Category Archives: Uncategorized


I’m not really much of a poet – but every once in awhile I will be motivated to write something that is not really prose.

My Kneel For Me and Imaginary Conversation With A New Submissive are both monologue-in-prose pieces with a poetic turn, but this is an actual poem in free verse that I wrote in late 2014.

I think I was mourning the end of a relationship at the time, and I thought I was being clever by inserting nerdy references which would cause me to look upon this piece with disdain whenever I saw it after that, but somehow I find this to be fitting with the year that I’ve had so far – that we’ve all had so far.

mo(u)rning :

mourning sun rises
its presence illuminates time 
time spent
time gone
morning time is over

noon sun blazes
light-fire washes the world
angry light
burning light
working time begins

evening sun recedes
pulling sadness and work away
leaving quiet
leaving self
ideal delusion remains

make all --no-regrets

Practicing what you preach

I don’t really use social media.

I don’t have a facebook page.  I don’t have a twitter account.  I don’t routinely contribute to reddit.

My only outlets for getting my opinion to other people are my voice (which I’m told can carry pretty well when I want it to..) my fetlife account, and this blog, which has attracted more readers than I ever thought possible.

So – I’m going to use what little bit of Internet clout that I have to push something.  Forgive me if I offend.

My partner has a friend.  This friend helped her out when she was in a terrible place in her life, and now she needs help herself.

I don’t know this person, and I’m not about to try to relate her story since I don’t know it, but she describes what happened pretty well in her GoFundMe page, so I invite you to read about it there – the link is at the end of this post.

I am extremely fortunate.  I have all that I need and more.  I am not wealthy and I probably never will be, but I firmly believe in sharing what I can with good people, and I think that this qualifies.

I am a father and a feminist and I try to be a good human being.

I donate to charity every year, and my contributions are usually even spaced and well tracked and I can feel good about the dollars that I give to the Red Cross, but that is structured charity and has tax implications and whatnot.. all of the confusing bullshit that gets dragged along with things when we collectively try to destroy graft.

But the true meaning of charity – the one that I really do still believe in, despite being an atheist now – is the one that came from early organized religions.. the sharing of what you have with those in need.  No one should go hungry.  No one should be homeless.  No one should live in fear – of any of these things, or of anything else that can be prevented.

I don’t know Tass.  We’ve never met.  But she helped someone I love when she needed it most, and now she needs help too.

If you can spare anything, even just $5 or $10, I am sure that she would be grateful for the support, and so would I.

You can read all about her here: Keep Momma Tass & Baby LJ Safe


This is not a real blog entry.

This is not the blog entry that you are looking for.

Move along.

Move along.


Okay.. well, in all seriousness, I have many things to say, but I don’t have the words to say them right now.  I know you, gentle reader, are probably wondering why I have made so few entries since I gave myself the 500 words per day task and probably think that I have abandoned that ideal completely.

I have not.  I have added some bits to previous writing exercises and created some new things that are not appropriate for the blog, but more importantly, it’s November, and that means NaNoWriMo.

National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated, happens every November, and the participants, myself included, pledge to attempt to write a 50,000 word novel entirely within the month of November.

I’ve been doing it off and on for the past several years, and while I’ve only once (my first year, when my dedication was highest) succeeded in accomplishing the 50,000 word goal, I still give it my best shot.

As of now, I’m about 20,000 words in and about 10,000 words behind schedule.  I have to write considerably more than 500 words per day if I’m going to achieve my goal, and hence – no blog posts since late October.

Fear not though – December will see me clearing the backlog of nearly-complete-but-as-yet-unpublished blog posts and hopefully a return to a more regular writing cadence.

Until then, thank you for keeping me honest.

Rant off.


Interview with a racist

This post is not even peripherally related to BDSM, but if you have been following along or you know me at all you will see how it is something that I care about, so it kind of fits.  For those of you who were hoping for a juicy story about pain and suffering or another rant about feminism, or even an instructive piece about how shibari can be employed to give an under-the-clothes reminder that is even more intimate than a collar, you might be a little disappointed.  But if want to hear about my weird day today, follow along and be entertained and just a bit frightened.

So – I was in a car accident a few years back.  I’ve mostly healed, but I still have a hard time sitting for long periods of time.  This has led me to the habit of taking a walk in the afternoon every day when it’s not raining outside, and today it’s not raining.

There is a popular cafe downstairs in the building where I work.  It’s right next door to a very popular local and independent bookstore, and pretty close to the Stanford campus as well as lots of businesses, so it’s pretty busy pretty much all of the time.  My walk was well after the lunch rush, and the tables come out onto the common area in front of the building, so there is really no way I cannot walk through the cafe to get to the elevators to go up to my office.

Today as I was passing through, I saw two young men, probably college students, of indeterminate ethnicity take a seat at an empty table next to a table with an older Caucasian woman.  They were being slightly effeminate, and a little bit boisterous, but by no means over-the-top in their behavior.  They were not dressed in rainbow colors and they were not displaying any flags that I could see, but their presence was obviously quite disturbing to the woman at the table next to them.  She put a very intense look of disgust on her face, gathered up her things, and moved to a table three tables distant.

I saw this whole thing go down as I was merely walking through, and had no intent of doing anything in the cafe at all, but I got this mental worm embedded in my head and wondered to myself – is she upset because they’re loud, or is she reacting to their apparent sexuality, or is it their race that has her upset?

Ordinarily, I’d file it away as yet another case of Peninsula old-money conservatism and just keep on going, but for some reason today I decided that I wanted to know what was going on, so I went over to her table, took the seat across from her, and said, “Pardon me, ma’am, but I can’t help but notice that you seemed uncomfortable with those young men over there and felt the need to move away from them, do you mind if I ask why?”

She looked at me over the rim of her reading glasses in a way that I don’t think I’ve seen since my English teacher would do the same thing to me in high school when I was being a smartass.  But eventually she let out a long sigh and answered me.

I wish I had been recording what she said, but I didn’t have the presence of mind to start recording things on my phone, and I didn’t have anything on which to take notes, so I’m relating what she said as best I can, from memory.  I have a very good memory though…

“Well, see, here’s the thing.  The damned gay Mexicans are ruining this country.  Those two are just another part of the problem.  They should be deported back to wherever they came from and leave all of us good folks alone.  I can’t even enjoy my book here anymore without having to hear their squealing and watch them paw each other in public, it’s obscene!”

I should mention at this point that I do not believe that either of the young men in question are of Mexican descent.  I can’t be certain, but they looked more Fillipino to me, not that it matters in the least.  They were acting slightly effeminate and were definitely well dressed, but they could just as easily be metrosexual hipsters as homosexuals; I have no idea.  I was positioned to be able to see them while she spoke at me (as opposed to to me) and I never once saw them touch each other, let alone paw each other.  They were talking in a rather animated fashion, and I could not quite make out what they were saying, but it did not seem to me that they were squealing about cocksucking or anything so interesting – I think they might have been talking about baseball…

“I remember when this area was actually nice,” she continued.  This is Menlo Park, California we’re talking about here.. it’s one of the most affluent communities in the country, and therefore the world.  “People here used to be the right kind of people you know? Like you and me.”  The emphasis was hers.  I felt like I wanted to say something about being the “right kind of people” myself, but before I could get a word in, she was off on her tirade again.

“And I remember when the Mexicans knew their place too!  The only time you would see them is if they were mowing a lawn or going to church, and I bet those gays don’t even go to church, you know, because even the Catholics don’t like ‘em.  And now we even have them in my church! It’s so I don’t even want to go anymore.”

Again, I was about to say something, and she launches into it again.

“Well, except for Margie, who watches my grandkids and helps clean my daughter’s house, she’s good people, Christian, you know.  I’m sure that she wouldn’t let her son be gay.”

I think I was actually sitting there with my mouth open at this point.  This woman was a caricature of a person that I didn’t think existed anymore.  Perhaps I’m too sheltered in my little utopian bubble of acceptance and inclusion, but this woman had no trouble at all spewing vitriol at me, a complete stranger, just because we have the same skin tone.  I wasn’t really sure what to say at this point, and rather regretting sitting down to speak with her at all.

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” she continued.  “They live in all of those new apartments and they get special deals because they’re not white and all the young white kids like my daughter who live in the same complex have to pay three times as much just because she’s white.  It’s not fair!  It’s reverse discrimination is what it is.  Obama is ruining this country and I hope they shoot him before he gets voted out.”

I won’t even go into the factual inaccuracies of that statement, I was pretty well flabbergasted that I was hearing an apparently educated and generally affluent woman condone assassinating a sitting President.  There have been rumors floating about ‘the coming race war’ since the Civil War, but it’s things like this that make me wonder if it might not become reality, and that’s a scary thing.  Mind you, I have not said a word since asking her the initial question yet.

At this point, I was almost afraid to try to say anything, but I waited a few moments, and then when she didn’t launch into another rant, I broke my silence.

“How do you know that I’m not gay?” I asked.

She had the good sense to look at least a little bit embarrassed at this point, but she quickly turned it around and gave me a hard stare, “Well, at least you’re white, and I don’t believe you’re gay anyway, you don’t have the look.”

“I don’t have the look?”

“No, I can tell.”

“You can? Just like you can tell that those young men are Mexican?”

“Well, they might be a different kind of Mexican, maybe they’re from Venezuela, that would be even worse, they might be supporters of that guy, whatshisname..”

“Hugo Chavez,” I supplied.

“Yeah, him.  He’s a communist.”

“He’s dead.”

“Good. That’s a start.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to leave now.  Have a wonderful afternoon.”

“You’re not really gay are you?”

“As far as you are concerned, I am.” I said, though I felt a little bit guilty about the lie almost directly afterwards, but I wanted to shake her confidence in her world view.  It didn’t work.

“Traitor,” she said to my back as I walked to elevator and went back to work.

What a weird day…

It’s been several hours now since that event, and I wonder what I could have, or should have done differently.  I wonder if I should have tried to persuade her to be more tolerant, or if I should have attacked her right back, but I think that perhaps what I did was the best I could have.. I was polite, I let her speak, I didn’t interrupt, but I let her know that I disagreed.  At least, I meant to, but I’m not really sure that I did.

I was off balance the whole time.  These are things that I simply don’t deal with anymore since I’ve ostracized myself from my father and his side of the family.  I feel true compassion for all of the LGBT people in other, less accepting parts of this country and the world in general, who have to put up with this shit on a daily basis.

I’m not sure how to classify this entry, but I’m still Rant.

Rant off.