Sexuality Happens

Photo by Peggy Dyer

So this is from my performance of the Vagina Monologues.  I really enjoy the fact that my hands are both in fingering mode.  Like I’m ready to finger two people at once, or something fun like that.

This past Tuesday was the last show for the Boulder Vagina Monologues.  However, I’m lucky enough to have been cast in the Vagina Monologue’s being put on by Denver, as one of the narrators.  Better yet, it’s going to be performed at Lannie’s Clocktower Cabaret, one of my favorite local places, and also the best place in Denver for Burlesque. I’ve never done two Vagina shows in one year, but I’m pretty freaking excited.

Make sure you check out Peggy’s website. She’s a true Vagina Warrior!

Here’s another amazing photo by her – the “W.A.S.P moan”

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday! And Happy Vagina Day! For me, everyday is Vagina Day.

-Essin’ Em

Listen to my podcast on RadioDentata.com at 9pm EST (6pm PST) on Thursdays (that’s TONIGHT!), and it repeats at 9pm EST (6pm PST) and 3am EST (Midnight PST) on Fridays!

So the other day, I was actually signed onto AIM, shocking us all. I was ALWAYS on in through most of high school, and had it on CONSTANTLY (with creative away messages when I was AFK – away from the computer, in college).  I had friends all over the world, and AIM was the easiest and cheapest way to talk to them, all the time. As I hit grad school, I had less and less free time (working full time, part time and going to grad school full time…then add roller derby in there), so I wasn’t on that often. Nowdays, I mostly use g-chat through gmail, although I occasionally sign on to AIM if I want to talk to a specific friend.

The other day, I’d left AIM on.  I got an IM from someone whose screen name I didn’t recognize, so I began the conversation. Turns out it was him.  The guy that sexually assaulted me.  Turns out he lives in Denver now…actually, about five minutes away from me.  Don’t know what I’m talking about? Read “Sexual Assault, My Story.”

At first, I was just shocked that he was talking to me. I can’t remember the last time he tried to IM me.  Sophomore year maybe?  I remember I saw him this year at homecoming, and just froze. He didn’t recognize me.  I’m a little taller now, I had red hair at the time, and I have a fuck ton more self-confidence than I had at all in college, especially my first year.  But now he was talking to me, telling me he lived near me. It took me a second to figure out what was even going on.

I think he’s one of the guys that doesn’t realize what he did, what happened, how much he has affected my life.  There was a video we watched once in college, and this guy talked about how he’d gotten a girl really drunk, how he’d taken her to the special room his frat had for taking drunken and drugged girls, and how he held her down with his arm across her chest as she tried to get away, and how he fucked her. He doesn’t consider himself someone who has ever perpetrated sexual assault. Some guys just don’t get it.  I don’t think this one does.

I signed off. And called Q. I didn’t know who else to talk to.  F hadn’t been very supportive when I told her about seeing him at homecoming. My best friend was asleep. I needed someone.

At first, I was non-chalant.  ”Sorry, I know you’re busy. I didn’t want to bother you. I just was kind of, upset. But I’m fine now.” And then, I started talking. I’d never told her my story…in fact, at our Vagina Retreat, I’d realized that she was the first person I hadn’t told about my assault before we had sex. I thought that was a good sign, that I was healing more, moving on. But here I was, pouring out my heart to her. Less than 4 days after our “not looking to be girlfriends, but let’s be friends who fuck” talk. I sat there, tell her, through my tear (oh yes, he can still make me cry) how I was terrified I’d run into him at the store, or I’d be in the park and then he’d be there, and what would I do? Calmly, she told me I’d turn and walk away. That I could do that. I cried more, explaining that I was so angry there was nothing I could do now. I hadn’t reported him when I was 17…I didn’t know I could, and it took me a while to even realize what it was. I couldn’t report him, I couldn’t hurt him, I couldn’t do anything. I had no control, and that scared me. I don’t like having no control. I was angry, and hurt, and felt like he had just regained power over me, as now I was nervous about going to the store.  We talked for a while. And I felt a little better. I told her part of my story, and about the guilt I felt, how it was my fault for entering the situation, and my fault for not leaving.  She didn’t tell me it wasn’t – she just listened.

This is now six years later. More than that, actually.  And still, this intense reaction, these emotions pouring out of me. This fear, this anger, this hurt.  Right in the middle of the Vagina Monologues, of all times.

It goes to show that it never goes away. It never heals. You can be a survivor, at veteran of sexual violence, but it never ends. It runs through you, affecting you, sometimes without you even realizing.

So this is me, speaking up, speaking out…yet again. Sexual violence is not just creepers in the bushes. It is not just abusive husbands. It is not just a product of war. It is HERE. It is people you know, people you love.  It isn’t then, it is now. It it always. So support your friends, your family, your loved ones, and work to stop to violence.

-Essin’ Em

Q and I got in a completely silly (and 100% good natured) argument.  She’s from upstate New York, and holds that Colorado is part of the Midwest.  I, naturally, was aghast.  To me, the Midwest is Wisconsin, Iown, Ohio, Michigan, Kansas, etc. Nothing wrong with it, but certainly not Colorado. I mean, even WFTDA (women’s flat track derby association) as put all the Colorado teams in the Western division, not the central ones.

Colorado, in addition to being a rocking state with tons of interesting theatre, having a fairly big queer population (and the largest monthly dyke party in the country), having one of the top ten busiest airports in the US, and the largest restaurant in North America (Casa Bonita), also has a rich history.  We had a large preponderance of Native American tribes, we had gold panners, we had the unsinkable Molly Brown, prospectors, cowboys (we still have some of those), mining, etc. We still have those really big mountains…you know, with skiiers and snowboarders (and snow bunnies like me).  Down south, we have the Great Sand Dunes. And yes, even cactus. Pokey cactus.

We are, in my mind, NOT the midwest.  I’ve always thought of us as the Southwest, although I’ve also heard us grouped in with the West (like Nevada). But maybe it’s me…maybe my Colorado pride goeth before my fall (but at the very least, don’t you want to come visit this fabulous state now?).  So I’m opening the question up to you; where do YOU think Colorado is?

*Southwest
*Midwest
*West
*Over the Rainbow
*Other

I’d like your thoughts on this please…to end this argument for once and for all! I know this is silly, and not at all sexual.  But it is me.  And it’s my blog. So enjoy.

-Essin’ Em

From my vagina monologues retreat to Breckenridge.  Amazing weekend, will write about it soon.  But just to tide you over, here is a little snippet of my weekend, a haiku about fisting I composed while pouring grasshoppers for everyone, and helping to set the table.

A hand in the bush.

This tight cunt, squeezing my hand.

Showing me heaven. 

-Essin’ Em

To read about my first fisting experience, check out “Need a Hand?“

Remember back last fall, when I wrote a post entitled “Things I Do That Don’t Mean I’m in Love with You?” I kind of wrote it in response to L.  I think I scared her, because even though we had stopped dating, we had become friends, and I had done many of the things mentioned in that post.

Well, welcome to my cyclical life. This time, it wasn’t L, but Q.   She read my post from a few days ago, about needing to define. She stepped up, and suggested we talked.  First, I panicked…you know, when someone you know is not big about having “what is this” discussions and suggests it, and you kind of freak out, because you have a history of that happening and turning into “so, sex has been great and fun, but I’m moving on and not that into it, so thanks and bye.”  Anyways, it wasn’t that. And thanks to Natt Nightly for reminding me to breathe and not second guess people. But she did tell me that some of the things I had done had made her nervous. We’re fine now, happy with what is going on, and on the same page. Friends who fuck. Yay.

But I’m frustrated. With myself, and with others. When I am myself, and do the things that come naturally to me, people thing I’m moving too fast/falling in love/doing too much. When I don’t do them, people think I’m using people for sex, or that I’m selfish, heartless and emotionless. When I don’t open up and share many of my emotions, people tell me I am stuck in my head and not in my heart space (F), that I’m cold, that I have trust issues, that I use people for sex.  When I try to talk about my emotions, or at least share them somewhat, people tell me I’m oversharing, overstepping boundaries, relying too much on others, highly emotional, high maintenance, etc.  Or they take my trust, and then break it.

I feel like I’m a rubber ball, bouncing back and forth. I’m sick of no one “getting” me, of not understanding me.  Someone said the other day how nice it is, and how good it feels when you’re “gotten.”  She was referring to Butch/Femme identities, but I think it applies over all.  The only person in my life who “gets” me, and doesn’t make me feel like I’m doing things wrong at least sometimes is my best friend…I mean, who else suggests dying your hair bright blue to match their wedding colors?

But her aside, I feel like a freak. I have never found a place (in real life, or online) where I fit in. I’ve never found other people like me.  I am alone. I’d love a community. But everywhere I go, I feel like I’m messed up until I adjust to fit, until I change myself so that it’s comfortable for other people.

Yeah. That’s it.

-Essin’ Em

I had always wanted to try latex body paint. I’ve seen people have their bodies covered in this miraculous thing, and I wanted to be part of it.  I have all sorts of companies who have been clamoring to send me sex toys, but sometimes, I want something different, something else, something…well, not cunt related. Thankfully, I was lucky enough to get to request black latex body paint.

Basically, the concept of body paint is that you can either use it to make designs (as shown above), or to cover your whole body (or pieces of it). You can use one color, or many.  I actually used my fingers to apply mine, but they (they meaning the wise ol’ interwebs of doom!) suggest you use a brush, or sponge brush.

First, either shave the area you’ll be applying the paint to, or coat it very lightly with a lotion/oil.  I actually used Kama Sutra Massage oil, and just rubbed it in lightly after my shower.  Too much lotion/oil, and the latex won’t stick at all…not enough, and it’ll stick to your skin, and pull out your hair.

Next, paint your body. Use your fingers, a brush, you name it.  You have to put it on one thiiiin layer at a time, and then let it dry COMPLETELY before you go to the next layer.  I fucked up a couple of times with being impatient and had to pull those pieces off and get restarted.

In hind sight, I look at my design I drew, and realize that it is the female reproductive system. More specifically, Brutus the Uterus, who I drew on many a friend’s white board and mirror.  I was just trying to do something simple and even, since I was doing it on myself in the mirror (thought: get someone to help you. It is ridiculously difficult to do on yourself, ESPECIALLY in the mirror!)…but as you can see, there is a uterus, two fallopian tubes, and yes, two ovaries.  Channeling something I guess.  I promise, I wasn’t planning on the endocrine system.

Once it is 100% dry, then you can make it shiny (which also helps prevent other things, like coats, from sticking to it) with special latex shining stuff…or you can use a good quality silicone lube.  I, not being an owner of the spiffy shining stuff, just grabbed my Eros Bodyglide out of my nightstand, and slicked a little bit of my favorite lube onto my design.  Not even my muppet fur coat stuck to it!

As far as staying power, I was pretty impressed. On my way to L’s, I was in a small car accident, and popped my tire (I found out the next morning that I’d also bent my wheel).  I stood outside in the snow and ice in a mini skirt, lace bustier and heels, curled up in my muppet coat. Latex – no problem. I hopped in the car (not mine, obviously) with L and her friend…no problem.  I checked my coat at the fetish party – and it was still staying.  In fact, it stayed good and strong until I lay on my front for a good 30 minutes during my fire cupping scene. A few parts pulled off, and the rest I just pulled off. They came off in big pieces, with no problem.

Thoughts; if you or your partner are allergic to latex, stay away. Also, the paint (before drying) smells a little odd.  Like slightly fishy…I thought it was a bit gross, but the scent disappears as it dries.  One jar has a fair amount of paint, but as I didn’t cover myself in it, you’ll have to defer to someone else’s advice on how much you’ll need.

I loved my black latex body paint…and would highly recommend it.  I wish I had it in every color!

-Essin’ Em

I took this picture for Queer Eye Candy’s month of February’s theme; holding a paper heart. I sent them in, but only towards the end of the month, so I don’t think they’ll make it up. My paper heart says: My heart is full of love and lust and thoughts and kindness and caring and sweetness and wonder and questions and caring and light and …“

There is a line in the Vagina Monologues, in the piece I Was There in the Room. It says that the both the heart, and the vagina are capable of sacrifice.  That they both open to let us in and expand to let us out. It’s very true.

I am half nekkid in this picture, not in the more traditional way, but my heart is naked. I don’t write that much about love and feelings and caring. Usually, my heart is only mentioned when it has been bruised…hurt…mangled. But it also has so much positiveness. Sometimes, I love my friends (and two of my past partners) so much that I feel my heart will burst. I’m so proud of them, so enamored with them, so filled with love for all of these wonderful people.

My heart is huge. Is it. It holds so much. And you know, while it can let things out, I usually decide to keep them.  I finally spoke with J again the other day, and she (using female pronouns now) is getting her shit together. I still feel for her in my heart, and am so proud of her. F came last week, and gave me flowers at my show, telling me I was amazing and truly deserved them. I felt love for her still. I love her still. Not in love, no, and I realize that no, we should not be partners. But to me, love is something that can grow and shrink in intensity, but it never leaves your heart.

I have friends I have seen in three, five, even ten years that I’ve been reconnecting with. It isn’t nearly as hard as one might expect. Why? Because there is still love for them inside me, I just need to rekindle it.

Recently, I had my six-word memoir on Love and Heartbreak published in that book. I’m on page 64 (which is a perfect square. That makes me happy…and nerdy).  What did I say?

“My heart is my strongest muscle.”

Why? Because your heart gets a work out, physically and emotionally.  We equate it with feelings, and emotions, and love, and heartache. We also need it to keep going, to keep living…to pump our blood through our bodies. We give it exercise – both at the gym, and in relationships; with friends, lovers, partners, family. Sometimes, we over work it, we exhaust it. Sometimes we pull this muscle…we do something that hurts it, and we need to give it time to recover. But it doesn’t break. No. My other 6-word thought was “my heart is bruised, not broken.”  We talk of broken hearts, but really, our hearts don’t break. They just need time to recover.  When our hearts are healed and healthy, we rely on them so much, we use them so much, we NEED them. So yes, my heart is my strongest muscle. It does so much for me…and I can only try to give back.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday! Open your heart.

-Essin’ Em

I met Q at the strap on class I was teaching in the middle of December.  We went for coffee and a movie a few weeks later, hanging out intermittently. We started having sex when I got back from my trip to San Francisco. And can I just mention that the sex just keeps getting better and better? And the kissing is hot, and the silliness, and just. Mmm.

I like what we have. Sometimes, we hang out. Sometimes, we just have sex. Sometimes, we hang out AND have sex.

She came to see the Vagina Monologues with some of her friends from grad school. Some of my long time friends didn’t even come, so that was really fucking nice to have people I knew (also L and F. All in the same night. Oy, but yay) there.

She was really supportive during my drama with Kali. I even kinda sorta almost cried on the phone with her.

But. So. Um. What? I kinda like her. As more than just a fuck buddy. Now, this friends with benefits thing is great, and I don’t want to fuck that up…but I’m kind of wondering if she might kinda sorta possibly be interested in more. But. What is more? I don’t want to live together, or to spend multiple days in a row with each other right now. I don’t want kids or marriage, or….

So do I just leave it? Does it matter what it is?

Half of me wants an answer.  This is what we are, this is where we’re headed for now, etc. It wants to be on the same page so nothing can hurt.  The other half says it doesn’t fucking matter. It just wants to let things go where they go, be what they are, and stop over thinking everything. This begs that question;

When do you have to define? And DO you have to define?

When F and I were seeing each other, it was like hello, and welcome to Communication City.  To me, there was over communication. If I didn’t bring up EVERYTHING to talk about (even things I didn’t think were a big deal at all to me), I was being closed off. During sex, we talked a lot, and told each other we were hot and beautiful and what we wanted and needed – and that was good. There was lots of “what are we, who are we, what are we feeling, where are we going, etc.” Sometimes, I felt smothered by too much communication.  Q is the opposite. She doesn’t process (which, right now, is fucking brilliant!). But she also doesn’t really communicate…not during sex, though I can coach it out of her (but did I mention that the sex is really good?), not after while cuddling. She just doesn’t.  Which is ok, but it makes it really hard for me to pull the “I like where things are, and they don’t need to change, but how do you see our relationship as two people, and do you see it continuing in the future?” card that I so desperately want to bust out. I mean, we’re had the safer sex talk. And the other day, I checked to make sure we were both on the non-monogamy page (Me: “we’re not monogamous, right?” Her: “What? I thought we were totally monogamous.” Me: *BIG EYES* “What???” Her: “I was kidding. Non-monogamous, yes.”)

So. Do I try to define? Or no? If yes, when? And if not…well. Then what?

-Essin’ Em

I was reading through my old Myspace blogs…and came across this one. I wrote it probably the first few weeks that F and I had started having sex, way back at the beginning of the fall, or end of the summer…while obviously it doesn’t apply to us anymore, I thought it was pretty, and descriptive, and certainly worth sharing.

-Essin’ Em

CONTENTMENT

Wrinkled sheets.

Crumpled blankets.

Pillows strewn about like an ancient abandoned city whose residents were forced to leave in a hurry…a modern day Pompeii.

A mingling of scents; candles, lotion and a hint of sex.

A faint bruise on the inner thigh.

A necklace dangling on the nightstand, discarded in the throws of passions.

Sore muscles that just slightly ache when flexed.

Two empty mugs in the sink.

The memories of heat and fire, of new horizons, of comfort and safety.

Words and thoughts invading my mind.

Pictures flashing across my vision.

Arched back, arms wide open, piercing vision looking into the depths of me.

Deep breathing, moans, pleading, askance, begging, nurturing, questioning, requests…sounds haunt my ears.

Fantasies of my balcony, my window, the elevators, the hot tub.

Uncertainty.