I have been quiet for a while now. There have been some things going on…
I was actually really sick for awhile recently. I don’t know if it was covid-19 or not, but at this point it does not really matter. I am nearly 100% better and I have been completely sequestered for the past two weeks, with the intention of remaining so for as long as is necessary, probably all of April at the least.
My other underlying health problems put me in a high risk category, so I’m just going to pretend that everyone else has it and I do not, and that I don’t want to get it. As you can imagine, that creates a pretty tense world for me, but I’m managing well. I’m inside, I’m safe, and my life is awesome.
I have wonderful partners and friends from all over the world who check in on me and skype with me and bring me groceries when I need them and leave them on my porch so that I don’t have to be within 6 feet of them. I am extremely fortunate. Not everyone else is likely to be.
This is a really awful virus. It is exactly the wrong blend of transmissible while being deadly, but after a long and silent incubation period. I think a lot more people have it than realize it, and that is not even counting the thousands of people who have been tested and don’t yet have results or the thousands more who have not been able to get a test. I myself am one of those.
This virus knows no borders. It does not care about race or creed or sexual orientation or gender identity. And it’s going to be around for a long time yet.
It is truly fucking terrifying, and almost no one can suffer through terror like this alone, even though we are all alone right now.
I have not been to my office in a month now, and I’ve only left my house about half a dozen times since then, and not at all in the past two weeks. It’s starting to wear on me.
I have a wonderful support network, and even though I am a stodgy old stubborn fool at times, I am taking their help when it is offered, and I am staying safe, inside, and alive.
If you have been thinking that this virus cannot infect you for whatever reason, you are wrong.
This is a tense time for all of us, but we will get through this and be back to doing kinky things in public with our community around us eventually.
For now though, Stay Safe, Stay Inside, and Stay Alive.
I know the isolation is hard. I am a self-professed introvert of the highest order, but even I am beginning to fray at the edges for lack of human contact sometimes.
Reach out to those you can when you need support – we are all in this together. And if you don’t have anyone to reach out to – reach out to me… I’ll happily respond to your emails and form submissions.
It’s been months since I posted anything here, and people have started to worry.
I apologize for not updating you, my reader, about my condition, but I am still alive and kicking and living a generally happy and awesome life.
In my normal over-sharing fashion, I’ll just let you know what has been happening for me.
When I last posted in September, I was going through some pretty scary stuff. Since then, I still have no certain answer as to my health issues, but I never had to get the spinal surgery that I was worried about and the current theory is that my condition is caused by some sort of autoimmune disorder so I started taking immunosuppressants around Thanksgiving.
They appeared to be helping and I was seeing some relief but I have felt pretty much like I had a low-grade cold ever since then. A couple of weeks ago, I started to have a lot of pain in one of the teeth that was damaged when I broke my jaw a couple of years ago and eventually saw a dentist to determined that I had an infection and that I needed a root canal. After a week and half or so of some of the worst pain I’ve endured, I got the root canal and felt much better. However, the infection activated my immune system and started to cause my legs to feel numb again. I’ve been on antibiotics since the root canal and I do think that I’m getting better again, but I’m still not quite up to my normal awesome self.
I have been able to go to work most days and even get out to BaGG most weeks, so my life is still pretty amazing, but I expect that I will feel much better once this infection is cleared and I can take the immunosuppressants again.
I apologize for neglecting my blog and you, my readers, but my life remains awesome and I will try to do better with posting now.
I recently posted about myself again, and it continues a pattern that has been reinforced since I first started writing here.
My posts to this blog seem to generate interest in a few different forms.
Sometimes, people find what I write about interesting or informative and they either want to ask a question or have a comment and will comment on the post directly here on the blog. Most of the time this happens when I am writing either informative or erotic pieces.
But sometimes, people find what I write about emotionally impactful, and I get email directly.
Often – more often than not, thankfully – these are positive things. I get messages from people all of the time telling me that I have made a positive impact on their life because I shared something difficult or I exposed something that they could relate to in a way that made their own experiences easier to understand or more acceptable somehow. I’ve been told that I have been directly or indirectly responsible for saving peoples’ lives. That alone is some heavy stuff, but it’s good – I can feel good about the fact that I am helping people, and I can feel good about the example that I try to set for how I live my life.
But sometimes… people find what I write about emotionally challenging in some less positive ways.
I also get a lot of hate mail. Not as much as I used to, actually, but I recently gave these people more ammunition to use in an attempt to hurt me with my diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder and some of the other things that I have recently said and done as part of my life in the BDSM scene – and some of the things that I’m getting emails about are related to things that I have not even revealed on this blog – which ratchets up the fear a notch or three.
This means that I am getting hate mail to my blog from someone who knows me personally.
Even when it’s only an email, or its just someone filling in my Contact Me form, it is difficult to see messages where people tell me to kill myself.
It is difficult to read that someone thinks I have so little value as a person that I would be doing the world a favor by removing myself from it.
It is scary as fuck to read that someone knows the city I live in and would take any opportunity they had to beat the shit out of me or that they might show up at my house and set it on fire.
It hurts to read that someone that I have personally interacted with believes that my way of life is so repugnant that I should subject myself to terrible, painful, torturous ways of killing myself, and that the lives of everyone that I love would be improved by removing the stain of my existence from their lives.
Recently, I’ve made calling cards. I’ve been trying to more closely engage with my community and to put myself out there a bit more for the good that I may be able to do as well as to increase my own exposure and possibly increase my reach. It’s never been a strong goal of mine to create a personal brand or chase fame on the internet, but the good things that I hear urge me to try to at least reach a bit further – until I hit the barriers that I am coming up against again now.
This becomes important because those calling cards are the first time that I have linked this blog to my fetlife profile (where there are pictures of my face) and my phone number – and only recently have I started to receive text messages and phone calls from people who are spewing hate as well.
Honestly, it makes me want to run away. It makes me want to pull up shop here, stop writing altogether and even to withdraw from my community. It makes me afraid to go outside sometimes. It makes me afraid to have my kids stay with me at my own house. And while I can rationalize away the fear and despair, I can never really get rid of them completely, and it weighs on me, heavily.
I have nightmares almost every night. These are the result of trauma from my youth more often than not – memories that I have suppressed trying to percolate back up into consciousness – so I know that these are not necessarily only because of this newly increased volume of hate that I am receiving each day, but I would be incredibly foolish if I didn’t consider that it is having an effect.
I don’t know who is making these threats and sending me so much hate – and while I could probably find out, I am terrified to learn the answers to those questions, terrified to learn that someone I love harbors such deep seated loathing for me and feels like they can only express it pseudo-anonymously and with such bile.
I do not always succeed in putting forth the best version of me, but I do try very hard, and I try very hard to be open to criticism and discussion about how I act and the ways in which I may have made you feel. And if you know me personally and I have somehow offended you, I would very much appreciate the chance to rationally discuss the things that have hurt you, but if you are just a hateful stalker who wants only to cause me harm, I can tell you that you have succeeded.
The hate that I feel seeps into my soul and makes everything seem bleak. It gets into everything that I think and everything that I do and it makes it almost impossible to concentrate or accomplish anything of substance. I try to counter it with love, and to an extent I succeed, but the fear never seems to completely disappear. I try to ignore it and focus on the other things that make my life the amazing thing that it is. I have amazing people in my life who love me and support me, and even those who no longer wish to be a part of my life, or those who I care about but cannot make fit into this chaos claim to love and want to support me, if but from a further distance – and I feel the same way about them. Much of the time I succeed, but sometimes the hate seeps back in like an oily stain that you can never quite remove from your favorite jeans.
I am Rant, and I am not going nowhere, but you have made me afraid. Bully for you.
Every Wednesday I go to an event called Bondage a Go Go. I think I may have mentioned it before.
In keeping with my continuing desire and goal to say what I mean rather than couch my insecurities about showing enthusiasm with understatement or otherwise deflect, I’m going to call myself out for saying such things as, “It’s just another Wednesday,” or something similar. It’s an inside joke, and anyone that I say it to understands that around here, Wednesdays are something special. But I should just come out and say that.
Wednesdays are special because that is when BaGG happens, and BaGG is the best and longest-running weekly kink-friendly social event ever, anywhere.
Full disclosure – I am a member of the BGG Association that promotes and puts on Bondage a Go Go, but I have no financial stake and all of my efforts to advertise it here or in person are volunteer – because I am an acolyte.
Today is Wednesday, and I am elated – because no matter how bad life gets me down, on Wednesdays I have BaGG, and BaGG is therapy, family, validation, energization, and grounding all rolled into one. BaGG is where I can be mostly safe in being mostly me, and it is glorious.
“It feels like I’m in a movie.” – F
I still remember the first time that I went to BaGG. I didn’t know anyone, and I was alone, and it was overwhelming. It’s really just a bar, but it’s dark inside and people are wearing next to nothing and acting sexy as fuck. There is a dance floor in the front and two bars along with seating areas, a house masseur, a swag counter, and a dungeon in the back.
The first time you’re seeing something like this, it can be a lot to take in. Even as a seasoned kinkster, it was more than I expected in some ways and less than I expected in other ways, but one thing became abundantly clear to me within moments. BaGG is not a place or an event, BaGG is a people.
That first time that I was there, I was not a part of BaGG – I was present, I was physically there and I was watching and I was drinking and I was dancing and I was socializing, but I was not really a part of it.
I was disheartened, and I would leave to go home, knowing that it was something special, but feeling on the outside, and it would be years before I would return.
BaGG is a “kink-friendly take over of a night club” – C
BaGG is really just a weekly party in a bar with kinky themes. It’s not a BDSM event in the more general sense. There is not a dungeon floor where people are heard making noises of pleasure and pain surrounded by a wall of silence from the onlookers. There are not rooms where people can sequester themselves and do nasty, horrible things to each other. There are no classes or lessons or things to learn.
There is a dungeon, and it is small, and exposed, and your audience will cheer for you as you get beaten. There is a tradition of very public spanking with the entire bar cheering for you on your birthday or the birthday of your Dominant. And I will have to tell you, the three young ladies who took my spankings for me and the three Dominants (they were not all male) who delivered them while I stood by and basked in the glow of adoration from the crowd certainly contributed to make my year last year.
The dungeon is great fun, largely underutilized despite the fact that you have to wait for your turn more often than not, and also completely not the point of BaGG.
“I just go for the dancing.” – S
The dance floor at BaGG is amazing.
No where else that I am aware of do you have as many ultra sexy people dancing alongside straight up freaks – and often they are the very same people.
It’s right there in the name – there are Go Go dancers. You can tip them if you like. They won’t take off their clothes for you, but they’re not wearing that much to begin with.
The greatest show doesn’t come from the dancers on the stage or in the cage though – it comes from the people on the floor.
I don’t spend nearly enough time on the dance floor at BaGG, but if I don’t get out and dance every once in awhile, I get restless – and I don’t really dance anywhere else.
I’m a terrible dancer – I have to be only part of me to have any rhythm at all, but I don’t really care. My partners dance, my friends dance, I’ve met people on the dance floor, no one cares that I’m terrible at it – it’s just another part of the wonderful pervasive blanket of love that falls on me when I am there with my people.
“…people generally seem to know each other.” – A
I wasn’t a part of BaGG at first, but I went, and I put myself out there, and I kept going back and talking to the same people and learning that they felt the same way that I do – about politics and kink and love, but most importantly, about BaGG.
It was the piece that was missing for me until I just kept showing up. I’ve always felt like I could be at home at BaGG, but even still it took time before I felt like I was a part of it.
“How do I become a member?” I asked.
The answer is simple. Show up. Talk to people. Get to know the club and the personalities, let people know who you are, and then when two members in good standing will speak up for you and say, “This guy is not an asshole,” we’ll collect your dues and you will be one of us.
It’s nice to be one of us somewhere.
I’m at BaGG almost every week – it’s rare that I’m not there.
If ever you want to meet me, go to BaGG, look for the guy in a waistcoat and fancy knot in his tie, and you’ll likely find me.
What appears below the fold, after this entry (and now encapsulated as a part of it), is a piece of writing that I first posted to my fetlife account about five months ago.
In it, I recount a rather simple change in the way that I interact with the world. I literally changed one phrase that I commonly uttered to another phrase that had exactly the same meaning in my own mind, but where the words that I used to express it were different – in a rather fundamental way.
Think of this as the update that I hinted at with the original fetlife post – and a way for those of you who do not know me on fetlife to catch up to an important change in the ways that I perceive and interact with the world.
Six months ago, when my friends would ask me, “Rant – how are you doing?” my response would likely have been, “I’m alive.”
Six months ago, when my friends would remark on how well things appeared to be going for me, I would agree with them, but I would say, “Yeah, my life doesn’t suck.”
Six months ago, my trademark method of self-expression was to use understatement as a means of conveying my real feelings. If I were to ever say something like, “It’s better than a sharp stick in the eye,” what I would really mean is, “It’s fucking amazing.”
It was an inside joke. It was a ‘clever’ way to express myself without overextending myself. I felt like those that really knew me would know the difference, and it would mean that I was somehow at least understood a little bit by a small number of people in a way that is not obvious to the uninitiated, and for some reason, that was important to me.
But, fuck, was it a limitation on how awesome my life could really get… and that was something that I completely failed to anticipate.
In the past several months, I’ve taken that narrative and completely rewritten it.
When my friends ask, “Rant – how are you doing?” I emphatically reply, “My life is awesome!” and I mean it.
When my friends remark on how well things are going for me, I don’t respond with, “Yeah, my life doesn’t suck.” Instead, I say, “Yeah, I know! My life is fucking amazing!” and I mean it.
Oh sure, I have off days. Today is kind of an off day. Life has been keeping me very busy, and while 90% of those things are wonderful (at least for me) and I would not trade places with anyone I know or even that I know of, not every day is perfect.
I wish I had more time to write.
I wish I could finish Part 8 of My Personal Journey (and Part 9, and 10, and however many more parts it will take to finish). I wish I had time to compose the follow-up to my piece on subspace that I’ve been tinkering with for years. I wish I had time to write general responses to some of the questions that I receive in email rather than just barely keeping up with responding within a week or so on an individual basis. I wish I had time to finish the novel that I have decided to complete and try to get published before the end of next year. But the things that keep me away from doing the things that I want to are just some of the most amazing and wonderful things I could ask for…
I am living a life of embarrassing riches in terms of love and joy. I have the respect and support of dozens of people in personal, romantic, and professional capacities. People want to be around me.
This is not exactly new – but my previous self-deprecating behavior was serving as a barrier to forming new connections and standing in the way of expanding or strengthening those that existed. My confidence and competence were always there, but my demeanor was standoffish or aloof or even anti-social and it was limiting me in ways that I didn’t even understand.
Words have power.
I’ve known this for a long time. I’m a writer, after all. And even before I could recognize that, I always had the capacity to be persuasive and elicit responses in the people with whom I would interact should I choose to make the effort – I just rarely did… and I have no idea why.
Perhaps I was afraid of rejection – that was certainly at least part of the problem. While I’ve always had reasonably high self esteem – years of social pressure to be like someone I am not turned me into a bitter and angry man at points of my life, and even when I thought I was out from under the weight of those things, when I thought that the stark depression that kept me holed up inside my house for days at a time was gone for good, I was still not realizing my potential because I was holding back. I was holding back with my actions, and I was holding back with my words, and I was holding back with my emotions.
Deciding to never hold anything back any longer and believing that I have the power to overcome any awful thing that life might throw at me, and then proving it to myself, over and over again, with everyday annoyances and life-shattering realizations, was the thing that opened the world to me.
I am living my on my terms now – and part of the reason for that was really just as simple as choosing more carefully the words that I say.
It’s been awhile since I’ve said it, but I am Rant.
This was neither a rant nor a story nor a lesson, and it may be ultimately nothing more than a piece of mildly masturbatory self-praise, but it is my truth for now, and my life is awesome.
What follows is the text of the original fetlife post. There are reasons why I won’t link from here to there, but I will likely repost this to fetlife as well and link there to here. Feel free to drop me an email if you’d like to understand the reasons why or if you’d just like to let me know that personal stories like this are something you actually care to read – or use the comment form below.
I will find a way to carve out more time for Part 8 soon – do not despair.
Until then – I remain…
– Rant
My life does not suck.
It’s a mantra… almost a catch-phrase. It’s a common part of my personal vernacular, and it’s undoubtedly true. I use it to express pleasure.
But words have meaning, you know?
My life does not suck is the thing that I tell my friends when I am happy.
I say My life does not suck when I realize that the choices I have made have led me to a place, or a person, or an event where I feel at home.
But a friend recently pointed out to me that there is a kernel buried deep within that phrase – that it conveys doubt or uncertainty.
At first I blew him off – I don’t mean anything bad by the phrase, I see it as a refutation of a state that feels unpleasant. I see it as a positive affirmation of my choices and direction.
But words have meaning, you know?
Yesterday, before meditating, this was one of the last thoughts to pass through my mind. An offhand comment at a party where I had a hard time hearing over the din led to days of percolating thoughts and introspection.
I kind of love it when things like that happen.
They give me a chance to see the things that are hidden from my attention, but that have an effect on me, my presentation to the world, and even how I see myself at a subconscious level.
To say My life does not suck is the bare minimum above My life sucks.
Does this mean that I am afraid, most of the time, that my life does suck?
I do often feel misplaced, like I don’t fit anywhere, like no one will ever really understand me. This community accepts me, but still does not understand me. The moments when I feel like I belong are few and far between, but I fake it as best I can.
Am I contributing to that feeling with the words that I use, even if the meaning is completely distinct in my own mind?
I’m still not sure, but while my life does not suck, from now on I think I am going to say My life is awesome! instead – even when I am not feeling quite that strongly that it does.
We shall soon see what difference, if any, this makes…
I have an extremely complicated relationship with this next part of my story. It examines a time in my life where I was rudderless and manipulated and took part in things that cause me nightmares today. I feel shame for what I did in some cases, but more than that, I feel shame for allowing myself to be so manipulated and exploited.
However – despite the shame and tragedy that dogs every thought I have about that period of my life, it is also an integral part of who I am. It continues to have a profound effect on the very way that I think and process information. It is responsible for many of the various coping mechanisms that I have developed for navigating the normal world – some of these are good, some, not so much… but they are all very important to who I am today.
For the sake of brevity, I am going to have to leave out most of the details about the things that I learned and did, and focus instead on how these things shaped who I am today.
But I will have to give you a little bit of background so that things make sense…
Joe and Monique took me under their wing and into their family. While I still lived at home with my parents and looked to most of the outside world like I was living a very normal teenage life, I was really leading a double life.
I was a genius, straight-A student, involved in all sorts of extracurricular activities, and because I was a little socially awkward and unfailingly polite and all of the other things listed before this, my parents basically paid no attention to me at all. My sister was a bit more demanding of their attention, which I definitely felt the lack of, but did not have a good way to express.
This turned out to be yet another thing that Joe and Monique could exploit to control me and gain my trust… they gave me a place to belong. They didn’t care that I was a little odd. They celebrated my differences. They told me that I had great gifts of insight and that my intelligence was a thing of literal divinity.
Whereas I felt misunderstood and unappreciated in my real home, I felt important and special in Joe’s home.
My parents were raising me to be Catholic, and lacking any information to the contrary, I was at first a true believer. But at this juncture in my life, when I was encountering the things that I was with Joe and Monique and their extended family, I was also undergoing a crisis of faith. I could not rationalize away some of the things that I was being taught each Sunday with the reality in front of my eyes any longer, and Joe seized on that and used it to mold me into his very own disciple. I wasn’t the only one, but I was certainly the youngest, and definitely his favorite as well.
Joe was the center of a cult that wasn’t Astron Argon, though it used their initiation rites, and it wasn’t Ordo Templi Orientis, though it used their degrees and advancement rituals for the ‘outer order’ –such as it was. There were no more than 60 of us at any given time, and most of the rituals involved far fewer. It was a mishmash of Crowley-ist secret society nonsense along with a fair share of ‘secrets’ the were ‘only known to Frater Jubal’ – who was Joe, of course.
However, it also happens to be where I had my very first non-masturbatory sexual experiences, which is something that I feel very strangely about now – and pretty much always have. I have very complicated feelings about what happened. I enjoyed a lot of it. I never really felt like I was not giving consent, though at times I did feel like I had no choice… somehow it was both of those things at the same time.
I can vividly remember the very first time that I climaxed by means other than my own hand or rubbing up against some surface, and it was as I stood on a small footstool so that I was not touching the ground and Monique knelt between my legs, rendering what may yet be the most gentle blowjob that I have ever had, and I came into her mouth furiously, almost instantly – which under other conditions would likely have caused me shame, but this was immediately greeting with exclamations of joy from the people around me, because I had an audience, and was, in fact, the central part of a ritual that I would perform many, many more times before I finally broke free. I had almost no agency in my actions.. I doubt I could have controlled myself even if I were not being heavily manipulated emotionally and psychologically as well, but under those circumstances, I felt like a god, and they told me that I literally was one. I was the Child of Light, but more than that, I was a special invocation of such – I was an avatar of the Lord of Light himself – I was Lucifer, reborn.
I have a really difficult time rationalizing these things. I am generally completely comfortable with dichotomy, but this is one that my mind still struggles against all the time. This causes me nightmares sometimes. I have a hard time believing that I believed them. I can objectively see how ridiculous it all is when I look at it now, but I remember that I did believe. I was naive and brilliant and awkward and exploited and I am none of those things anymore, and it feels weird.
I don’t trust my younger self to know how he was really feeling and I try to re-write how I felt at the time. I try to make it as if I didn’t really believe them, but I was playing along because I was getting something out of it, but then that actually seems far worse than if I was just duped. I try to make it as if I knew that it was all a farce and that I was helpless to do anything to break free because I was emotionally dependent upon these people, but that just is objectively not true, and even if it could be, it’s really no better than just being duped all along.
But I stray from my story…
I was a member of Joe and Monique’s family for years.
Joe is an incredibly charismatic man. I suppose that’s probably true of all cult leaders, but he could make you feel things. However – and probably like all cult leaders – eventually the mantle of leadership began to grow heavy, and he started to farm out things to different people. He spent more and more time with me, and he seemed to be grooming me to take over some of the ritualistic aspects of the cult while others took over more of the household aspects, which made sense from several perspectives, not least of which was that I did not live in the house with them, whereas most of the other inner circle members did. So I became a figurehead who was being given actual power, little by little. I was the example for others to follow. I was the Golden Boy.
Eventually, this went to my head…
…I didn’t quite make it to Beverly Hills in this post, but I promise it isn’t far away.
Next is part three, where I actually do talk about breaking free of Joe’s family and end up getting married, divorced, dropping out of school, and working the mean streets of Beverly Hills. Or at least, I’ll get as far as a thousand or so words will take me…
My personal D/s journey: A story of spirituality, conflict, betrayal, and hope
Part I : Sexual awakenings
My first sexual experiences were not normal.As a result of these early experiences (which I will detail shortly) I live with the constant fear that I will never find a mature sexual relationship that meets my needs as they now exist.I often feel like my lifestyle goals are unattainable or even prurient to the degree that merely giving them voice is offensive.
As far as personal struggles go – this is one that I have never managed to really get the hang of or the upper hand over, and it leaves me often feeling as if I am damaged beyond the ability to properly assimilate into collective society.And yet… I keep trying.Whether or not this meets the definition of insanity is something that does occasionally cause me to lose sleep.
My sexuality began to emerge relatively early for a boy… I was having my first confusing and unfocused erections at eight years old.I was masturbating to the lingerie ads in the JC Penny catalog by the time I was nine.So far, this is not all that unusual except perhaps for the early age, which – while on the edge of normal – still fits the Bell curve rather neatly.However, I began to diverge from the norms pretty early on thanks to being just a little too smart for my own good.
When I was 11, I made some friends who were both older than I was and just as into computers as I was.I was given loan of a modem and started prying my way into what was the online world of the day.The Internet that we know and depend on today was in its infancy, and most of the networked computer world existed as islands of activity around universities, the first generation of what would later become known as ISPs, and a scattered and completely unregulated wasteland of individually run BBSes that were connected by various bridge technologies (uucp, fidonet, etc.) if they were connected to anything larger at all.
Most of the BBSes that I would dial into were not connected to anything larger than themselves, and even in a largely rural area like where I grew up, this led to some diversification of content between them so as to avoid competing for the same users – for the most part.
Within a few months of embarking into this new world, I was hooked and it took very little time for me to secure a modem of my own and begin a pattern of calling in to the same seven or so BBSes every day.In many ways, this was an extremely primitive form of reddit or Facebook. I made friends online who I would never end up meeting in person, but of course, eventually I wanted to meet some of the faces behind the screens with which I was interacting, and even in that time and place, there were user group meetings.
We called ourselves M.O.R.E. and thought that we were especially clever (the name stood for Modem-users Of the Redwood Empire) and in general, it was just good, clean fun.We had BBQs and softball games and a monthly meeting in the back of a Round Table Pizza in southwestern Santa Rosa.After attending several of these events with my parents (remember that I was just 11, maybe 12 at this time) – I made friends who were close to my own age and was eventually able to secure rides to and from these events without my parents needing to be present, which turned out to be a wonderful and horrible thing.
One of the things that I noticed early on in these events was that they seemed to be pretty heavily skewed.Allegiances developed based on particular BBS loyalty, and we seemed to be largely split into two camps.There was the ‘Rapture’ camp – which was made up of people who contributed to the Rapture BBS, which was an adults-only sexually themed BBS, and then there was ‘everybody else’.
Because the Rapture team was made up of exclusively adults, this often meant that in contests, the ‘everyone else’ team was wildly outclassed, and as a competitive young man, this did not always sit well with me.This, coupled with the normal curiosity that accompanies being a young man, caused me to embark on a course of action that would later prove to be seminal to my development as a sexual being, but perhaps not in the best way possible.
I decided to break into Rapture and see what all the fuss was about.
So – as a 12 year boy, already a few years into puberty and with zero sex education from traditional outlets (my parents never had ‘the talk’ with me, and sex-education in school was a farce) I ended up being thrown to the wolves in a very real sense.Using the anonymity that hiding behind a screen gave me, I constructed a believable persona as an early-30’s high school history teacher and began to engage with this new community.
I was instantly accepted and where my lack of knowledge concerning sex activities came through, I was instructed by my new ‘friends’ – all though text, and sometimes pictures, but bandwidth back then was extremely limited, and image files that we would now send in a text message could take an hour or more to transfer.Without the ability to easily fact check many of the things that I was being ‘taught’, I ended up learning a great deal of bad information in the beginning, but I was being exposed to all sorts of kink and pagan concepts concerning sexuality that I don’t know that I would have otherwise encountered, ever… and they certainly colored my expectations and the direction that I would end up taking.
I found ways to become involved with meatspace events with these people that I should not have been able to attend because of my age without blowing my cover.There was significant crossover between the pagan group and the swinger group and I was interested in both topics, so I decided to take that route to getting closer to these people in the ‘real world.’I figured that with enough time and patience, that I could probably force both to converge where I wanted.
I had no idea how ‘successful’ I would become.
I attended my first handfasting when I was 13.The young couple in question were both just out of high school.It was early summer, just after the end of the school year, and we were at a site on the Russian River, and it was well-done and beautiful and helped to form the spiritual path that I would end up taking for the next several years. It was also a travesty, but I would not realize that for years to come.
The party that followed was barely constrained hedonism, and I’m certain that my presence kept things to a much lower intensity than they would have been had I not been there.
There was a great deal of substance use – alcohol, marijuana, LSD, and something speedy… I’m still not sure if it was coke, meth, or PCP – coke being most likely given the time period. I did not partake of any of these, but I watched with rapt attention.
There were two distinct groups forming within the party – the younger group tended to be more spiritually minded but more socially conservative, talking in lower voices and generally stationary with their conversational topics. The older group – made up mostly of a group of adults in their late 30’s and early 40’s – was openly hedonistic and gregarious. A couple of the women took their tops off and there was a great deal of groping, a large cuddle pile in the grass, and even some lighthearted games of chasing, cat and mouse style.
I belonged to neither but was fascinated by both, and the open hedonism of the older group really captivated me. I found it very difficult to look away from the exposed breasts of the women who had taken off their tops.
One of the younger women decided that it was worth taunting me over, and then one of the other women in that group (who was still wearing her top) came over and ‘rescued’ me from her, asking me who my parents where.
I told her that I was there alone, that I was friends with one of the members of the ceremony group, and that I was not really all that bothered by the attention that I was getting from Skye (the woman who had been recently taunting me.)
She laughed, introduced herself as Monique (with just a hint of a Montreal accent) and then sat beside me and motioned to her partner to come over and talk with us. And that is when I met Joe MacReedy and began the journey that would culminate in a high degree in Astron Argon, a complete rewriting of my psychological landscape, and a life-long pursuit of the things that exist just outside of the norms of society.
Part 2 to come, wherein I give more details about my life with a sex magick cult, the emotional (and spiritual, and psychological) break that enabled me to extricate myself from that situation, and the shortly following events that would proceed to land me in a possibly even more precarious situation in the mean streets of Beverly Hills.
I started this blog with very little intention of continuing it for very long back in April of 2014.
At the end of every April, I get a yearly summary of my blog activity for the previous year.
It is always a little interesting to see how things change over time.
In my first few months, I got a couple of dozen hits a day if I was lucky, but I was cranking out original content. (All of the content on this blog is my original work, by the way…) I was posting at least once a week, and most of my content was either rants about my personal experiences and how I felt like things were better in the “good ol’ days,” (even though most of those days were strikingly less good for me in reality) or educational pieces attempting to fill the knowledge gap that interest without reasonably accessible educational materials was causing. However, the small bit of recognition that I received was enough to spur me on and do more with the blog and my community.
In the second year, things really started to sizzle. I was getting hundreds of hits per day most days and thousands of hits per day on the busiest days. I slowed down on content generation, but I was still getting a great deal of attention and I was getting emails from readers almost every day and responding to those took up a good deal of my free time and introduced me to some really interesting people from all over the world – several of whom remain my friends today.
In the third year, I slowed down on content creation even more, and the readership started to dwindle away. My most frequently read post was An Imaginary Conversation With a New submissive and I was still getting emails from readers almost every day with comments or questions, but readership was starting to diminish as I started producing less new content and started revealing more about me personally as opposed to fielding questions about BDSM or writing informative pieces based on common questions that I often hear.
Now, coming out of my fourth year, and with even more sporadic writing, my readership has dropped back down to first-year levels. I’m getting dozens of hits per day, up to a few hundred on the busiest of days, but nowhere near where I was at the height of things. Yet… I kind of like it that way.
I still get emails and comments asking me questions, and I still try to answer all of these within a day or two at most, but it’s a much more sustainable pace for a part-time single parent and full-time tech startup employee and I don’t have to feel like I’m letting people down by not answering them in an expedient manner. This has helped to reduce my stress level somewhat, especially since sometimes the questions that I get asked are intensely personal, time sensitive, and important.
‘An Imaginary Conversation…’ is no longer my most-read piece, being replaced by Finding subspace – which is, interestingly enough, one of the very first posts I wrote (as opposed to ‘An Imaginary Conversation…’ which was written almost at the height of my popularity.)
Most of my hits in the first year came from links from other people’s blogs – or from ‘likes’ on facebook (which continues to amuse me, since I’m not on facebook), or through some unclassified means of finding me, but now the majority of my hits come from google and bing.
And perhaps most amusingly – I think that most of the hits that I’m getting from google and bing for that particular page are not people who are coming here looking for information on BDSM themes, but math students looking for easy answers to their homework questions about linear algebra.
I have a degree in mathematics – and I can almost certainly answer your linear subspace questions as well – but I’ve only ever once actually been asked such a thing.
I suspect the person who did ask me this question was seriously confused, but I’m really much more amused by the imagined reactions that I suspect of people when they come to a site like this looking for answers to their math homework.
Today is May Day, and the start of Year Five.
I’m really curious what this year will bring… hopefully it will involve drastically fewer broken bones, but I suspect that it will still involve a broken heart – perhaps more often than once, as that seems to be the one thing that I am wholesale incapable of escaping.
Anyone who knows me personally and has interacted with me in the past several months knows that I have a (relatively) new submissive whom I adore. She is Devoted to me, and I am pledged to her, and I have no intention of changing any of that.
She and I have an open relationship and we are honest with each other about everything that goes on – and more importantly – about how those things make us feel. We work together to ensure that we have a proper understanding of both the factual and emotional issues that surround anything that may come up – because emotions and facts don’t always correlate well until you take some time to understand how they interact with each other around the particular issue at hand.
And that was a lot of words to say: she trusts me and I trust her – and the reasons for that are brutal and open honesty coupled with a lot of patience.
I hide nothing from her. I don’t always tell her everything, because sometimes I don’t think to do so, and sometimes too much information can be hurtful, but I always answer all of her questions and I patiently allow her to feel what she feels and then reinforce the fact that I love her, I cherish her trust, and I am still committed to her. It isn’t easy, but it is extremely valuable.
I have not always had relationships that ended well. Heck, I’ve not always had relationships that proceeded well. However, I am nearly always patient and polite. No one manages to always be these things, but I do my best, and I usually succeed.
Yesterday my submissive received some very strange text messages from a woman (or someone claiming to be a woman) who she has never met, but that was put into contact with her some time ago. This woman resurfaced and started making claims about me – that she ‘catfished me on her behalf’ and claims that I derided her on fetlife and threatened her when she refused to have a skype sex session with me and tried to warn my submissive that I bad-talked my submissive behind her back and that I was a dangerous man.
Now – I am a dangerous man, but not for the reasons that she accuses me.
Anyone who knows me and has tried to get me to agree to a video chat session knows how laughable this is. I am extremely reluctant to have a video call, and I almost never engage in any sort of sex over the wire. I don’t enjoy it, and it triggers a few unpleasant memories for me. If I’m doing it, it’s because I love you very much and I want you to be happy – it’s never something that I would pressure someone into, and I use words like ‘always’ and ‘never’ extremely sparingly. I don’t even like talking on the phone. So – on its face this was an amusingly ridiculous accusation, but even the most ridiculous accusations can destroy relationships when there is not trust there to begin with.
I’ve been in relationships where that trust was not solid. I’ve been in relationships where accusations of infidelity – and actual infidelity – destroyed the relationship, and the reason that happened was because trust was either never fully established, or worn away. I am certainly not trying to portray myself as always being in the right in these situations – I don’t know that there is always a right to be had – but I do know that I have never acted in the manner for which I was accused.
I honestly have no idea who this person is or what his motives might be. It’s extremely unlikely that it is one of my exes trying to get at me through her. It’s equally unlikely that it’s her ex trying to get at her, but the motive of anyone else in this matter just doesn’t seem to add up…
The fact that we can’t find a sensible motive is an any area of consternation to be sure, but sometimes people just like to cause drama, and maybe that’s all this is.
I’ve been in relationships that would be threatened by such a thing, but I am ecstatically happy to not be in one of those now.
My relationship is as solid as ever, and may even be stronger now for having faced this sort of challenge and walked away unscathed, and we have accomplished this thanks to the intrinsic power and value of honesty, compassion, empathy, and trust.
Wicked Grounds is more than just a coffee shop – it’s a destination, it’s a sanctuary, it’s a place to meet people, a place to be surrounded by people of like mind and ambition, it is a staggeringly important venue for dozens of clubs, munches, workshops, and it is an icon all on its own. It is also the only safe space that a lot of people have.
And it is closing down.
This is potentially a staggering loss for our community. There is yet some small glimmer of hope that we can save it, and you can help too if you would like. The patreon page for Wicked Grounds can be found here. I’ve contributed and pledged and wish I could do more.
I cannot stress how important this place is to our community. It is the hub around which all of the other kink activities in San Francisco take place. It is the kink equivalent of Polaris.
Oftentimes when I’m giving directions to people for various kink related place with references from Wicked Grounds as the starting point. Need to get to Mr. S? Go out from Wicked Grounds, turn left, and walk two blocks up 8th street. Need to get to BaGG? Go out from Wicked Grounds, turn left, turn left at the corner, and it’s three storefronts down.
It is much, much more than just a coffee shop that sells some kink-themed things. It is home to a lot of people in my social circle, and the circles that overlap with my own.
I urge you – if you have the means and the inclination – go to the Patreon page and do what you can. If you are in the SF Bay Area, go to Wicked Grounds today – it may be the last day that they are open. If you can’t go and support their business today, go to the party that they will be hosting at the Citadel this Saturday. I understand that they may not have goods to sell that day, and there may actually be little you can do to help with the actual problems of keeping the business viable, but you can still offer moral support.
I am going to try my best to be there – childcare concerns would be the only thing to keep me away. I sincerely hope that this is not the last Wicked Grounds party, and that the coffee shop can stay in business for years and years to come – providing the solace and community that it does.
I’m a patron now, and I intend to make it a more frequent place that I hang out as well, assuming that the option remains open to me. I’d love to see you there sometime.