Ev's kink corner

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. 

It has been a long time since I've haunted this place! 

I found a dom, a second partner. He's wonderful. He's also loving our of state next May. 😒 doing my best to enjoy the time we have. 

Hello dearies,

Auntie Ev has decided to share with you all some real life stories from back when she had an interesting life. Here is the first one.

Once upon a time, Auntie Ev was a wild babygoth teenager. She had to wear prescription sunglasses, because the bright Southern California sun hurt her pale eyes and partially blinded her. She wore a long black cloak.

She had a long black cloak because her mother wanted her to wear something warm. Mom wanted Auntie Ev to wear a sweater, but lo, sweaters were Super Uncool. Auntie Ev wanted a badass leather jacket, but Mom was worried people would "think things" if she wore something so butch.

"But Mom," Auntie Ev replied, "those things would be true. I have a girlfriend."

In those days, Auntie Ev was in love with a riot grrl. Riot grrls were grunge feminists who wore flannels and combat boots, shaved the sides of their heads, and listened to Nirvana and Hole. Auntie Ev's girlfriend eventually left Auntie Ev for her best friend, who then started a vampire cult and eventually moved to Florida to build a cult compound, as one does, I suppose.

Anyway, because sweaters were Super Uncool and leather jackets might Make People Think Things, Auntie Ev instead asked for a cloak. Black velour on the outside, some other thick black fabric on the inside. Auntie Ev's mom was Not The Sewing Type, but she made this kickass cloak, with a hood and a big wide three-quarter circle sweep and EVERYTHING. Auntie Ev still has this treasured cloak, which has had so many clasps sewn onto it over the years. Auntie Ev is even less of a Sewing Type.

Once, Auntie Ev was striding around, all intense and gothic after watching Interview with the Vampire or Bram Stoker's Dracula or some shit, wearing her sunglasses at night (so she could so she could) and she majestically crashed face first into a glass door in front of a bunch of people at a cafe. So cool.

So, Auntie Ev had already been to see Rocky Horror Picture Show at the all ages youth hall that didn't allow alcohol. She had slapped away the hand of a 20-something redheaded dude in a kilt. She had pretended to be a statue in downtown Santa Barbara next to lifelike actual statues, terrifying tourists by suddenly moving. She had ridden a shopping cart down the pier, and played tag in the graveyard in the middle of the night. Auntie Ev needed something NEW to do.

A friend of a friend suggesting something new- a live-action roleplaying game! Vampire the Masquerade, it was called. It was NEW! It involved VAMPIRES! And ACTING! Auntie Ev was intrigued.

Well, Auntie Ev went to this game, and must tell you that LARPing can be fun. The problem with LARPing is LARPers. O, my doves, the DRAMA.

Still, Auntie Ev might have really got into it, were it not for one issue. Blueberry Vodka Guy.

BVG (is that a disease?) had, you see, drunk altogether Too Much Vodka, and thus, we must return to the aforementioned problem with LARPing.

BVG looked at Auntie Ev. BVG saw the sunglasses and the black cloak. BVG saw Auntie Ev's budding acting skills. BVG was tatered, smashed, snookered, toasted, plastered, plowed, intoxicated, inebriated... BVG was drunk.

And BVG got An Idea.

BVG decided that, in his altered state, he had finally found it. His prey. What he had, for some time, been hunting.

BVG tottered and swayed, stumbled and staggered. BVG reached into the bed of his pickup truck. BVG retrieved a KEYRING of ACTUAL STAKES.

BVG then suddenly proceeded to attempt to MOTHERFUCKING STAKE AUNTIE EV.

Auntie Ev took exception to this.

THANKFULLY, Auntie Ev had a few things going for her-

1. Ribs and the breastbone are actually pretty thick bones.

2. Super drunk people are shit at fighting.

3. Incandescent rage combined with a CPTSD-(unrelated to this incident)-driven fight trauma response.

Auntie Ev broke that fucking stake out of BVG's hand. Auntie Ev stabbed BVG back. BVG was wearing a thick leather jacket. The jacket was super effective.

Auntie Ev called her parents and asked to be picked up. Auntie Ev went home, hiding the wound in her chest, because Mom was a battle-axe and would have gone on the warpath, and Auntie Ev did not want to give up her wild wandering ways.

And that, my dears, is why Auntie Ev, who is absolutely NOT a vampire, all rumors notwithstanding, got this scar over her heart.

Now, would you like another cuppa tea, my dumplings?

You know it isn't gonna be great news when the doctor calls you directly, instead of one of the front desk staff. 

Yeah, I have to get another excision. Waiting for oncology to call me to schedule another surgery. I already had one excision at the beginning of the year. Now I'm gonna have to get at least one more. 

Fuck.