guy and I sat around a campfire and watched the sun rise. His face would rub against my neck, but as promised he never once tried to kiss me or any part of me.

He finally posed the question of whether this night would end with him dropping me at my tent. I had thought about this a bit. I never intended to do more than cuddle, but had thought about whether it would be crossing a line to sleep cuddling with each other. In the end I knew I could not do that to R. Sleep cuddling was our thing. It was intimate and personal and something I couldn’t share with anyone else without feeling immense guilt. So he walked me back to my tent and I told his drunk self exactly how to make it back to his camp.

The next day I didn’t know how Beard Guy would feel about the events of last night. When I saw him everything was casual, but nothing more seemed to come about and it saddened me. Finally when I went for his camp’s Hentai party (Asian cartoon porn with tentacles that we mute and dub in funny ways) I asked him if he’d like to cuddle. Soon I was on his lap, and without the drugs as an excuse it felt that much more sexual. We later wandered through camps doing a shot of absinth here or sitting and watching a campfire there. We touched even more than the previous night. The air was full of sexual tension. Our faces rubbed against each other like lions nuzzling, but no matter how close we got we never so much as kissed. It was insanely hot because on some level not being able to do anything is hotter than just going and fucking and being done with all that lead up. Soon our time was over and we parted ways near my tent yet again.

The next day I packed up in the early morning and caught my train home. It was two days after my chemical excursion and depression was kicking in. I was feeling insane guilt for having cuddled another man, and even though I knew that a lot of these feelings were coming from the crash I was having I knew that I would have to tell R. I sat at home crying on and off for no reason until he came home.

When R entered he dropped everything and he rushed to hug me. He was so overjoyed that I was home. We sat and I told him all about my festival, and then I told him I had snuggled with someone else for two of the nights at the parties. I burst into tears again, and let him know we didn’t even kiss or sleep in each other’s tents. R rushed to console me.

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong,” R told me. He let me know everything I did was okay. The next day when I was feeling more like myself he reiterated this statement. It just proves to me more and more what a wonderful man R is. He is the love of my life. I had an amazing time with Beard Guy, and yes I’m horny still thinking about it, but I wouldn’t trade R for the world.

Sexy Tales

Ass Worship From A Good Pet

“Aww he’s so well behaved,” a girl at the party crooned. R kneeled on the floor holding my drink and worshipping my ass, and with this compliment he looked down at the floor shyly. One girl kept coming round because she wanted to pet his head. I was surrounded by a gaggle of topless girls, and they were all jealous of my obedient pet. I chatted with one woman who went on about how great it was to be in the kink community, and that you can openly discuss any sexual subject you want. And I knew it to be true because only moments later I had been discussing with a group of new acquaintances how R and were looking to move on to strap ons. Only at a kink party is strap preference a completely acceptable conversation topic.

My female friend L had joined us that night. She was helping me co-domme R, and she planned on sleeping over with us that night. We all like a good cuddle. I have found I’m good at sharing. I let R kiss Mistress L, and let R give another woman a foot massage while I had a random man kiss my boots. At one point L and I locked R in a dog cage and had him worship our asses though the bars. The best part of my night was all the adoration R got from other people for being such a good pet. I realized I lucked out. So many people go a long time before finding a good play partner, and especially one they want to date. I found my life partner and play partner at my very first party. I found a man who unlike my ex agreed that L and I could have sex with each other if we wanted.

At the end of the night we all went back to R’s (or mine and R’s because I just moved in). R was in the middle of the bed and L and I cuddled him from either side. In the morning he put on his panties and made us breakfast as L and I cuddled and felt each other up in bed. After we had eaten we made R eat bacon out of his dog bowl. We would take out small pieces to have him beg and do tricks for. My boy rolls over well. R was presumptuous enough to assume he would get to cum. He did not get to. Because his orgasm is not a right.

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. Recently I’ve put in my notice at work, been planning for Eastern Europe, planning a trip to a festival, and moved out of my apartment. It’s been a crazy month. Soon I will have the free time I’ve been craving, and hopefully with that a whole lot more sex.

Life Drama

Feeling Lost

Today is not a sexy post, or really particularly related to BDSM, but I felt I needed to write it and share it with whoever is listening anyway. I graduated from college just about a year ago right now, and I can honestly say this has been one of the worst years of my life. I studied playwriting and television writing at a top university, and when you’re in school the possibilities seem endless. The world seems wide open and exciting, and then you go out into it and it seems an abyss of unobtainable dreams.

Working to make money seems to take over your entire existence and leaves no fight within you to do much else. I bartend and waitress right now as well as nanny, and it feels as if the world of art and theater that I spent the first twenty-two years of my life in is this distant dream. It doesn’t help that I hate my job and I come home crying to my boyfriend at two am after the particularly gruesome nights. I’m tired of working fourteen-hour days, and I’m tired of doing something that is in no way related to my aspirations. I spent a small fortune on my education to serve beer, and it is depressing. My family and everyone I know keeps telling me they know how strong I am and that I always persevere and that they have faith in me, but right now I don’t feel like I have faith in me.

In a few months I am using my savings to travel Eastern Europe for two months, and I know that a lot of the problems with work will dissolve when I leave my job soon, but that thought doesn’t always console me, because afterwards I will have to come back and find something else that pays the bills that probably won’t fulfill me.

In many ways this should have been a terrific year. I found BDSM, I met my sub and the love of my life R, and I traveled to Costa Rica and Vegas with this man. I should be looking back at this year with fond memories, but the feeling that I haven’t achieved enough, that I haven’t done anything substantial with my craft or my life, haunts me daily. If I work fifty hours I don’t feel like writing that play or producing my work in my free time, because all I feel is spent.

I don’t want to be the whiny millennial girl who complains about how the real world isn’t living up to her dreams. I work my ass off. A month out of college and I was supporting myself financially. I try my hardest, but I constantly feel like I’m slacking. That voice whispers from the back of my head, “You could be doing more.”

Everyone tells me that you are supposed to feel like this the first year out. It’s normal to feel lost. As someone who has always been insanely driven it saddens me that I feel too tired to be driven right now. I want to be the young person who was excited by a challenge, who signed every petition, and cared about every cause. Lately I see myself aging and becoming cynical in a way I don’t like. I’m hoping my trip will bring back the adventurous girl I used to be. I miss the outgoing side of me. I miss the me I used to be.