Well hello there...

This is more of a reminder to myself, but I'm still alive. 

Right now life has me pretty busy. Between my real job, moonlighting as an accountant, getting ready for Winter Fire (more about that another time), some new things in my life, an odd fascination with a TV show, lots of thought and contemplation, and very strange dreams, I've been pretty consumed.

I like it though, there's a hum of excitement around and I have that stomach-twisting-thrill-of-new-things feeling all the time. For the first time in a long time my mood isn't overcast, it's turned to the positive and I feel lighter. In the past few weeks a lot has changed for me, I made some hard decisions and some changes, and the more things settle down the more I feel that I made the right decision about a lot of things.

I know, this is pretty vague, but specifics aren't really necessary right now. The bottom line is that I've made some changes in my life and I'm starting to see the benefits. I'm busy, and hopefully soon I'll have a lot to share. 

Once I'm done percolating, of course.

Until next time...

Ties that Bind

I was tied up when my father died.

Not figuratively, literally tied up.

I've only mentioned it once to someone, even then I don't think I got it all off my chest.

I should elaborate.

My father had been in declining health for years, he was home most of the time, just drained. He had slowly dulled, and at the time none of us really noticed the slight changes. It was a slight decline at first, like how you don't notice that a floor slopes a certain way until you accidentally drop something round. Then, suddenly, he didn't just decline, he plummeted, if you want a specific date, it was August 30th, 2006. He had heart bypass surgery a few weeks before, and after his surgery he was glowing, his color and stature, everything. He appeared decades younger. Suddenly though, everything drained out of him, and on August 30th, his birthday, we brought him to the emergency room. He was admitted, and a few days later he was in ICU. At first he was telling us he would be out in a few days, saying that was more for him, he hated hospitals. A few days and then his words were slurred, his eyes were slightly glazed, his hand would twitch, he would see things, things you knew were vivid to him, he was in it. A few more days and he didn't know who I was. He couldn't form words, only noises. His whole body twitched. And he would look at me with the most blank empty stare. He was so far from the father I worshiped, his skin was pale with a hint of gray, his shoulders slumped, his eyes were empty, glazed over and dull.

I couldn't look at him without doubling over, weeping.

It got to the point where the doctors said he would be lucky to make it through the night. My mother was barely holding it together. My sister had completely withdrawn. I was drained, exhausted. That night they found the infection on his sternum. It had festered to the point where the infection seeped into his bone, by this point his liver and kidneys were failing, they air-lifted him to another nearby hospital the next state over.

His recuperation was long, he spent months in the hospital, it was a miracle he was alive, but he'd never be the same. His kidneys were shot, he was resigned to dialysis three times a week. He lost circulation in his right foot, his toes and part of his foot were removed.

August 30th would be the last time my father ever walked.

Eventually he would come home, and we tried to find some sort of normality. He would still go upstairs, sitting and lifting himself up to the next stair, we kept wheelchairs upstairs and downstairs for him. My father, who used to spend his time tinkering with computer software for major corporations, was now on a solid schedule of doctor's appointments, dialysis, and sitting around the house. His depression was evident, he felt useless.

Over time, he would spend about a week per month in the hospital with another infections. His limbs were slowly taken away until he had no legs, and one hand that only had a thumb. He was in constant and excruciating pain. In his last year of life, he couldn't do anything for himself, he couldn't feed himself, bathe himself, he needed help going to the bathroom, my sister would brush his teeth for him, he spent almost all of his time in bed.

I wish I could say I was there, helping my mother and sister care for my dad. I wish I could say that I was able to step up, but I wasn't. I was there when I could, but I still cried when I saw him. I rarely visited him in the hospital, I had nightmares where I found him, giving me that empty blank stare again.

A few days before his 56th birthday, my father was in his room, and my mom heard him talking to someone. He was talking to his father, my grandfather, who had passed away before I was born. My father asked him if he would be going to heaven, my father asked if everything would be alright without him there. My father wept while my mother held him, he was scared, terrified by what he had just seen.

That night he told my sister and I about what he had seen, he couldn't say more than a few words without crying again. My mother had to tell most of the story.

August 30th, 2010, my father decided that he would no longer go to dialysis, he refused any treatment, he stopped taking his medications. He decided it was time.

A few days without dialysis and your body builds up toxins that would normally be flushed away. A few more days without dialysis, and you stop thinking clearly. Your words slur, your body twitches, your tongue swells, you lose your connection with reality.

At least, that's what happened to my father. He believed he still had legs, he would get angry, so angry, when he tried to get out of bed, and you stopped him. He would yell, and those would be the only words you could understand. Some of the last things he ever said to me were out of anger, horrible things. What hurt more was that he had no idea he was saying them, or why.

I was hardly in a good place. I needed a release, I needed some way to refocus myself on something else, to get out of my own head for a while.

I had been talking to someone locally about trying a rope scene. I had never been bound before.

We met on Sunday, September 5th for coffee. We talked, we discussed, we negotiated.

He wanted to get together soon, I wanted to make sure everything was alright at home. I said I'd call if I got some free time, I had already been away from my parents' house for a little bit more than an hour and was nervous. I kept checking my phone for missed calls all through coffee.

When I got back, my mom was awake, sitting on the couch, crying. My dad was in bed, yelling, screaming her name, he was angry, no one knew what he wanted. This was pretty much normal.

A few hours later he was asleep, my uncle was there, and my sister was home to help my mother, she said I could leave and get away for a few hours. I guess it was pretty obvious that I was cracking.

I left and called my coffee date. I asked him if we could meet, I wanted to be bound.

I went home, got some things, and met him in a parking lot a few miles from his house. I left my car, and rode with him, he didn't have enough parking space for me to drive myself. He lived with two other guys, they were all in college. His room screamed college bachelor, minus the posters of almost naked women advertising beer. He gave me a quick orientation, getting his ropes and showing me the material, explaining what he'd be doing, asking me questions, answering my questions, and then he tied me up.

About two hours later, my phone rang. He untied me and I answered, it was my sister.

She told me to come home, quickly. I asked if dad was alright, she said "Just come home."

I got dressed, gathered my things, and we left. He drove painfully slow, although I'm sure he was speeding. I wanted to get out and run back to my car, I felt like that would be faster.

After I got to my car, I raced to my parents' house. Halfway there I got a text message, from my cousin, saying if I needed anything, to call her. I messaged back asking what had happened, no response.

It's really a wonder I didn't get pulled over, or crash. I was checking Facebook, trying to see if there were any answers. I saw a message another cousin had posted, saying RIP.

I drove faster.

I flew into the driveway, spraying gravel as I braked. I didn't even close my car door, I just got out and ran. Inside, I saw my uncle sitting, typing up an email, then, in my dad's room, I saw my mom. She was sitting in a chair, holding my dad's hand, crying. Then I saw my dad.

You read things about how people look when they die. How the skin loses color and turns a lifeless gray, how, if you stare long enough, you can almost see them move. It's all true.

I couldn't stop apologizing, leaning over my father and weeping, saying over and over again how sorry I was that I wasn't there.

I've never been more ashamed.

Everyone was in a fog, I think. At least I was. The priest was called, the prayers were said, the funeral home director came and with an assistant took my father's body out, draped in a flag, and drove him away.

The next few days were simply going through the motions. Everyone said the same thing to me, they were sorry for my loss, I responded the same way to everyone. We miss him, he's in a better place, his pain is over, thank you for coming, thank you for calling, thank you for thinking of us.

I tend to tackle most problems head-on. I reason with it, I understand it, I make a decision and then I'm done with it. This was so much bigger, I put it away. I tied up my feelings and buried them as deeply as I could manage.

About a week after his funeral, I went to Summer Camp. The sun shone, everyone was friendly and open, my head was clear. I'm not sure if running off to sex camp is considered appropriate mourning, but I needed it. I had forgotten how to smile, how to laugh, and Summer Camp gave that back to me. It was the escape that reminded me how to experience joy.

I haven't touched rope since. I tried a rope workshop at camp, and even though I was calm and knew there was nothing to be afraid of, my palms were sweaty. I couldn't help but feel my phone in my pocket, focused on it, waiting for it to buzz, waiting for a phone call. I know it's all psychological, some day I'll try it again, but right now I have this obstacle.

I still mourn the loss of my father, I'll always miss him. There are so many conversations we never had, so many things we'll never do, so many things he'll never see. There are some days I forget he's dead, and then I'll remember. There are some times where I could swear it's been years since he passed, there are some times where I could swear it's been hours. It's been a little more than four months.

This is a story I've wanted to tell for a while. Believe it or not, this is the condensed version, I could spend days relating every little detail. I'm no longer ashamed, I'm sad. I wish I had been there, and I'm sad that I wasn't, but I would still like to ask something of anyone who reads this.

What I ask is that you take something from this story. Don't settle on something as simple as 'life is short'. We all know life is short. We all know that we want more time. Let this roll around in your mind, let it build mass until a though, and idea, a feeling is tangible to you. I don't ask that it be profound, I ask that it be true to your own story. Then, I ask that you remember it.

Why do I ask this?

It's hard to explain, but simply put, I want my father's reach to be far. I want him to be in the minds of more than his family. I want his story to be told, I want something good to come from it.

So, take a few moments to think and absorb.

My father died from complications due to uncontrolled diabetes. He could have lived decades longer had he managed his diet and life. As a daughter who watched her father crumble, whither, then die, and as a sister who watched her younger sibling grow up with only memories of her sick, dying father, I can say that all of this was preventable. What I take from this, is that we owe it to ourselves, and to our loved ones, to take care of ourselves.

That sometimes, you have to change to survive and thrive.

Until next time...

Theo, My New Favorite Name

I should say up front that I'm pretty biased when it comes to strap-on harnesses. SpareParts all the way, baby.

But until now I've always just used the Joque harness, cause well, it makes my ass look great, and it's stable. So when they came out with the Theo, a thong-style harness, I was intrigued. I've heard more than my fair share of horror stories involving thong-style harnesses and their plagues of wobbly design, discomfort, and ineffectiveness but could SpareParts manage to fix all of that?

Well, yes.

Just like the Joque harness, the Theo has an adjustable waist band with those genius cinching straps on the sides (for a girl with more curve than narrow they're a godsend) so around your waist, you're going to get a secure and tight feeling without discomfort or fear of it slipping. I bounced, ran, jumped, humped, and frolicked with this thing on and it didn't budge, so you can do just about anything and you'll still be packing around your waist and not your ankles.

Now what about that pesky strap that goes between your legs? This is usually where most harnesses fall apart because this strap is one-size-fits-all, but since we're all shaped differently and have different preferences as to where the harness sits, one-size just doesn't cut it.

Again, ingeniously, SpareParts engineered a strap with alternating snaps so you can adjust it to your size. I prefer a low-sitting harness with the dildo base hitting my pubic bone, so I was able to achieve this by adjusting the snaps. It took a few seconds to get the length right where I wanted it. The only downside I had was that I had the strap short enough that there was part of the excess strap at the back just hanging there. This could be operator error, since there was an additional piece that was included (I just couldn't figure out what this was for) and it didn't really detract from anything I was doing, but for someone else this could be a potential problem. Other than the minor detail, I was really impressed with this harness.

Another thing that intrigued me was that in the marketing for the Theo, they mentioned masturbation. Now I'm not sure about most folks, but I had never thought about a harness as a masturbatory tool until I got to thinking about it. Now this might be the only thing I ever use it for.

Ever craved a hands-free Hitachi session but don't have a partner around? I'm not kidding. All you do is slide the cord of the Hitachi through the pouch and O-ring, and pull the Hitachi Magic Wand through. You're left with a snug, comfortable harness with the happy-end of the Hitachi facing inward and looking right at your vulva. Believe me, it's a great time and your hands are free to do other things. I even inserted a dildo into my vagina and used the strap to hold it in place while going to town with the Hitachi. You could pull this off with the Joque, but it would be a lot harder to hold the dildo in place unless you were riding it, or if it has a suction cup base.

I'm quite sure that there are endless ways to use this thing to help you masturbate.

Also, I'm a size queen. What I mean is, I like having a big dick. The O-ring is stretchy enough to fit up to a 2" dildo (although, I'm pretty sure it could fit a tad larger if you tried) and versatile enough to fit a wide variety of smaller dildos, and since the pouch is open you can also use double-dildos such as the Feeldoe line of products for a more controlled penetrative experience for you and your partner. And, for the packers, you can do that too without a problem.

Now, for those of you who like packing, the Theo can be worn under reasonable clothing (let's be honest, anything will show through spandex) and since it's made from a stretchy, breathable material, you can wear it all day and won't get uncomfortable or have that damp body-heat-plus-trapped-moisture feeling. I've worn mine for hours, even slept in it, and it wasn't uncomfortable at any time.

Did I mention you can also throw it in the washer and clean it?

Yea, you really can. Again, because of the material (Nylon and Polyester-Spandex blend) it's completely washer safe. As someone who gets lube everywhere, I can't begin to tell you how happy I am about this. So not only can you wash it and sanitize it, you can also let a play partner use it, wash it, and not worry about cross-contamination.

Now, I know that leather is a popular material for harnesses. It's true, leather harnesses look stylish and they come in all variety of colors, styles, flexibility, etc. but they just aren't a good material in my opinion. If you're a leather enthusiast, then by all means look for a leather harness. Want something besides leather or a SpareParts harness that is more stylish? Be prepared to sacrifice performance for style. To me, though, the Theo and the Joque are stylish. Stylish enough that I forget I'm wearing them until I look down and see a cock just flopping there, stylish enough that I feel good and sexy wearing it. Granted, it all boils down to personal taste, but I really like the no-frills, sleek design that SpareParts has.

Not to mention, in my most legitimate test (I kid you not) I'll wear my harnesses when I wash dishes.

Really, I'm not kidding.

I'll strap on, cinch up, and go to work washing my dishes. It's really the most enjoyable part of house-cleaning to me. After a few minutes, I forget I have the harness on and I'm just amused with my dick. Ever wash dishes listening to Lady Gaga and dancing along so that your dick sways with the beat?

Yea, you should try it. Dishes will never be the same again.

I'm a comfort and performance girl, and the SpareParts harnesses deliver on both counts. I was pleasantly surprised at how comfortable and sturdy the Theo was. It's a harness that I know will last me for decades. In my opinion it's the best combination of materials, design, and engineering. It's versatile enough to penetrate your partner and give you hands free masturbation, and that's a pretty big deal in my book.

Check out the Theo product page at SpareParts for more information. I have so many good things to say about their products I really can't fit it all in one post, so you can also check out the Joque or the La Palma pages. I haven't tried the La Palma yet, but I'm thinking I'll have to. A dildo harness for your hand? Oh the things I could do.

The Expert Guide to Female Orgasms

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Tristan Taormino-- Crossing Borders and Bringing Others With Her

I first met Tristan at Dark Odyssey Summer Camp, she had a workshop on crossing borders and essentially challenging the borders that we set up for ourselves.

In a world where communication and negotiation are at the core to safe and exciting play, participants generally come into a negotiation with pre-defined borders. While knowing your limits is inarguably a good thing, it is possible to box ourselves in and close ourselves off to other experiences that we hadn't considered.

During my initial sexual growth, I'll be the first to admit I was boxed in. I was curious about many many things, but I believed that in order to be happy I had to be in love with a man and have only penis-in-vagina intercourse and that would be that, for the rest of my life. It didn't take long for me to realize that I couldn't be satisfied by that alone.

I was curious but didn't know where to start, being a young teenager, going out and meeting people wasn't an option (I couldn't drive myself) so I looked online. I talked to people in the BDSM and D/s world and found a whole spectrum of relationships and play, multi-faceted dynamics that leave miles of room to grow and explore, I was in love.

Over the years, my borders have grown, so much so that they aren't really borders as much as they are perforated lines. There is a relatively short list of things that I absolutely won't do, and everything else depends on the partner or partners and the dynamic that we have.

Walking into Tristan's workshop, I honestly had no idea what to expect but I told myself I'd be going in with an open mind-- no matter what. The group sat in two rows, slips of paper and pens, along with blindfolds, were sitting on the chairs when we arrived, and my interest was piqued. After introductions we were instructed to write down a fantasy, using as much detail as we wanted. The first thing that came to mind was a pegging fantasy, I don't remember the specific details, but after a few minutes my fantasy was jotted down.

We were then instructed to fold it in half and place it in a box that was passed around. I thought we might have to read a random fantasy aloud to everyone, which was a little nerve-wracking (I'm not a fan of public speaking). Instead, we were told to pick a fantasy from the box, and the front row to turn their chairs around and face the person behind us in the second row. We were to read our chosen fantasy to our partner and then they would ask us questions about the fantasy, asking about details, motivations, and actions. The beauty in this is that we had to adopt someone else's fantasy as our own even if it was something we wouldn't normally consider.

The fantasy I chose was a room with a group of curvy, buxom women encircled around me on their hands and knees, asses facing in with their knees apart. I was on my knees crawling around to each one and giving them pleasure. They then used me how they wished, including golden showers and penetration with strap-ons.

While the strap-ons were no big deal, golden showers are a place where I draw the line. Bodily waste is one of my harder limits and until then I hadn't considered or incorporated it in any fantasy of mine. It was a challenge to adopt that part of it, and to eroticize that type of act. It was a boundary that I was forced to recognize and decide if that was a place where I would be comfortable going. Afterwards I thought about it and decided that it was still a hard limit, but under the right circumstances I would consider it.

By closing ourselves off to something, we essentially miss out on that experience without knowing if it's something we may desire or something that we might benefit from.

Tristan then explained that in the second part of the workshop, there would be people touching/kissing you, and you would be touching/kissing other people, the catch being that the person being touched or kissed wouldn't know who was doing it. She gave the opportunity for anyone who was uncomfortable with this to leave with no judgement, a move that instantly set the foundation for a safe environment for physical contact, because while discussing fantasies may be expected from a workshop, physical contact isn't always incorporated, the offer she made allowed everyone to make a choice for themselves and it was appreciated throughout the group.

The second part of the workshop involved everyone moving their chairs to a circle facing outward. We numbered off into two groups, one group stood while the other sat. The sitting group was instructed to put on the blindfold, ensuring that they couldn't see anything. The standing group was instructed to move left or right according to the card that Tristan held up, and we would move a certain number of people also according to a card. We were to touch the person in front of us, communicating a message with that touch, the message was ours to choose. Every touch I made was meant to impart a feeling of hope and strength, something I was looking for and needing at the time.

Then, the groups switched, and I was touched three times by complete strangers, I never knew who they were, but each touch was different and distinct, and gave you an impression of the person, but not of the gender identity or their anatomy.

We switched again, our instructions this time being to kiss the person we stood in front of. We could kiss anywhere that there was bare skin. Some people chose to be naked, others chose to remain clothed and used additional blindfolds to cover other areas such as their mouth. Once again we wouldn't know who was kissing, and each time I kissed someone my kisses were deliberate, tailored to the person sitting in front of me. A soft gentle kiss to the eyelids, a slow smooth kiss with a flick of the tongue just below the ear, a firm kiss on the shoulder with a bite that increased in pressure as my mouth closed. I was kissed on the forehead, on the lips, and on my jawline, and the only time I knew the gender of the person was when I felt the scratchy whiskers of a beard, and even then I had no way of knowing their identity, they could have very well preferred men.

Attending Tristan's workshop made me realize how little the other person's gender identity or physical anatomy was important to me. It's the philosophy and the feeling that she brings to all of her work. It's a powerful and freeing lesson that once learned is never forgotten. Her message is most prominent in her work directing pornography with Smart Ass Productions. She strips away all of the tawdry and cheap stereotypes that you think of when you hear the word 'porn' and highlights the broad spectrum of human sexuality along with all of the powerful emotions and intimacy. Watching her pornography is like being a fly on the wall in a person's bedroom. All of the performers she chooses are real, varying body types and personalities with genuine chemistry and excitement, they're all excited to be where they are, doing what they're passionate about, and all of it shows. The distinction between a Smart Ass Production and most other porn out there is astounding. It's the difference between two people performing for a camera, and two people being intimate with each-other while a camera is present.

I recently volunteered to review her latest DVD, the Expert Guide to the Female Orgasm, and I was thrilled to watch it not once, but twice, before actually sitting down and writing the review. Her Expert Guide series combines pornography with sexual education, a remarkable feat in itself. Look out for my next post, which will be a review of the Expert Guide to the Female Orgasm.