Sexuality Happens

Since moving to Arizona, I’ve tried to get involved in many communities, including multiple facets of the kink community here in Phoenix.  Within the first two weeks, we’d joined three groups, been to a kink carnival and orientation, and a women only play party, not to mention a munch or two. I tried to meet people, to make things work, to fit in.

While we made a few select friends, for the most part, we didn’t fit. There are very few queer identified people out and about to start, and even less in the kink community. In several groups, we’re the only queer identified couple.  At the women’s only event, I received a little bit of femme bashing, and Q felt incredibly out of place. And queerness aside, we felt very out of place because we not attach a D/s dynamic to our relationship, and it seems as though almost everyone here is very staunchly identified as top or bottom, Dom(me) or sub, and we don’t.  We don’t even identify as switches.  While occasionally she’ll call me Mistress during sex, or I’ll call her Sir while all tied up, we don’t play with power much. We’re just kinky, and that doesn’t seem to be an option.

I decided to start a new group here; AlternaKink. For those of us who don’t play within the typical power structure of BDSM, those who are queer or have different gender presentations and don’t feel comfortable in the current spaces, for those who like to laugh while playing, and who are alternative.

And cue the storm of “oh my god, you’re a horrible person, you’re not community oriented, you’re fracturing the community.”  Never mind that I specifically noted that I respected the other groups, planned to stay of member of them, and was just trying to create a safe space and additional options.  There aren’t even parties every weekend here, none the less a choice of “should we go here, or here.”

Apparently, everytime someone has tried to start another group here, they’ve been shouted down, told that they’re community wreckers, and been sabotaged in a variety of ways. Well, that actually comes after the guilt trip; I had comments, messages and wall posts telling me that the current (and only) public dungeon in Phoenix IS a safe space, is queer friendly, has no problems, and that I should just shut the fuck up (essentially). Then, there where the offers of having my new group meet at and rent space from the current (and only) public dungeon.  Why branch out? Stay here, with this dungeon, in the community. Don’t do your own thing. Don’t create a space. Here, come, drink the kool aid.

Please don’t tell me a space is safe if I don’t feel safe there. If I, who am stubborn and annoying and go out of my way to meet people, feel uncomfortable, judged, and unwelcome, don’t tell me that is invalid. If when I suggest going to a play party, my partner tells me she does not feel comfortable going there, do not tell me that I’m just “making things up” or “haven’t tried.”

Communities thrive when there are lots of branches of the same tree. In this anaology, the tree is kink. If there is only one big branch weighing down the whole tree (said public dungeon), nothing new grows, nothing thrives, and eventually, the tree falls over and dies.  If there are lots of groups, that create new opportunities and spaces (both physical and conceptual), their is constant growth, and the tree continues to grow and thrive over time. New buds come (new members joining the community), old buds bloom, and everything is well and good. I can be a member of and support a community by creating a new place for people who feel they don’t fit in the old one.

Sometimes I meet people who have been to one kink event, and hated it. They don’t want to go back because they don’t identify as D/s, or as part of a leather family, or because they got stared at for having full sleeves, or short hair cuts, or for appearing gender queer.  Instead of just telling these people (myself included) to fuck off and kick them to the curb, why not create a new space in the community, and welcome them with open arms.  While they may not be on the same main branch of the tree, they are at least IN the community, instead of feeling like outsiders.

I know, I’ve set myself up for a lot of crap coming my way. Yes, it’ll be a struggle. But our first coffee/tea meet up is tomorrow, and I have hope.

Why? Because I WANT to be part of this community. I don’t want to feel like I don’t fit in. I want to grow and change and have fun and play and light people on fire and beat them up, and hope is what makes change happen.

This post is based on thoughts I’ve been having for a long time, and then inspired by a post over at Alphafemme about the Markers of a Queer Femme.

She talks about goals she has that to her, seem very Femme.  However, if taken out of the context of her being queer, would there be any difference between a queer woman (femme identified) and a straight woman writing it.

Q and I were having a similar discussion the other night when out with a straight friend.  Q said something to her about being a Femme, and I took a little offense, but before speaking up, I asked our friend if she identified as a femme.

“Well, I like wearing heels sometimes, and make up, but it’s not like I do it every day.”

This then lead into a conversation of what does femme mean, and the different between femme and feminine. Etc.  This discussion I’ve had a lot, both online and in real life. I myself had a lot of trouble choosing the femme identity at first; I had confused it with feminine, and at the time, I was very anti the concept of feminine.  People talked to me about being a femme, and I’d answer with “but I don’t wear heels or lipstick, and I hate pink. Ergo, I can’t be a femme.”  Then, after much conversation, I realized that femme is not about skirts, or make-up, or shoes.  It’s about embodying an attitude.

Later that night, once our friend had gone home, Q and I were still talking about it.  She asked me if straight woman could be femmes (similar to a convo had online with other as to whether straight women and men could be butch).

I don’t have an answer.  But I want to say no. Why? Because *my* identity is developed around the concept of femme.  About being a strong queer woman who has femme wiles, but isn’t feminine per se. About being able to open the door but loving it when Q does it anyways. About being able to cook and then change a tire, all while wearing either jeans/t-shirt or heels and a pencil skirt.  To me, femme has become an extension of my queer-ness, a bridge between my orientation and my gender.

And it’s really hard for me to envision someone who hasn’t go through some of the things queer folk go through (disbelief as really being queer, having to fight for our rights, having our emotional and physical safety challenged, having our partners made fun of, etc) still being able to understand and embody that identity. To me, being femme is when someone calls Q “lady” and I comfort her and assure her than she is really such a handsome boi.  Being femme is when I can talk to people about gender who would never listen to someone who presents as gender queer. Femme is when someone says “that’s so gay” about his friend at the grocery store, and I tap them on the shoulder and say “no….I’m gay. The end.”

Am I being a gender hog? Perhaps.  I *know* deep down that it shouldn’t fucking matter. I’ve met queer men who identify as femme, and I don’t have as much of an issue. Gender isn’t a line or anything — it’s a schmorgasboard, and you can pick and choose exactly how you identify. If you want to be a glitter slut tranny boi fag, you can do it. So I’m not sure why I have such issues with straight women identifying as Femmes, but it’s totally a hang up for me.

Does it mean that straight women can’t be femme? Of course not. I’m not the gender police.  On the other hand, does it mean I’m uncomfortable with the terminology appropriation, just like I am when I cis-guy tells me he’s “just like all the other dykes I know”?  Yes. Very much so.

Thoughts?

-Essin’ Em

Right around this time last year, Q and I had sex for the first time, and I started bringing out the kink in her, and turning her into a fancy schmancy little pervert. Obviously, this has turned into more than friends with benefits or even casual dating, as we’ve moved together to Phoenix, live in a two bedroom condo together, and have merged our kitty families.

On that note, last week was Kali’s one year adopt-iversary.  I got my lovely girl last year right after coming home from my shoots in San Francisco for Crash Pad Series and NoFauxx.com.  I welcomed her as an older cat (she’s almost 8) into my home after mourning the loss of my love Athena. She has wormed her way into everyone’s heart (although Kinsey does still go after her occasionally), and is definitely Daddy’s little girl with Q.  It’s adorable.

I shot my first porn last January. Since then, I’ve also shot for GoodDykePorn.com and for a movie that Madison Young is doing for Good Releasing.  Obviously, I don’t have the right body type, gender presentation or sexual orientation to be a mainstream porn star, but I really do love the shoots I done.  I love that I’ve gotten to show people that there is more to porn than blondes with fake boobs faking orgasms.  I love that I’ve been part of the queer porn revolution.

I’ve gotten to present in San Francisco, Seattle, DC and Denver, and soon will do do in Phoenix.  I worked a temp contract job for the corporate world (at Western Union), and now I’m working a dream job at Fascinations.  Oh how things can change so much in a year.

Despite my tonsil surgery (have currently paid out $4500, and still have more bills coming in), new pain in my hips and worse pain in my knees and back, despite my credit cards being maxxed out, and my friends all living 700 miles away, despite my car breaking down and having no A/C (in PHOENIX), I am in such a better and happier place than I was last year.

So I acknowledge that.  Less depression (although it’s still there, and poor Q is still the recipient of random bursts of tears at time), more goodness, same amount of painkillers.  I say that’s pretty impressive given all the change and the recession.

So happy 2010 to all, albeit a bit late.  I look forward to what is coming (other than myself).

-Essin’ Em

Last week was a crazy week. Follow up from my birthday, Channukah, our anniversary, getting a job (will write about it soon), etc.

Something I didn’t get to write about that I had wanted to was the International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers, which is December 17th (Q and my anniversary) every year. There are vigils, protests, conversations, panels, etc in honor of this day, and toward the goal of stopping violence against sex workers.  You can learn more at the Sex Worker Outreach Project’s website.

Why, you may ask, does this matter?

Firstly, NO ONE deserves violence against them. Period.  Not while they work, not at home, not period. Regardless of what you believe about sex workers, there should not be violence perpetrated against them.

Next, let’s look at sex workers.  What is a sex worker? It’s someone fulfilling a need, providing more of a full service customer service.  Instead of worrying about whether someone is satisfied with their filet mignon (or burger), or that blood diamond they just dropped the cost of a house on, sex workers are worrying about whether people feel cared for, whether they are getting their needs met.  Same work, just different medium.

Sex workers are porn stars, pro dommes, prostitutes, escorts, phone sex operators, sex surrogates, etc.  We are people, just like you. We work jobs in order to make money to survive. Some of us love our jobs, others don’t, just like you. We have good days, and bad days. We like some of our clients, we don’t like others, but can’t say that to their face, because they’re customers, and the customer is (almost) always right.

We are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, feminists, those with higher education, and those with no formal education, from all types of backgrounds. We all like connecting with people in some way, shape or form. Some of us have other jobs, others don’t. Some have pets, some hate animals. Some love bacon, others of us are vegetarians. We have days where we are insecure, and days where we feel like we’re on top of the world.

You don’t always know in your life who is a sex worker.  Who knows if one of your friends or family members is a sex worker? Why not stand up to stop violence against of group of people who live amongst you. We are human, just like you.  Do we deserve violence, scorn, police raid, hatred, etc?  Not any more than any other human, not in my book.

I take a moment to think of all those sex workers who have been hurt, maimed, killed, etc. And then hope that change is made.

-Essin’ Em

And it’s rant time.

You know what I hate? And before I go off on it, let me state that I have been guilty of this as well in the past, and may slip up.

I hate that we, as a society, equivocate not having an STI (or not knowing that you have one- you can have a full panel, and still miss some) as being “clean.” As in having an STI makes you unclean/dirty.

First of all, you can very a VERY dirty person, both physically (not showering, living in a filthy place, etc) or mentally, and NOT have an STI.  You can also be an incredibly clean person, again both physically and mentally, and live with an STI.  Cleanliness does not have anything to do with whether or not you have an STI.

So let’s put some other language around it. Instead of saying “I just got my STI tests back and I’m clean!” or “you don’t have anything to worry about – I’m clean,” let’s try “I just got my STI tests back and they are negative” or  ”you don’t have anything to worry about because I brought protection!” 

If someone has an STI, this does not eliminate them as either a potential partner or sexual being. I do believe in open honesty about ALL transferable medical issues; if I have a cold, I let me partner know. Ditto with mono, or a cold sore (which like 75% of the population has, and is Herpes Simplex I). I share that information, as that my partners can make decisions for themselves. That’s my ethical choice.

However, not everyone follows that. And people can say they have a “clean” or negative panel even when they don’t (or haven’t even gotten tested). And let’s say that someone hands you a copy of their negative test? It’s not a promise. Some STIs have a 6 month incubation period before they show up, and if your new partner had unprotected sex OF ANY KIND with any one after their test, but before you, there is always the possibility that they have contracted something. So we can pretend that we know 100% percent whether our partners have an STI or not, but do we even know for sure about ourselves?

Some clubs (kink and swingers) do not allow sexual contact by members with STIs.  Others don’t have it as a rule, but severely discourage it.  Yet no one cares whether you give mono or the flu (which, while not long term, can be certainly more dangerous and devastating than many STIs.

So whether or not you are ok with your partner having an STI, let’s talk about it from a different angle. There is nothing shameful in having an STI. A large percentage of our population either has, or has had, an STI (or more) at some point in their life.  You might have even had one (or have one) and not even known it. Why discriminate when you can use a barrier? And even if you don’t ever have a partner with a known STI, why not try using less discriminatory language?  Clean schmeam.  Let’s try positive/negative, or something like that.

-Essin’ Em

I’m not sure if anyone watches Rachael Maddow (if you don’t, you should, and not just because she is incredibly witty and ridiculously hot). However, if you haven’t you should check out her site.

Last week, she had a couple of shows that talked about the anti-gay bill in Uganda, and Richard Cohen’s “gay fixing” program that inspired this whole thing.

This post isn’t about that.  However, his book/CD set title “Coming Out Straight” made me think.

I hate that coming out is specific only to what is currently minority populations.  One comes out as queer, as kinky, as non-monogamous. It’s very rare to come out as straight, as monogamous, as vanilla (unless your community is queer/non-monogamous/kinky, in which you ARE then the minority).

Why do we have this default of “you should only come out/express your sexuality if you’re not the norm?”  I mean, really, what’s wrong either with no one having come out, or having everyone come out? Why is it so specific?

I mean yes, I understand why people in the minority choose to come out.  Living your life as it is, instead of hiding things, is freeing.  As is strength in numbers. But what if we could just love who we wanted to love, and fuck who we wanted to fuck, and commit to who we wanted to commit to without having to fly our flag?

At Sex 2.0 last year, Sarah Dopp said something about not all people (I think specifically queers, but also talking about kinksters, etc) want to wave their flag high, and they shouldn’t be made to out themselves, or even stand up and be counted. Not everyone is for a cause — some people just wanted to be who they are and not have to fight the battle everyday.

Conversely, what if we started a bigger dialogue about sexuality, so that everyone was talking about their journeys, regardless of the type of sex they like to have, or who they’re attracted to. What if instead of the default of straight/monogamous/vanilla, we actually encourage people (kids, teens and adults) to think about their sexuality, and share it with their friends, partners, families (birth and chosen). 

I know I speak of a much more utopian society, and that many of my questions on this are rhetorical. If we live in a society where we continue to be unequal (as of late, think of New York and New Jersey), how can we ever expect to be anything other than the “other” (in contrast to the default/norm)? What is it about our society, our culture, about humanity that we have to box things in, segregate things out, make the normal and the other?

Just thoughts. I know there is no answer to any of these questions. But I would like to hear a dialogue about coming out as a non-minority. Have any of you done it? Told your friends/family/partners/co-workers that you’re hetero? Or that you’re monogamous? How was it taken? How did it feel?

-Essin’ Em

Sinclair (of Sugarbutch.net) wrote an amazing piece this week on Femme Invisibility. I wanted to stand up and cheer. Thank fucking god and mooses that someone BESIDES the femmes has had the gumption to write about this. I’ve written about it before. People have written about it on the Femme’s Guide. Other femmes have written about it on their blog. But very few n0n-femmes write about.

It? It’s queer-looking privilege, for lack of a better term. It’s one of the things that the femme spiral I created and that some femmes (myself included) have tattooed on themselves was DESIGNED to combat. While in the past, it was hard for butches to be seen and visible, so they got the blue stars, it is now sometimes impossible for femmes to be seen an acknowledges in the queer community.  We are seen as feminine straight girls, alternative straight girls, bi girls who don’t know what we want. It’s as though wearing lipstick or heels (which doesn’t define femme, but seems to be an outside indicator of identity for many) somehow deletes our own queerness.

I’ve had this issue for years. It’s bad enough when I go to lesbian poker night, and get hit on by the only cis guy there, because he thinks I’ve wandered in to the wrong bar, just like he did, that I’m certainly not a dyke. But it hurts so much more when I would go to dyke nights, and have people stare at me, wondering what this “fruit fly” was doing there, when butch dykes would laugh at me when I offered to buy them a drink (because goddess knows no one was asking me), and ask me where my boyfriend was.

I hated wearing rainbows, but I did it all the time, because I wanted people to know. I’d “gender drop” in conversation (similar to name droping, but more like “oh, well, my ex-girlfriend used to ____” or “this trans guy I was dating did this thing____.”). No reason to other than it helped to “validate” my identity as queer to the people I talked to. I always feel like I have to out myself in conversation first, because I don’t “look” queer, whatever that means.

I used to tell people that I’d love to get a short “dyke hair cut” but couldn’t, because I’d have a Jew-Fro. Then I stopped telling them that. I love my longer hair. I like it curly, and I like it straight, and I love playing with it when I get ready. While I wear jeans and t-shirt some times, I much prefer skirts and dresses (ah, the breeze! and the ability to have an easy quicky at all times). I don’t wear a ton of make up, but I do enjoy what I wear. I like having the door opened for me by queer people, and I love cunt. Mine, and others people’s. Period.

When I’m out and about with Q, I am much more validated. We’ve talked about this a lot. As she is butch/gender queer identified, when she says “my partner,” or we walk down the street holding hands, i am much more often seen as queer. Why? Because she “looks” queer, and so if she’s queer, and we’re together, I must be queer by default. Obviously. But I’ve also been out with her, and have had other people hit on her. On one hand, this is hot. My partner is fucking sexy and wanted and awesome. On the other hand, as very few people are out as poly, them hitting on her makes the assumption that even though we’re sitting together or dancing together, I must not be queer, so therefore, she must be available.

I like being read as who I am. It’s one of the things that attracted me to Q in the beginning. She had some to my strap on class, and yes, I had thought she was cute, but I wasn’t really planning on making a move until she came up to me after it was done.  

Q: So, are your sex toys really coordinated to be red, black and animal print?

Me: Yes. Some white as well. It’s important to look good while fucking.

Q: Damn, you are SUCH a femme.

BAM. She saw me.  Just like Sinclair writes about, how every once in a while, femmes do get recognized and seen, Q saw me. She saw me, and she acknowledged me.  She didn’t ask me after my strap on class when the last time I’d had a guy fuck me (oh yes, I’ve been asked that). She didn’t try and quiz me on whether I was queer enough or not. She saw it and let me know, and we’ve been together almost a year now.

I hate feeling invisible. I feel it all the time, as a woman, as a queer person, as a disabled person. I am constantly having to speak up, to come out, to ask to be validated. I should not have to feel this within my own community.  I don’t assume that everyone who has short hair and a big belt buckle is queer, so why assume that anyone in a dress isn’t?

Would love for this to become a discussion, and am HIGHLY encouraging comments and more posts on other blogs about this issue.

-Essin’ Em

I’ve been having a lot of high pain days lately.  Between moving, and driving, and unpacking, everything hurts. I dislocated my knee the other night, and displaced my pelvis, straining my psoas and illiacus. Yowch.  My days have mostly revolved around icing, pain killers, and then sleeping off both the drugs and the pain.  I’ve been trying to get some PSO calls, but I need to work on advertising my NiteFlirt account a lot more. Also working on Pro-Domme stuff.

However, the pain is consistently interrupting my life.  I can’t get out of the house to make me feel like I’m not stuck in this condo. I can’t find any jobs that I qualify for that I can apply for online, but between the pain and the pain killers, I can’t really go out and look for work (not to mention that I can’t really walk in and apply for a job at any place that requires me to stand on my feet/walk around/life heavy items for the work). The hot tub in the complex is broken, so I can’t use it to encourage my muscles to relax, and I’m out of muscle relaxers and almost out of pain killers, and cannot afford either the doctor or the prescriptions.

I feel like I’m disappointing Q by not being able to finish unpacking, by not finding a job, by not going out food shopping, etc while she’s working.  She says otherwise, but it’s my own guilt.  It’s making me irritable too – pain has a mega tendency to do that to people.

I know this will always be an issue in my life, that it will only get worse. I NEED to figure out how to manage it when it comes and stays for several days, instead of one night at a time.  If the quantity of my posts slows down for it a bit, you know what I’m trying to figure out now; jobs, pain, and living in a new city. My apologies in advance. I’ll try to keep up with it, but just in case, fair warning!

-Essin’ Em

Someone told me I should have more shocking titles, because it meant that people would actually read my posts.  I’m not sure if this one is shocking enough, or if it’ll change my readership, but it was quite fitting.

I don’t hate “breeders” in that I don’t hate straight people.  If you’re unfamiliar with the term breeders, it refers to straight people, hetero people, people having flesh penis in vagina intercourse.

I hate the TERM breeders.  It’s used mostly (although not exclusively) by LGBTQ people to refer to the “straighties” if you will.  

Don’t get it?  See, it comes from the concept that all straight people want babies. Henceforce, they’re breeders. And clearly, lesbian/gay/queer/etc couples can’t make babies, cause you know it’s impossible, so they don’t breed.

Ugh.  Let’s talk about sterotypes. All straight people want to make teh babies. Riiiight. Which is why contraception and birth control and tube tying is so popular.  Hello! Lots of straight/hetero couples are childless by choice.  They don’t little munchkins.  Yet, they still fall under the “breeders” tag.  On the other hand, lots of queer couples are having kiddos, whether via IVF (in-vitro fertilization) or adoption or using a friend of the couple for sperm or eggs. But noooo, they’re not breeders, not even when they are, in fact, breeding.

Basically, it’s a ridiculously stereotyping term, but it’s somehow “ok” because a minority is using it on the majority (think people of color calling white people “crackers”). Why? Broad generalizing terms that are not claimed by the people you’re using them on (if someone WANTS to identify as a breeder, obviously, I completely respect that) is just not a Samuel Adams. 

And that, my dear readers, is why I hate Breeders.

-Essin’ Em

The week or two ago, Sequoia wrote an interesting post about nudity and sexuality.  It got me thinking.

What is wrong with nudity? I mean, seriously. There are few things I love more in this world (Q, our cats, sex, reading a good book, etc) than hanging around naked. Whether it’s reading in bed nude, my body against the sheets, or standing out in the warm sun with not a stich of clothes, and cuddling naked with Q on the couch, I absolutely LOVE being naked.

And yet, even though we’re born naked, it feels good to be naked, even though it’s just as healthy to be naked, society has a huge beef with it. 

Because obviously nudity = sex/pervert.  It’s apparently impossible to be naked without clearly wanting to have sex with anyone and everyone in your path.  Nude beaches are few and far between, as are nudist colonies, and people are shocked about those that attend these areas. Moreover, homophobia comes into play, because for some reason, people think that anyone who is gay and naked is now a pedophile.

Sequoia talked about how she sub-conciously likes to touch herself when she’s naked. I’m the same way…although I don’t even need to be completely naked to be doing that without thinking about. It’s not usually in a sexual sense — I have an itch, or am enjoying the breeze, or it just feels nice to have touch all over my body with nothing in the way.

Why is this so bad?  I hated my body, HATED it, until I started the tradition of my car being a topless car for everyone in it after 2am.  Let me tell you, this increased my body image SO much, seeing other people naked, getting to be naked, etc. Ditto goes for thee nude pictures we took and auctioned off  the three years I was in the Vagina Monologues in undergrad.

Nudity save my life. My horrible self-image of my body contributed to  some of my epic depression. It still does at times…I mean, I watch porn I’ve made, and question this roll, or that scar at times. Or I have days where I don’t fit into my favorite outfit the way I want. Granted, I love my body for the most part now, but I still, just like anyone else, have days I question my body and my body image.

But I KNOW how much worse it would be if I hadn’t learned to love being nude. Between theatre, and pictures, and porn, and kink, and living on my own where I can wander around my apartment (and Q’s place) completely naked, sleep naked, bake naked (and cook in an apron — hot oil is hot).

So why are we so against nudity. Other than the possibility of sunburns, or hot oil burns, why have we developed a hatred of nudity, and why have so many nudist developed this high level of homophobia.  We’re born without clothes, without significant sexual attractions (although fetuses and infants DO masturbate, P-fucking-S). When do we learn to be ashamed of our bodies, and to be horrified by different orientations, making assumtions about them? Why?

-Essin’ Em