-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 stitch 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?

Original Post

A Single Tail

I have tried a whole bunch of different fairly “traditional” kink stuff. I mean, the stuff you see being bandied about on an average dungeon play night. I’ve bottomed to almost everything you see on a regular basis, and learned to top on most of these things too. I’m talking rope play, bondage, fire play, violet wand play, flogging, TENS unit e-stim, spanking, punching, caning, piercing/needle play, service, fisting, orgasm control, humiliation play, paddling, rope suspension (haven’t topped with this), etc. 

One of the few things that I see on a fairly regular basis, that I have never ever tried, is a single tail. They scare the hell out of me. I mean, you spank someone wrong, and they’re going to have trouble sitting for a week (and some sore ligaments).  You humiliate someone in a way they don’t like, and you probably never play again (and they made need therapy).  But you fuck up with a single tail? You can literally flay someone in half and kill them.  And there are a lot of people in the kink scene who say they know what they’re doing, and don’t; that is how many many many accidents of all types of play happen.

For a while, my moose was dating someone who was actually pretty good with single tail, whipping in general. He had a lot of them, he’d gone through training by many people (including members of my kink family), and lots of people I trusted also trusted him. I told him more than once that if I ever decided to try out a single tail, he’d be the one I’d let do it to me.  And then he did somethings during his relationship with Evey that I didn’t find particularly trust worthy, or ethical, and decided that I was never going to let him touch me with his whips.  This was an activity where I needed a lot of trust, and I just didn’t have it in him.

So I’d put single tails out of my mind for a good, long time. I decided I wasn’t anti-single tails, just anti single tails for *me.*

And then, at Thunder in the Mountains, I watched an amazing single tail scene. It wasn’t about pain, or leaving bloody marks; no no. It was almost a dance. This woman, who I’d never seen before, and probably might not have noticed in any other context, was dancing, almost in an entrancing manner, as her partner single tailed her. She stared him in the eyes as she walked towards him, making him back up. Then she swayed into the hits, almost rhythmically taking them. She danced as he hit her, and she made him dance as he lashed out against her. While not particularly attracted to either member of this couple, nor to the type of play at hand, I thought it was one of the most beautiful scenes I’d ever watched, almost a dance rather than a scene.

Does this mean I’m ready for someone to bust my single tail virginity? Not yet, no. But it certainly put it in a whole new perspective for me.

-Essin’ Em

Luckily, at Thunder was a friend who happened to be a nurse. I bought some vet wrap for a non-kinky purpose; I used it for compression. When I got “home” to Phoenix, we had a quick bit to eat, and then headed to a local ER. The one my friend recommended was more than 35 minutes away, so we chose one in a hoity-toity area near us, assuming that because the area was rick, they’d be able to hired decent staff.

Boy, was I wrong.  Not only did they not have anyone on staff to help me with a wheel chair, but once I waited the few requisite hours to make it to triage, the nurse there not only had no idea what synvisc (my injections) were, but couldn’t seem to figure out how to put my sulfa drug allergy in my chart. Sulfa drug allergies are incredibly common, yet she had no clue, and finally gave up, just writing it on my allergy bracelet. It got worse from there. 

We were put in a room with no pillows (forget my neck — I wanted to elevate my leg), no ice pack, and no way to press a button or get ahold of a nurse. Once the nurse finally came in, he rattled off a list of things it could be, and possible solutions. Not so with the doctor — he gave me more percocet (despite the fact that I told him I already was ON narcotics to handle the pain), and said that if I didn’t have a blood clot (which I didn’t), then it wasn’t an emergency, and it didn’t matter. No offer to drain my knee, or deal with the fact my foot was as large as my calf.  In fact, when I pointed out I thought my allergic reaction to the red in my tattoo might be infected, he told me “no, that’s just the ink spreading out.” I had circles of reddish-purple irritation ONLY around the red leaves, yet his brilliant answer was that the ink was spreading out. Right.

Finally, after the ultra sounds (negative for blood clots), and waiting for another 3 hours with no nurse checking on me (no one ever asked me my pain level — every ER I’ve been to has always asked CONSTANTLY where I’d am with pain), and Q having to ask not once, not twice, but three times just to get a pillow for my knee, I was sent home. I asked the doctor if he’d be willing to drain my knee, or put some sort of anti inflammatory in it, but he looked me in the eye and told me it wouldn’t help. He told me doctor’s don’t like to touch other doctor’s patients. I pointed out my doctor wasn’t in state, so he told me to find a surgeon here, but I’d have a hard time.  I explained back to him what he just said, and asked him to drain my knee, PLEASE. I reminded him that it took forever to get into an ortho as a new patient. He told me later on that he talked to an ortho in the ER, and he had promised to get me in his office in the next few days, and that he was “obligated” by the referral to see me.

I found out the next day when I called that he was under absolutely no obligation to see me, at any point, and that his next “new patient” appointment was more than two weeks away, and that ER doctors (at this ER) lie to their patients about this all the time.

I caused a stink. I explained that this wasn’t just random knee pain, but that I couldn’t even bend my knee enough to sit down on the toilet, that I couldn’t function at all. I called my ortho in Denver; mooses bless him. He was in surgery, but his PA called me back right away, and he texted her from outside the OR with his suggestions (draining/aspirating the knee, and injecting it with cortisone to alliviate the swelling). The PA had the ortho tech call SynVisc to see if this was a common reaction, and they called me back to let me know it was unusual (especially in one knee) but not unheard of. And finally, I snuck in on Tuesday to the Ortho in AZ.

What did he do? He looked at it for about 15 seconds, told me the only thing for immediate relief was to drain it right away, and inject it with cortisone. Surprise. When he drained it, he literally drained almost a full cup of fluid from it.  You know those cups you have to pee in? Full of fluid of grossness from my knee.

Suddenly, I could actually bend my knee. It still hurt, and I still needed the cane, but I could actually put a slight amount of pressure on it without it giving out on me. 

I was so angry at that ER doctor. And then I found out that I knew someone who’d gone to the same ER; he had a blood clot, and they sent him home because it was a “small one.” Two days later, he had an embolism in his lungs. So I guess that not having a cup of fluid drained from my leg isn’t that big of a deal, because it couldn’t have killed me.

But this whole experience made me question how Q viewed me, whether she’d given up, whether she’d finally realized how difficult it was going to be living and dealing with someone like me.  But that’s a whole new post.

-Essin’ Em

Arizona has my job, which I love. I love Fascinations, and my co-workers are awesome. I like our condo that we’re renting. We have made a few friends out here that we really enjoy. I am trying my hardest to find things to do and people to spend time with here, but it’s so hard to go somewhere that just *feels* 100% like I’m home…and then leave.

When I’m in Denver, I have less migraines. I feel less stress, less anxiety. When I start feeling anxious, I just spend some time looking at the beautiful Rocky Mountains, and I can literally feel my body and mind relax. It’s this amazing feeling that I’ve never been able to replicate (although I got close when I lived in Germany). It’s so calming, just to lean up against a tree full of green, starting at the mountains, take in a deep breath, and just live and enjoy it.

When we were there, people from all different communities we’ve been a part of told us how much they wanted us back. Kinksters, queers, friends, former co-workers, former cohorts, musicians, family, you name it; everyone we met (even our favorite waitress at one of our favorite restaurants) told us how much they would like us to come home, home meaning Colorado. It’s so heartening knowing how much we are missed, how much people want us back. Hell, even my orthopedic surgeon told me how much he missed seeing me on a regular basis.

On the contrary, when we were gone, no one from Arizona told us we were missed. No one took the time to fetlife, or facebook, or just text and say “hey, I know you’re in CO, but we’re looking forward to having you back.” We have one set of friends that helped me to find an emergency room when I got back, but that was it. There is no sense of love, caring, friendship or community here. We still feel predominantly like interlopers, annoying people into tolerating us.

Within a year or two, we hope to make it back to Colorado.  Q can’t leave her job just quite yet, as she’s making huge strides in the LGBTQ community, rights, conversation, etc on that campus.  My work has agreed when I moved to transfer me, which is great, since I love it. It’s just so hard to have to wait. To visit, and have that feeling of community, have that feeling of love from others, of the calmness of nature…and then to have to leave it.

Colorado, my heart still belongs to you,

-Essin’ Em

-Essin’ Em

*Ties (especially gender queer/butch people wearing them)

*Q, especially when dressed up, and properly mohawked

*Eyeglasses

*Lighting

*Massages

*Thunder

*Dark Chocolate

*Ice Cream

*People passionate for social justice

*Corsets/Cinchers

*Gender queer-ness/Gender fuckery

*Other people packing

*The Hitachi Magic Wand

*Duct Tape on my Moose

*Kisses on my neck

*Knives

*Vampire Gloves

*The smell of books (especially old books)

*Black nitrile gloves

*Vaginal Fisting

*Queer Porn

*Introspective Tattoos

*Train rides

*Hotel beds

*Hot tubs

*Pools

*Being submerged

*Snow/rain/fog

*Fire

*Lilac/magnolias/lily of the valley/gladiolas scents

*Leopard print

*Certain music

*Pedicures (this is new, as of last week)

*Having my head pet

*Cuddling

*Grasshoppers (the drink)

*Breasts

Buy one day, send me a copy of your confirmation at EssinEm at Gmail Dot Com, and you get a little erotica poem from me to you (custom).

Buy three days,  send me a copy of your confirmation (see above), get a custom sexy picture (tell me your favorite body part/colors/etc).

Buy five days, send me a copy of your confirmation (see above), get 2 pictures and a custom piece of erotica written about you.

Buy anymore than that, and I’ll give you all the above, PLUS send you a “prize!” Perhaps lube, perhaps edible body paint, perhaps kegel balls, perhaps a toy…depends on how many days you buy.

To get all of these (or any), just head on over to the Sex Blogger Calendar page and purchase your day(s) — don’t forget, you can buy me days as presents too (I’d love love love that!). Then email me at EssinEm at Gmail dot com with a copy of your confirmation of purchase, and a little bit about you so I know what to write/take pictures of (if you bought more than 5 days, I need your address too!).

Proceedes go to the Woodhull Foundation to support sexual freedom — how can you argue with that?

That’s all – go forth!

-Essin’ Em

I got a message back telling me that I was not “ready” for this group, as clearly I needed “Trans 101.” Why? Because I was sick of men messaging me with cock pictures asking if I wanted to play, so I directed all “bio/cis men” to my pro-domme site, telling them I didn’t have sex outside of my relationship with Q (and porn), and that if they wanted me to beat them up, I’d be happy to oblige. For money.

I purposely used the term bio in this context because most of the people messaging me on FetLife that fell into the cock-picture/play with me group would not understand the term cis or cisgender. I reached out to them where they were at. Apparently, this means I need Trans 101.

Their other complaint? I didn’t write enough about femme being my gender on my profile for it to be true. Clearly, I was just making that up. Because it’s not like I don’t write enough here and on the Femme’s Guide about Femme being a gender, and an identity, and so much more than just the feminine side of the spectrum. I ALSO needed to put it on a social network profile page for it to be true (please note, I don’t write about it on Facebook either. Why? Because I’d rather write about why I’m there, promote my blogs, and then have people come read my thoughts on gender in a blog format, rather than a note on Facebook or FetLife).

What I don’t think this person realized as they spat out hateful words towards me was exactly how much they’d hurt. I don’t identify as trans, no. I also don’t think anyone (trans or otherwise) can master gender. Why? Gender is ever constant, ever evolving. Anyone who said they know everything there is about gender is a liar, because by the time they say that, something else will have changed as people create and develop their own identities.

But for them to tell me I needed Trans 101?  Ouch. I like to think I have a fairly good grasp on trans and gender queer ettiquite, having had trans partners (and currently engaged to a person who identifies as gender queer), and having many friends of ALL different identities. I have personally chatted with Kate Bornstein as I drove her around Phoenix. I have shot for Point of Contact making sure people of all genders (including someone who identifies as a T-girl) were represented. I start the majority of my classes/workshops talking about how not everyone with a vagina is a woman, and not every woman has a vagina, etc. In smaller workshops, I ask everyone their pronoun preference before they begin. I’m teaching a workshop for TRANSform Arizona this fall on Safer Sex for Transfolk and Their Lovers (named as such by the trans organizers of this conference). I was always pointing out the difference between sex and gender, and the need to not make assumptions throughout my grad school program. I read gender theory on a regular basis. I try to change cisgender centric policies wherever I go, including aruging with local coffee shops and restaurants about creating gender neutral bathrooms.

I try to be as much of an ally as I can to ALL members of the queer community – this includes speaking out against biph0bia, validating those who are lesbian or gay identified (rather than queer identified), using my visible feminitity to educate those who might not listen to someone who presents differently, working to change policies/laws/rules to be more gender friendly, etc. For someone to tell me I need to take “Trans 101″ cut me pretty deep.

Should it matter? No. I have plenty of friends of all genders and orientations, and they were quick to tell me when this happened how much they appreciated me. However, after all my work in trying to support the T part of the queer community, and to educate myself and others, and to just be there to listen, it fucking hurts to have someone say that to me. I’m a member of the queer community too, and have just gotten a slap in the face. I, as a Femme, am apparently not queer enough to belong, unless I rub my Femme gender in everyone’s face (rather than just on here and the Femme’s guide).

And to that, I say fuck you. How dare you police my identity? How dare you tell me I’m not good enough? How dare you create a hierarchy of oppression within our minority community? You are doing us all a disservice. 

-Essin’ Em

Thanks to Q, I had the opportunity last Wednesday night to go check out the new movie with Annette Benning, Julianne Moore and Mark Ruffalo, entitled The Kids Are Alright.

Now, the basic plot, as advertised, is that there is a lesbian couple, who have an 18 year old daughter and a 15 year old son. The son convinces the daughter to get in contact with the sperm donor that provided said sperm to create the kids (each mom carried a child). They meet him, and now the family dynamic changes, and the movie ensues.

Voila. It’s supposed to be cool and trendy and did super well at Sundance. I had some hopes for this movie, in that it was showing an LGBTQ family as a REAL family, not as hot and sexy lesbians, or those with issues coming out, or any of the other many ways lesbians have been portayed. They have kids, they have a dining room table, and a house, and conversations and the same issues that every other type of family has with communication, and teenagers, and so on…

And now, for the spoilers. If you don’t want to hear about the actual movie, stop reading now.

Ok, so basically, you have fairly happy family. Some issues, like all families, but there are two teenagers, and two moms, and everyone seems to communicate fairly well and get along, although the moms definitely could have used a couples counselor to help them work through a feel control/free-flowing hippy issues.

Then suddenly, the sperm donor (Paul) is brought into their lives. Jules (Moore) is a more woo-woo, free flowing femme-ish type, and is open to him. Nic (Benning) is a bit more andro/butchy, and seems to be nervous (understandably) about letting this guy into their kids’ lives. Long story short, Nic starts doing Paul’s (Ruffalo) landscaping and BAM. They kiss. And if that wasn’t enough, they start having sex, and the noises she makes with him are waaaay different and seemingly “better” or “more satisfying” (according to the movie) than the sex she has with Nic.  She tells him she’s married, she’s gay, she loves Nic, but then, more sex between Paul and Jules.  Jules keeps it a secret from Nic until they have a family dinner at Paul’s place (Nic is willing and trying to get to know him better), and Nic goes to the bathroom and finds Jules hairbrush…and hair in the drain (like at their home), and then in his bed. The movie ends with them removing Paul from their lives and getting back together and talking about how marriage is tough, but they love each other and will work through it.

My beef? It’s two fold. First of all, this movie perpetuated lesbian stereotype right and left, from the drinking massive amounts of wine to the butch/femme to the station wagon of sorts to the watching gay-male porn, to the being woo-woo and wanting hugs in unison (you’ll have to see it to get it). It made a big deal out of Jules not shaving her legs (gasp!). And worst of all, it perpetuated the stereotype that lesbian relationships don’t work out not because of family/relationship/communication/wants and needs issues, but because truly, all every woman, lesbian or not, wants is OBVIOUSLY a man. Every woman must have a penis in order to feel fulfilled. It also perpetuates the idea that lesbian (or gay or queer) relationships are not as “real” as straight marriage; Paul seems to glaze over the fact that Jules is married to Nic, and even suggests that he and Jules start a life and family together at one point, as if her 18+ year marriage to Nic was completely invalid. Way to give the anti-gay movement fuel for their fire about how dysfunctional lesbian families are.

Issue two? The fact that I feel that this movie is going to stir up even MORE biphobia in the queer community. For some reason, we as a community tend to exclude bi folks as being queer, as if them having a relationship with a cis-man (bi women) or cis-woman (men) makes them “less” queer. Now, while Jules never openly identified as bi, her sexuality was clearly a bit more fluid that just “lesbian/gay,” as she openly enjoyed sex with Paul. So basically, we have a queer or bi acting woman on screen, cheating on her lesbian wife with a man. Which seems to be the issue that is ALWAYS brought up when biphobia rears its ugly head; don’t date bi-women, because they’ll leave you for a man.

Now, I know that this generalizing statement is bullshit. As if dating a lesbian-identified woman will somehow protect you from cheating/being cheated on. Infidelity hits ALL types of relationships, regardless of the gender or orientation of the partners. Period. However, movies like this seem to reinforce this misnomer, that bi-women of any sort will always end up going for a man. NOT FUCKING TRUE.

So in the end, I AM glad that their is a movie bringing lesbian visibility to the big screen, as I think this movie will be a hit. I did like that it was a lesbian family, with gender presentation diversity in the two women. However, I have a LOT of reservations about how the content of this movie will be used against the LGBTQ community by those who are against it, as well as the issues surrounding bisexuality that this movie may serve to worsen.

And those, dear readers, are my thoughts on the upcoming movie The Kids Are Alright, to be released July 16th at an Indie theatre near you.

-Essin’ Em

Photo by Michael Barone

Happy 4th of July. Happy “Independence Day.”

Enjoy your BBQs, your cold beers.

Remember for a moment all of our friends and family serving our country, fighting to uphold wars that should never have happened, and to help create independence for those who do not yet have it.

Remember for a moment those in this country who are not independent, whose freedom and rights are not equal.

Those who can not marry. Those who cannot adopt. Those who cannot visit their loved ones in the hospital. Those who do not have insurance. Those who live in tent cities. Those who don’t know when their next meal is.

I am not saying don’t celebrate. I’m not saying to not be patriotic.

But please think. Think about what you ARE celebrating. Think about our country’s bloody history. Think about who and what we’re fighting for, and what we aren’t fighting for.

Be careful. Please choose not to drink and drive (or drink and boat). If you’re lighting fireworks, don’t blow yourself up (and if you live in a place where they’re illegal, please don’t light them and cause fires, kthnxby).

Celebrate.

But also pause and think about what this celebration means.

Happy Fourth of July!

-Essin’ Em

As a side note, every thing at Fascinations and FunLove.com is 25% off today; toys, lubes, books, DVDs, massage oils, condoms, etc.  Just saying…

Fascinations 4th of July Sale

I remember when I was in college, and decided to try shaving my vulva. It wasn’t for anyone; I was single and not sexually active at the time, so it was just an experiment. I discovered that I liked having less hair down there, as it meant that I could feel the vibrations of my toys better, and I just liked the way it felt, and the way it looked. When we did our yearly nude photos for the Vagina Monologues cast, I was the ONLY woman out of 20+ that removed public hair, two years running. People questioned my feminism, others stared; I felt like a minority by shaving.

I continued to shave (and waxed once…it worked well, but I don’t see the purpose in dropping that kind of a money when I can get razors much much much cheaper). Some of my partners commented on it with surprise, but slowly, it became more mainstream, and less people said anything. Until I started sleeping with queer people. Many of them were shocked that I chose to remove hair, or at least commented on it as odd; at the time, many people in the queer community weren’t removing their pubic hair.

That too has changed. A lot. It seems that most femmes and feminine people (including many guy-identified people) choose to remove their pubic hair. To the point where, at a talk I was having the other day, I said something about the labia majora naturally containing hair, and someone raised their hand and asked why, since “everyone just removes it anyways.”

Not everyone removes their pubic hair, and I do feel, for some part, that pubic hair removal is a trend. Just like not everyone wore a bob, or a beehive, not everyone changes up their pubic hair. Some grow it and groom it with pride, others let it go wild, some people trim it, other leave strips of hair, and some go all bare. All of these are 100% valid choices, as long as they are made by the possessors of said hair, and not partners telling them the way they should or should not look.

Please, let’s not make peopel feel shamed for choosing to cultivate their pubic hair in the same way that I was made to feel shamed by fellow feminists for choosing to remove my hair. Hair is a personal choice, and I want to make sure that when we talk about sex positive, and cultural change and norms and all that, we look at how our views on pubic hair have changed even in the last half decade, and support people’s choice, regardless. Cause as they say, hair today, gone tomorrow.

-Essin’ Em