Purveyor of Pleasure

Pleasure is my business, my life, my joy, my purpose.

Page 61 of 65

Owner/cunt

I’m intrigued by the notion described here by cunt at underhishand.com. I have long been searching for better terms than Master/Mistress and slave to describe what I engage in. I enjoy using the terms Owner and slave, but that still carries the ‘slave’ connotations, which are part of what I want to get out of. This is part of the idea behind slavehood vs. slavery as described by Miss Abernathy, but even this is not perfect, and still uses the term slave.

cunt’s idea is that of Owner/cunt, and some of her descriptions are close to what I want as well: “I get to have my “force fetish” scratched without it having hidden meanings of anything bad. I get to dance out of reach and sing “make me” and then run like hell, because he will make me and it will hurt.. and I love it. I get to say ‘no’ and ‘fuck you’ and ‘kiss my ass’ and I get to be stubborn and willful and difficult. I get to cry and I get to say how much I hate it and I get to ask for something more and I get to tell him that he is wrong sometimes.”

I’m not sure if this would really apply to me, though. I mean, I like those things, I also want to be taken and broken and made to submit, and be able to be a brat (we even have a brat clause in our contract), but I also want to have times where I am simply giving to him, when I am in that subspace that I love so dear and when I can just give to him instead of being forced. But, this hasn’t happened, this idea is more of a theoretical one as far as our relationship goes. I mean, there have been times when I’ve done that, but there are also times when I want to act like described above. I guess the trick is to find when one will mesh with what Master is wanting and when it won’t.

I do like the term of Owner/cunt better than Master/slave or Owner/slave at this point, and perhaps I will talk with Master about it (or he will simply read this) and so we can switch our terminology from slave to cunt as far as our protocols and such. My only negative about using it in general is that it is not generalizable to any gender, it is rather specific, as the word cunt is rather specific, and I’m not sure of a term that would work in the same context for other genders. I’m not sure if I would want to go this far so quickly, though, and, of course, it will depend on what he has to say about it and what he thinks about it.

Of course, I disagree with her comments about not getting the spirituality and bdsm connection, and the service part to an extent. Like I said, I have times where I want to serve, but there are also times where I just want to be broken and forced and dominated wholly. Sometimes these things don’t mesh with what Master wants. There are times when I want to be forced and told what to do when at the same time he is just wanting me to serve him and do without being told. This poses a problem. I sometimes am in a head space where I have to be forced in order to get out of said head space, and mostly these are due to emotional reactions to something, and when I am feeling like that and he wanting me to just serve without direction, this doesn’t work.

This is something we need to work on, obviously, and I’m not sure how to go about it. Part of me says that I should be the one to compromise, obviously, since I’m the submissive in our relationship. However, when I am in a space of emotional reaction logic like this does not come easily, or well, it comes and I see it as the right thing, but I cannot accept it no matter what I do, because I’m in an emotional headspace. I’m not sure how to get out of it without something to snap me out of it. So, perhaps he is the one who needs to command me to get out of it, thus snapping me out of it and telling me what to do, and perhaps getting me to another space where I can serve without being told what to do, effectively being sort of a double-compromise (maybe?).

I have these dual wants in me as mentioned, the desire to serve and please and be a good little girl who does everything right and the desire to be a brat and be difficult so that I may be forced and broken and made to submit. I’d like to be able to retain both of these, and I know that Master enjoys both of these at different times, but only the latter when he’s in the mood for it.

I have never really been throughly broken by him, the time that I can think of that came close was during an asphyxiation scene, it was very casual, and we were just watching Angel and he began to asphyxiate me. I got light headed and a little dizzy (in a good way) and slipped instantly into that service mode. I was floating, and felt amazing and wonderful. I would like to do this again, which I actually mentioned the other night in bed.

I have much more to say on this, but I will save more for a later post. Now: I must write a paper.

Cunt

An answer to the qotn (question of the now) which I posed a few days ago in slavehood:

What are your thoughts and associations to the word “cunt”?
I’ve had an affinity for the word cunt since I read Cunt by Inga Muscio when I was 14ish, I think? Something like that. Not much after that I heard the reclaiming of the word cunt in The Vagina Monologues as well, and I have loved it ever since.

I’ve always liked it better than pussy or vagina or twat or any of the other terms for the female genitals, I think it holds a power that is primal and strong and something that can’t be taken away. Since it is such as strong word of female power it has been, of course, twisted to be the worst word to call a woman in our society, worse than bitch or slut or any of the other typical female slurs.

When referring to my own vulva I use the word cunt. I enjoy being called a cunt as well, should it be intended with desire as opposed to hurt. I identify with the word cunt more and more, and have considered it as a potential better word than “slave” as I feel that the connotations of cunt are far better than the connotations of slave, however, it is not a perfect match either.

I find it to be a wonderful word, rich in meaning, power, and association. It can be humiliating and shameful when used in the right contexts, it can be empowering and strong when used in other contexts, and it can be hurtful and painful when used in other (not so fun) contexts, but that is the adaptability and flexibility of meanings of words.

I love my cunt, and I love being a cunt, and I love other cunts too. I love saying cunt and seeing the reactions that I get. I love saying cunt to feel the silky smoothness roll off my tongue. I just love cunt in its entirety.

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I *heart* Leonard Nemoy

Leonard Nemoy on The Colbert Report talking about his book of nude bbw photography and making wonderful statements about our negative standards of beauty and female body image issues. Not really new information, but having it said on tv by Leonard Nemoy is pretty rad.

Spider Gag

Read in Episode #5 of The Sacred and Shameless Sexcast.

I lick my lips once more before the ability to do so is taken away, opening my mouth as he takes the spider gag I bought specifically for this and hooks it behind my teeth, effectively keeping my mouth open a whole wide two inches, easy access for whatever he would like to do to me, and, if we’re lucky, drool dribbling down my chin, emphasizing the baseness of my position. I moan oddly, sort of muffled but also loudly, due to the steel ring between my teeth. The four metal feet of it rubbing softly against my cheeks as my mouth is held open, as he buckles the strap behind my head.

Next, my arms are taken from my sides and brought to the back of me, soft rope twining around them, black rope, if I know the tool he is using, he captures my wrists together and then works on binding my arms, winding the rope around, one bit at a time, inching up my forearms. I try to lick my lips again, my attention focused on the rope, and I remember the gag, the drool already pooling in my mouth, able to lick at my bottom lip and barely at my top as I try, testing my mobility.

Somehow he’s seen this, and slides his finger into my mouth stroking my tongue as I wiggle it to meet his finger, chuckling softly at my inability to suckle it as he knows I would like to. I whimper, again muffled yet loud, wiggling my hips and then my shoulders, shifting my arms to test the strength of the rope. He tsks, “not yet, pet, I haven’t tied it off.”

I grunt a sound which is supposed to convey a pout, since I am unable to physically pout, and I can sense his smile from behind me. His hands both go back to the task at hand. The rope stops in the middle of my forearms, keeping them together, making me strain a bit to keep them that way, my shoulder blades pulled back, my chest thrust out. He comes around to the front of me, still standing before him, and he grins. I am already naked for him, but he is still fully clothed. Looking at him, this difference becomes even more emphasized in my mind, and I glance down at my nakedness and at his slacks and button-up shirt.

I squirm a little, uncomfortable, but knowing that in my uncomfortableness, my being exposed and vulnerable to him, my cunt is already getting wet. He watches me for a few moments before saying, simply, “display.” It is said softly, but with a steely sternness, it is a command and I squirm a little, striving to press my breasts out a little farther than they are, displaying them to him first, my legs together, still, with my head level and my eyes down. His hands move to my large breasts, feeling the weight of them, moving his fingers over the pierced nipples, flicking them softly, watching me whimper as he plays with them, a bit of drool already dribbling down my chin. I feel my cheeks warm with the heat of my blush.

He nods, his hands moving down to his sides, a signal for me to move to the next item on display, I shift, awkwardly spreading my legs, stepping out so that my thighs are nice and widely parted so his fingers can seek out the already damp folds of me, playing with my piercings, tugging at them softly, flicking at the bar running through my clit hood, a smile playing across his face as i whimper and try not to squirm, growing damper at his touch.

He slides his hand from my sex and moves his fingers to my mouth. I want to suck the juices off of them, but settle for trying to wrap my tongue around them instead, making my mouth water, and more drool dribbling down my chin. He removes his fingers and slides one down the trail of saliva dripping down my chin, laughing and catching my eyes with his own. “Dirty slut, can’t help but drool all over your chin…” he slides his hand back to my cunt, moving his finger against my thigh where some of my juices have dripped “and your thighs.”

I feel my cheeks burning at his words, sure that they must be a deep shade of pink at his comment, and yet feeling my cunt grow wetter still, my hips instantly moving toward his hand even at his cruel but teasing words. He just takes his hand away with a chuckle and nods, growling “show me that ass, whore.”

I whimper and turn around, struggling with bound arms to bend over. With the bed behind me I rest one shoulder against it, trying not to look back at him. Normally I would spread my cheeks for him, but that was impossible in my current situation, instead I strained my fingers as if I was trying to, so he knew that I was at least trying. The air was cool against the heat and wetness of my cunt as it was exposed, all of me exposed and even more vulnerable, my chin against our black sheets.

“Try not to drool all over my sheets, slut.” I attempt to shift my head, but can’t, and at that moment I feel his wet finger press against my tight backdoor and then plunge inside. He starts to fuck my little asshole with his finger, laughing at my muffled moans of pleasure and as I press back toward the invading digit, my hips grind back, sweet juices dripping down my thighs. Just as suddenly as his finger had entered my ass, I feel three slipping into my drooling cunt, filling both holes at once as he began rhythmically filling and unfilling each hole at opposite moments. I am going crazy with lust. Though as soon as it had started, it stopped.

“Next.” I whimper loudly, pressing my ass back toward him, trying to seek out the fingers which had been taken away from me, and, unable to find them, I just humped the air. The sound of a slap permeates the air and I feel a smart sting on my left cheek, even without looking I can tell it was the strap, and I’m going to get more if I don’t do as instructed. The last hole to be examined of his property was the mouth. The already drooling mouth, still aching to be used as it had from the moment the gag was placed within it. The mouth which was completely in his control, doing as he wished, taking all ability from me to swallow my saliva unconsciously, as we all do, and rather exposing my helpless position before him. I struggled to regain my composure as quickly as I could, but still got another smart smack to my right cheek, I was not moving fast enough.

I mumble something unintelligible and attempt to stand from my position. Finding that extremely difficult, I slide to my knees and turn around from there, meaning to stand after I doing so, in order to present my mouth properly. Instead of being able to stand instead his hand griped my hair and pulled my mouth to his very hard cock, not knowing when exactly he had unzipped his pants to let it out. I gag as he easily presses every inch of his cock past my lips, as I’m unable to keep it from pressing into my throat. I squeeze my thighs together and start to grind my hips against myself as he begins fucking my very accessible mouth, using it easily as drool begins to dribble down my chin.

A low moan escapes his thraot as he uses his grip on my head to guide my mouth up and down his shaft, now coated and shiny with my spit. He is already so close to cumming after playing with and teasing my body, his property. He uses my mouth easily, making me gag as he does, making my eyes water, making my cunt ache and my clit throb. I whimper again as he pulls my mouth away from his cock, I try to move forward reaching for his cock with my held-open mouth, but his hand stops me again, hand still in my hair, as his other began stroking his cock.

I stick out my tongue and wait for just a few long moments, looking up at him, pleading sounds coming from my mouth just before he groans and his cock starts spurting his cum across my face, coating me with it. Once his orgasm subsides he moves his cockhead against my tongue so that I can lap at the tip, tasting the last drops of cum.

His hand moves from my hair and rubs his cum against my face, mixing it with the drool, grinning down at me. “Such a good whore pet” he says, his other hand still stroking his cock, still slightly hard and getting harder again. “Now you get your reward…”

I Don't Want to Win

So, over the weekend, a few things happened. Master and I had a long talk about issues, like the last post about us. I’ve been extremely resistant lately, more than I would like to admit to. We are finally moving forward in our M/s relationship, we have guidelines, we have structure, and still I resist, and even more strongly, even though I was the one to encourage the changes. I can’t help but wonder about myself in these regards. I was the one desiring it, and yet still I’m the one resisting. How much sense does that make? And, yet, knowing what I do about psychology and about myself, it makes a lot of sense.

As mentioned previously, I’m a control freak. I love being in control, and yet I have the desire to be broken, but not permanently broken but… a temporary breaking. It’s hard to explain. I have such a tight rein on myself most of the time that makes it very difficult for me to give that over to another, while at the same time longing to be able to. I think that a lot of it, too, is I need to know that he is worthy of it, not only that he is worthy but that he can best me. I said this, and it confused him.

We talk a lot about equality, and he said that me wanting him to best me was counter to that, and I agreed. The funny thing is, I want equality except for when we’re not equal. Better to say, really, is I want equity. I want us to be unequal but of equal worth, sort of, while still being able to be called a dirty whore and lovely things like that. I want to be below him while both of us honoring both of our positions, not just his, both of us knowing that we are both to be cherished, that we are both of equal value and worth while at the same time he having power over me. I want us to be inherently equal, but unequal by choice. Perhaps this makes sense.

I recalled to him a story I once read, which was a morning-after story, basically, after a weekend of strict M/s. The high protocol was over from the night before, but the submissive was still acting as if she was in high protocol, just automatically. She did a few things and then took a step back and went “wait a minute, I don’t need to do this” and so she stopped. The story went on from there, but this is the important part.

I want to be able to do that. I want to get to a place where I am essentially broken though broken in a way that still retains my core self) and then be able to have that realization moment and move back into the “me” space, slip back into low protocol, and have high protocol my automatic motion. Currently it is the opposite, and currently it is almost painfully difficult to move into high protocol. Hopefully this will change with what I talked about last time, but we shall see.

This may sound harsher than I mean it, or it may sound wholly unrealistic, but I don’t think it is, not in the way I mean it anyway. It’s difficult to explain, perhaps, and I’m not even sure I’m getting the meaning across, but I’m trying to.

Basically, I need to know that he is better than me, that he can best me at any time, that he is above me, that he can master me with all the implications that term can have). I need to know this in my being before I can be completely his, completely owned by him, and I’m not sure I know this.

I know he is human, I know he has insecurities, but these aren’t the things which make him fall short of this, it’s the other things, the little things. I’m extremely sensitive to little things. I obsess. I nitpick. I endlessly play scenes and past scenarios in my head and pick them apart. I know that if I wait long enough, he will give up. If I am stubborn enough, I won’t have to do whatever it is he asks, because I will win out, I will be the stronger one, I will be victorious. I don’t want to win.

I’m working on this. I’m working on letting go, on giving myself over, but I’m not sure I will be able to allow myself this until I know that he can master me, not just that he can Dominate or Own me, though in a way that he is worthy of Owning me, and that may sound conceited, but it’s true of anyone. To be a Dominant, to be an Owner of someone else you must should be able to prove to them that you are worthy of owning another human being.

This is not to say that I don’t think he is wonderful. This is not to say that intellectually I think he isn’t worthy of owning me, but none of this is coming from a place of intellect, and this is where the problem lies. I have a great trouble controlling my automatic emotional reactions, and these are them. It has taken me a long time to get to this, years, really. I have been trying to write all this for about a week and have been mulling it over in my head for longer. I love him desperately, and I desire to be owned by him, and I desire to be submissive to him, and I desire to be the perfect little slavepet, but I have all this blockage inside that I have to work on and remove first.

Realizing this is the first step to breaking it down. I am amazing at keeping things from myself when I want to. I know that the brain will do this automatically, keep things from your conscious mind so that you can cope with them, deal with them, usually if they are traumatic or somehow shocking. This is a natural thing for the brain to do, but I feel like mine does it more than most.

Perhaps I am just so sensitive, that having the answer shoved at me instead of getting to it gradually and having to actually work at getting the answer would cause me shock. And this is probably true. It’s a water sign thing, really, and I know people who do this more than I do no names mentioned, of course, I could definitely not be talking about my old roommate Chris–yes I’m still bitter), so I’m somewhere on the end, but not quite at the extreme. At least I am trying to dig down and figure these things out.

This realization will do good for us, as all internal realizations have and will. We are wonderfully devoted to each other’s growth and discovery of self, and without that encouragement and the pushing that we each put on the other I don’t think we would have come nearly as far on our own as we have together. This is basically what our composite chart says, over and over, now that I think about it, lol. I’ll have to post that sometime.

Not On My Terms, Please

I had a dream two nights ago that I was being punished. My subconcious apparently needed me to feel worse about things, or maybe it was something which was meant to snap me out of my resistance, I’m not sure. It did make me realize a few things.

One thing I’ve been wanting to write on is something which illustratedtart said “I don’t think it should be up to me when I decide I want to be submissive and when I don’t want to be. ” Now, this is something I’ve been strugging with for a while. I have difficulty (as I’m sure everyone does to an extent) with giving up control. I love being in control, in fact, I am a control freak. I mentioned this to Master while we were talking about things like this and he said “you are? really?” all sarcastic-like. We know this, we know I have an overwhelming need to be in control in all situations. This makes M/s difficult for us.

Neither of us are yet concrete in our roles, we are both insecure for many reasons, and while we do try to “fake it until we make it” as it were (with tons of communication, of course) it is often difficult. I have been resisting his leadership lately, for various reasons, mainly because of the reason above, that he pulls me out of something I’m doing in order to do something he’s wanting me to. This should not be as big of an issue as it is. I think this is one of the issues with being 24/7 and living together, and eventually this will flow more easily, but for now we are still choppy. If we didn’t live together we could have time to mentally prepare before going into high protocol.

We are (basically) in low protocol all the time. High protocol, however, is difficult for me to slip into on a (his) whim, and so our solution is that we are going to have set times which we are in high protocol, rather than just having it happen whenever. I mean, we would still be able to have it happen whenever as well, but Master and I have decided that it would be best to give me a warning sort of thing, like “In 5 minutes we will be going into high protocol, slave” and then I will be able to finish whatever I’m doing and be ready when I am expected to.

Eventually, this will not be needed, but for now I am needing this in order to get to a space where I can be comfortable. It will still not be on my terms, and I will still not have control over it, but I will have the ability to be mentally prepaired for it, and that will give the illusion of control (sort of, mentally, if that makes sense), and that will help greatly with my resistance (in theory).

Master decided that for approximately 30 minutes after he gets home (or I get home, whoever gets home last) we will be in high protocol, and he will let me know his ETA and such. Our other set time is going to be Sundays, but he has not decided on a time. I think that weekend nights which we are alone for should be included in that as well, but we shall see. It will depend on other factors too.

I’ll update later about how this works. We have not done this yet. There will be more about the weekend later and what has lead up to this.

What I've Been Thinking About Lately

I mentioned a similar fantasy recently and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Master and I both share in the fantasy of having another or many other men fucking me. I’ve been preoccupied with the idea of having two or three men fucking me at once, fucking each hole, switching between them, using me like an eager fucktoy. I was wet just thinking about it last night, and encouraged Master to fuck me, which I’ll detail on later. I ache to be filled in all holes at once, and I love to think of the pleasure my Master would get from watching me used by other men, flaunting how much of a slut I am, how eager I am to be fucked.

Poly and My Gender Crisis

I haven’t really talked much about polyamory here. This is something I would like to talk more about, and something which Master and I need to talk about as well. He has mentioned that he would not want another slave. I think his idea of poly includes us having a third, rather than just one of us or the other having another partner, but I’m not sure. I think I would want a secondary that’s just my own, and to be a secondary to that secondary. I also like the idea of us having someone who we are both with as well, but they would also have to be a secondary, he and I would come first. I would want our secondaries to have someone else, a primary, and maybe we could be involved with them as well somehow, or not, it would depend on the person.

I’m having a slight gender crisis right now, but that’s for a different post, I think, I don’t know, maybe not? I’ve been reading Stone Butch Blues, which is amazing and something that I think everyone should read, but I identify almost too strongly with Jess. I identify with butches, and I wonder if that’s part of what makes me a femme, or if it’s because I have some butch in me. I used to be butch. I loved it. I think I would still love it, but I love my femme-ininity just as well. When I was butch I still wore skirts, and maybe that’s what I need, to cross the lines instead of just being on one side or the other, but it’s hard to be somewhat butch and mostly femme it’s easier to be somewhat femme and mostly butch, and I don’t think that’s where I am at.

I feel like, in some odd ways, that I’m passing. I’m passing for straight and passing for woman, when in reality I am neither of those things. I love women and men, and women just a little more generally, but I’m currently with a man, which means I can pass as straight in the regular world, and maybe that’s good, maybe I need to be passing in Utah. I mean, it’s fucking Utah.

People look at me and think woman, they don’t have to figure me out, and maybe I like it when they do, but how do I encorporate a little bit of butch into my femme without cutting my hair or not wearing skirts or not wearing makeup, all of which I love to do/have. Odd, really. There’s no way to be feminine and in between unless you’re male, and maybe this is why I identify so strongly with drag queens and male femininity, because it’s a femininity which can be between man and woman while being feminine, but the between man and woman while being feminine for females is nearly impossible.

I long to be butch, yet I love to be femme, so where do I fit, if anywhere? This is partially where genderqueer comes in, but I want to be both and yet can’t be, and that’s basically genderqueer, but not only… I just don’t quite fit right. This is my gender crisis. I love the gender I’ve fit into, but how do I express it without wearing a gender tag that says “I’m a gothic looking bio-female genderqueer femme drag queen, ask me how!”? Otherwise I’m just written off as “woman.” And while I’m not against woman nor do I fault others for identifying as woman it doesn’t do it for me.

I love being femme, yet I long to be butch, but I know if I was butch I would long to be femme… wouldn’t I? Did I long to be femme while I was butch, or did I just long for a woman or a man who would accept me for who I was? Why did I start growing out my hair, so I could find a lover easier? I’m not sure. I’m not sure what I want, or what I am, or what I should do. But, then, I love having this long hair, and I want to grow it out, down past my shoulders, so it touches the middle of my back. Long black hair, nice and gothy and gorgeous and amusing all at once. I cling to my campy gender, my camp femme-ininty. I love it, and yet…

I think what I really need is a woman. I need female contact and companionship, not necesarially just for sex, but someone I can love and who will love me back. I’m not sure if I could have a woman bond like that as a secondary, though. I’m not sure she could be my primary either, though, since I’m with Onyx. And I love him, and I want him, and I love being with him and being his and everything that goes along with us being us, but he’s not a woman and he doesn’t understand some of the things that pull me so hard that sometimes i fear I will burst, or break, like women and queerness.

I think my longing to be butch is just a longing for a butch, or just for a woman, because I long for and love femme-ininity as well, so I think I’m just projecting my desire to be with a woman as my desire to be a different kind of woman, or the kind of woman I would want to be with, if that makes sense at all. I just ache and covet.

note: this, being a rant, is not asking for advice, but empathy is accepted happily.

Gothic-looking Bio-female Genderqueer Femme Drag Queen

This is my previous post on the subject, and this post will be slightly different but also similar.

I’m a gothic/gothabilly-looking bio-female genderqueer femme drag queen.

You may notice that I have added a couple new identity markers to my identity than my previous post about this, both bio-female and genderqueer. I may even add “high” to femme, but I’m still debating this.

I consider gothic/gothabilly-looking to be part of my gender identity because it effects how I express my genderqueer femme drag queen self. If I wore other types of clothing I would express my femmeness or my drag queenness or my genderqueerity in different ways, but as it is I express it through a gothic/gothabilly type of dress. I don’t really consider myself goth or gothic, and I don’t consider any labels to really define me perfectly (part of the reason why my gender identity is so long), but I do think that identities are useful as ways in which to express something about yourself to others, but know that I mean them as temporary describers to express my current relation with my gender identity (as in this case) or anything.

Bio-female is pretty self-explanatory, standing for “biologically female” and basically meaning that I was born with primary sex characteristics of a female and my body has developed secondary sex characteristics as well. My body has developed into a female on its own accord, and without any suppliments or help from outside sources. Although I don’t really “feel” female, but I think that is my not feeling like a conventional woman more than not feeling “female” because sex identity (male/female) and gender identity (man/woman) are so closely intwined and hard to seperate.

Genderqueer femme drag queen all goes together, but can be picked apart as well. Genderqueer is basically my way of saying that I don’t quite feel that I fit into the conventional ideas of man and woman as genders (as opposed to male and female as biological sex as described above), although I adopt other remarkably feminine identities in femme and drag queen they are not the same as a bio-female woman, in my opinion.

Femme is more of a visual identity for me, it is my distinction between femininity and femme-ininty, basically that femme is my conscious decision to wear makeup and skirts and to appear in a feminine manner. Drag queen is more of an internal identity. I feel more closely associated with a the feminintiy presented by drag queens than the femininity presented by contemporary ideas of woman, that is, camp femininity. My femininity is exaggerated and over the top and comes from a place of realized unnaturalness.

I embrace the idea that all gender is drag, that there is no “original” gender, there is nothing which is innate in us towards the things which make up a gender, that does not mean that we aren’t drawn to certain activities or other, but, take for example gendered things throughout the years and in different cultures. In some cultures, such as many Native American cultures, long hair is a symbol of strength and masculinity, in some, such as our current culture, it is considered feminine. Some cultures have men wearing skirts, such as in Scotland, in our culture that is considered feminine. Men used to wear what we would consider tights in high English society, or lace or velvet, and all three of those are considered connected with the feminine.

I don’t mean that we aren’t pulled to certain things or others, which I think we are, and there is a mixture of psychological and sociological factors that lead to things like gender, and so on. However, what we decide makes up “masculine” and “feminine” traits are not normative, they are not natural or innate nor is there only one way to do them. This can be shown, too, just in the last 50 or so years. In the 1950s it was scandalous for women to wear pants, it was considered butch and masculine, but now most women often wear pants more than they wear skirts.

So, “drag queen” in my identity is related to this notion of performativity, that gender is not natural and is performed, and it is also tied in with me embracing a femininity which is not associated with women, but associated with men. Males can express a very different type of femininity than females can, and I try to bridge that gap, although I don’t think it is often shown to others, that is why this is more of an internal identity, as mentioned before. I love campy femininity, that femininity which is over the top, and most often associated with gay males rather than females. It is that which exposes femininity as a pose, a performance, and that is what I embrace.

Hopefully that all makes sense. Feel free to ask questions, I won’t be offended.

Forward Again

Master gave me a list of protocols and household duties yesterday (really he emailed it to me late on Saturday right before we went to bed, and then I was able to look at it yesterday after work), and I love it. The household duties are reasonable, though I’m only slightly worried about them and remembering them all and having time to do them with work and class and homework and the gym, but I will get them done. I posted them to my journal privately along with the protocols so that I will look at them every day and work on memorizing them.

I also asked him about integrating verbal and physical position commands into our play, which is something I would really like to do and also something which I think will help me get into a slavehood mindset from our casual mindset easier than I do currently. We are both still shaky about things like that, but we are working on it. He thought it was a good idea, and I sent him a list of potential positions and commands (both verbal and physical–physical meaning mostly hand gestures) and I hope to get that back from him shortly so that I may begin memorizing the ones he wants me to.

I don’t know what my attraction is to having position commands, but it is a strong one. Perhaps it is simply being ordered around that I like (which I do) but perhaps it is more than that.

I’m very happy that we have specific protocols outlined as well as regular household duties and we’re working on other things. It’s nice to be working on things and moving forward with this instead of not doing anything.

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