Ok ok ok but look- if your sub can't be your hype-man*, who can, really? Don't tell me there aren't doms with a praise kink, either. There are plenty of them, and that's totally ok!
*(Of whatever gender)
Hello my lovelies!
All my recent writing seems to have stirred up some interest, and I am flattered!
But I wanted to say that, while it is early days, still, I have met an amazing dom! He is intelligent, compassionate, progressive, dominant in a way that feels right to me, sensual, interesting, honorable, caring, and exciting. I feel that he and I have a lot in common, both in kink and out of it, and hope that we will end up having a deep, long term relationship.
As such, in terms of partners and potential partners, I'm currently focused on him. We are getting to know each other, finding our stride, and building trust. If all goes well, I'll be focused on him and my primary partner for a long time to come.
So, thank you so much for your interest, but I consider myself to be polysaturated at this time.
I'm always open to friendly conversations, however!
-Ev
I would say it had started with the ghost of a touch, but that wasn't it. Not really.
I think it was a glance, and a thought.
I was walking on the honeycomb pavement that overlooked the East River, pools of streetlights and shadow, though the latter was weakened by the ambient light pollution that never quite let the eyes rest.
There is a stillness in the city, late at night, that feels almost liminal, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for something to come. It isn't silent- the city is never silent- but the air of anticipation is there, like a forest where the birds have ceased to sing. Sirens still wail, cars still rush over the streets in a pattern that has nothing to do with traffic lights, or the law, pumping like blood in and out of the heart of Manhattan.
Even so, it all feels a little bit muffled, like when the soundtrack goes quiet in a film because someone is about to speak.
There were people, too, often tense, unused to travelling in such sparse numbers, wondering where the predators lay in wait. Some hunched down into their coats. Some made a little too much effort to project confidence they did not possess. The drunks and the users staggered and wove through the electric lantern light, oblivious to it all. One of those shouted something mostly unintelligible and most certainly anatomically improbable at me.
"Yeah, screw you too, buddy," I muttered. It paid to be polite, and this was New York City. Taking the time to cuss someone out was practically a love letter.
My mind wandered, and, unconsciously, I began to hum "Duo des fleurs" from Lakme- an opera that should never see the light of day due to its horrendously racist overtones, but it did have, hidden amidst the anti-Hindu screed, one beautiful gem of a song that had gained a moment in popular culture decades ago due to its appearance in a movie.
Though I hummed it under my breath, I felt it kept the feeling of pressure before a storm somewhat at bay.
Ahead of me, a man strode down the wide pedestrian walkway, his steps powerful and measured. I only barely registered how quiet he was, for such a large man. He wasn't overly tall, but very broad under his long, thick coat. It looked nice, giving me a small shot of envy. My own sweater wasn't holding up well in these cold late Autumn winds. It couldn't be that much above freezing. Not, mind you, that I had even thought to put it on that night. I had gone for fashion, and I had some small regrets about it.
His face was that of an ordinary man. He looked pleasant, at first glance. Older. grey hair shorn short under a hat, a normal sort of face. Italian origins, maybe like so many New Yorkers. An intrusive thought chose to hit me at that moment, a product of my overactive imagination that was constantly running through scenarios of "what if," and for just a moment, I pictured my arms wrapped around his neck and back, his hips between my legs thrusting into me. What would it be to make love to this man, this stranger, my mind wondered, unbidden.
I knew this thought well, and paid it no heed, but the stranger, in that very moment, looked up, and his eyes, sharp and bright, seemed to catch me out, as if he could see right to the core of me, where my traitorous musings hid.
I sucked in an involuntary breath, and after a long second, his eyes slipped away. He touched his fingertips to his hat as he ducked his head, and I saw a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth.
His stride never broke, and he passed, a good 10 feet to the side of me. I realized then that I had somehow stumbled to a halt without noticing. My cheeks heated, and I quickly shook my head, which I raised just a little too high, and walked on. Everything was coincidental, I was sure.
I didn't know, then, how I had been marked, and would not for some time.
I leaned against the railing, beyond which gently churned the dark, roiling waters. Shipping cranes lurked like Star Wars mechs to the left, bridges glittered before me. The wind rattled the fallen multi-hued leaves on the ground, briefly drowning out the susurrations of a thousand tires on worn, tired asphalt.
My dark burgundy hair was lifted off my neck for the briefest moment, and I felt the breeze caress its nape like a lover. It whirled and turned, brushing the tip of my ear, sliding down like a whisper, then trailing under my jaw and down my throat.
And involuntary shiver burst forth from the base of my spine, arching my back as it raced up into my shoulders. I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck, and behind me, in the shadows of the benches with their pretty curved arm-rests that were hostile architecture in disguise, as if beauty excused callousness, I felt a weight. Without turning I could already feel it. Looming. Pulling. Nerves awoke in my lower back that arched it a little more, some sensation between pleasure and electric intensity.
Was my gut telling me something? It felt like more than that.
Slowly, like swimming through the air in a dream, I turned. A part of me wanted to run, but as for the rest? Whatever this was that I sensed, I wanted to KNOW it.
He was sitting in the middle of the far-left bench, head tilted, eyes glittering like hessonite. His smile was gentle, but it made me shiver all the same. And then another image flashed before my mind's eye- a hand, broad and strong, palming the back of my neck, sliding his fingers down under the diaphanous folds of my pale gold gown, layers of chiffon and brocade whispering at the intrusion. A second hand, cupping my throat, which felt so delicate in his hands, pinning me in place with gentle strength. I was certain, in that moment, that I could not move, though he had used no force on me.
"Would you know more?" a voice murmured against the shell of my ear, but when I blinked and looked around me, there was no one else, only me, standing, my hips pressed taut against the cold railing, knuckles white as I gripped its edge, and the man, sitting 20 feet away, head tilted, unmoving.
I licked my lips, and, feeling ever so slightly self conscious, breathed out one word.
"Yes."
The crash of a trash can getting knocked over and the sound of whooping men shattered the stillness of the night. I whipped my head around to see what had happened, and when I turned back, he was gone.
There was a time in my life when I thought, wrongly, that I had to pay for my safety from the world by sacrificing my safety with a partner. That, to earn love, I had to make myself small, diminish myself, my needs, my boundaries. Give ground, always.
That was not submission, though I have always been that, at my heart, as well. That was the fawn response.
It took many years for me to slowly extricate myself from its clutches, and I must remain ever vigilant to not fall into them again. I am not a perfect being, and at times I do slip. Nor was I always blameless in my relationships. We, all of us, fail at times.
There was a time, too, when the darker side of my sexuality craved violence and pain. A part of me wanted to see how much I could take for someone. A part of me wanted to see if I could survive it. A part of me enjoyed it, that sharp edge of life, that rush of adrenaline and endorphins.
My sexuality still has dark, sharp edges, to be sure. That will never change.
The shape of it, though? That has changed a great deal.
I survived, somehow, so much pain, so much torture, and not the consensual kind. Days, months begging for a way out when there was none but death. Clinging to life by a thread, enduring, enduring, enduring, not because I wished to, but because I had no other choice.
It was only love that allowed me to make it through those darkest times- the love I had for those I would leave behind. The need to not hurt them that way. Some, I think, would have understood, but even some of them would have been heartbroken.
So many times, my trust and love were also betrayed. I gave and gave and gave of myself, desperate to please, to be enough, to not be too much, only to be turned against, in the end.
I had wonderful loves that blossomed and faded, too, leaving friendship behind.
So many times, I told myself, it was to be the last time. The final heartbreak. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot do this again," I wept to myself, and yet, I am what I am. I am Baldr's Gythja, and I cannot help but return to love.
For me, as I have said before, my submission and my heart are entwined. When I truly submit, completely, to the core of me, there you will find my love, also.
But as for pain? We are no longer friends. Intensity, yes, I crave that, and some things that I do might even seem like pain, but for me, they are not, because the pleasure vastly overrides it.
So then, what now?
Now, I seek to find my joy. To give pleasure, love, compassion, and to give my submission only to those who would treasure it with the depth that I would treasure them.
Not an afterthought. Not a dirty secret. Not a port in the storm. Not something to use and toss aside like garbage. Not someone who would think less of me for my yielding, or think me stupid or weak. Not a somewhat appealing option, forgotten when I am not present.
No.
Never again.
I do not, understand, cast aspersions on sadism and masochism. I understand these things. With consent, they can be beautiful. It's just not a road I can walk any longer. I carry too much pain, from moment to moment, as it is. Adding more is no longer a release from it.
I will never again accept abuse, nor will I make excuses for it. I will not accept neglect, dehumanization I never consented to, constantly inconsiderate behavior. I will be no-one's emotional punching bag. I will not accept the violation of my boundaries. I will not be punished for keeping myself safe, or holding to my values.
I will value myself, and give myself to someone who values me. In valuing myself, I will also show how highly I regard them- why would I give something I didn't respect to someone I did?
I have a beloved primary, whose love is steadfast. For that, I am deeply grateful, and I love him, in kind. We may no longer be sexually compatible, but still, we love one another.
And now I believe I may have found someone who will treasure me as I will treasure him. Someone I can speak to about anything, who will hear me, and even often agree. Someone with whom I can pursue mutual pleasure, joy, and a shared wonder at the world that we might explore together. Someone I can let go with, let go, and trust to not let me fall. Intelligent enough, wise enough, and compassionate enough to guide me.
It is early days, yet, so time will tell, but there is one thing I have, which I have not had in so very long, not truly-
Hope.
Today, I'm contemplating the use of titles in the community, and in relationships. This will be a smattering of thoughts that are running through my head at the moment.
Bear in mind, I am speaking generally here, and there is no One Twoo Way. Don't let anybody bullshit you about that. There was also no cohesive homogenous Old Guard with the same rules and customs absolutely everywhere. Customs, policies, and rules have always varied to some degree from group to group.
Anyway.
1. Generally speaking, titles and nicknames are actively negotiated for, not assumed. Trust is earned over time, and using a title requires, at the least, a conversation that establishes mutual consent. Often, and hopefully, there is a "get to know you" time between prospective partners, before roles are committed to, and with them, titles. Therefore, throwing yourself at a stranger's feet and calling her "mistress" is a violation of consent- she didn't agree to be your mistress. Do not presume. Similarly, messaging a random submissive, or even one you just casually know in the scene, and calling them "slut," "baby girl," "kitten," "little one," "pet," "bitch," or whatever else? That will probably get you smacked down, and you will have deserved it.
Informed, enthusiastic consent. It is the heart and soul of this thing that we do.
2. In some of the old guard style communities long ago, people earned titles in the community over time, starting at the bottom and learning their way up. One sees this a lot more in leather communities, specifically, where people "earn their leathers" and a title that eventually comes with it.
HOWEVER
In modern general kink communities, things are far less hierarchical, and titles are not owed anyone. It must be consented to. Given that, you cannot "cheat code" your way into being called "Master" by everyone simply by including it in your fet name! If somebody shows up and their fet name is "LordMasterDomlyPants III" I don't have to call them that. I can just call them "Pants." They aren't entitled to me calling them Lord Master just because it is in there name.
There are a few people who are truly experts and masters in their craft that I may call "Master Such-and-such" because they have, in my eyes, earned that title, as a master of their abilities... but that does not make them MY master. And, like always, their consent matters as well. I only do this for those whom I deeply respect and who openly use the title. STILL, no one is obligated to.
3. "Sir" and "Master" are used by a lot of people, and these days, "Master" doesn't necessarily mean an M/s dynamic. I have also seen some D/s relationships that were more strict and high-protocol than some M/s relationships. It doesn't do to assume- no One Twoo Way, remember?
"Lord," at one point, in many of the older-school communities, specifically denoted a member of the community who was married to their kink partner that they were in a power exchange relationship with. I don't really see or hear about that much any more, nor do I see the title much these days. When I do, it rarely seems to have anything to do with their relationship status. Still, fun fact.
4. Not everybody needs a title to have a real, deep power exchange relationship. It is totally fine to be "Joe" and "Susan." That dynamic is just as real as that of LordMasterDomlypants II and PrincessKittenBabygirlXX. Also easier to say in casual conversation. Heh.
So, what titles do you use, or do you use them at all? What do you prefer?
The number of dudes who pretend to be interested in something serious but actually just want to get off the first time they talk to you is too damned high.
I have been in the lifestyle for about 30 years now.
I'm really not aure i will ever find the dominant I need in upstate New York. I miss San Francisco so keenly, but my family can never afford to move back there.
I am honestly at a loss.
You know how it goes, if you are a sub, especially on the femme side, on the internet.
A dude will message with "hey," "hi," "sup," etc. Nothing about who they are or why they messaged, nothing about what brought them to your inbox.
Nothing to work with, really.
And then they ask "how are you doing?"
My guess is that most of them want to hear something along the lines of "oh, I am so horny and needy for stranger on the internet!"
Unfortunately, I have fallen into the habit of answering that question honestly.
How am I doing? I'm swirling in an abyss of despair. I am filled with existential dread. I am watching callousnwss, bigotry, xenophobia, and cruelty being heralded as great virtues. I am seeing empathy and compassion condemned as moral failings.
I am watching with horror as my country disintegrates, as human rights fviilations pile up, and rule of law alongside temge constitution itself being cast aside with ludicrous excuses.
I cannot even voice my distress in my own home.
I barely sleep, and nightmares plague me when I do. I try to focus on things that give me joy but I can't ignore the world burning around me. The feelings of betrayal. The heartbreak.
That's how I'm doing, my guys.
How about you?
Remember friends- physical arousal is NOT consent! Yes means yes. Only informed, enthusiastic consent means yes. Bodies can become aroused and even sometimes orgasm during a traumatic, nonconsensual sexual assault. "They were wet" or "they were erect" is NOT CONSENT. It doesn't make taking and touching without asking ok.
(I'm fine. Annoyed by so many novels I've been reading, lately.)
He texted me, "I think we should break up now, instead of when I move in May."
I'd told him the night before that my big brother from another mother was non-responsive in hospice. I'd just found out.
Couldn't even be bothered to call. Just texted.