Guest Bloggers » James Buchanan

Guest Blogger: Misha

Guest Bloggers, Transgender No Responses »

Feb 062011

*this originally was a response to a question on a group. I liked the answer and asked if I might post it here. Thankfully Misha agreed.

All the basic books like Gender Outlaw, Gender Trouble, Transgender Warriors, Queer Theory, Gender Theory/Read My Lips, etc, etc, all are very good.

What we’re all saying, including the authors of these books, is that slowly, over the millennia, the powers in society have, since the murder of the last matriarchal tribes in Sumaria, in multitudes of unspoken, subconscious acts, (the acts themselves wern’t subconscious, but their application to gender was), shifted social power to be concentrated in males in the patriarchal system. They have skewed the learned “viral” information we pass on from generation to generation in favor of masculinity as being the gender of socio-political power, and femininity as being the gender of emotional expression and familial cohesiveness. All this applied to individuals based on the shape of their genitals. We know how well this has worked, and it gets reinforced by violence on playgrounds and in bedrooms and boardrooms and homeless shelters, and our religious institutions, etc.

What we face as gender-queer people is a social ignorance. Individuals, in general, have had their ability to self-gender-determination taken from them by a language that expects us, from the day we begin to grasp language, to take responsibility for the determination of the gender of another. Our language and the customs we hold around gender force us to “gender” others. We are given no other language to use, and the English language forces us to continue reinforcing the millennia of training we’ve received on the place “each sex”, has in society, (as opposed to the SE Asian languages where the speaker has no way to “gender” the listener or any others, but the speakers self references allow them to express their own gender (as narrow as that still may be), ie. in Thailand “yes” from a male is “Krap” and “yes” from a female is “Ka”).

None of you will be able to totally change the fact that our society has been brain-washed in this way in your life times. What we can do is to start to take bites out of it. We can be ourselves, we can choose to expose ourselves to the taunts of ignoramus’s, and the askance looks of the curious and confused. We can choose our own gender and the form of expression that it will take as we attempt to describe our internal feelings using unique combinations of the clothing society gives “normal” folk to express masculinity or femininity, (unless you are talented in using a sewing machine and clothing construction).

Every day those of us who wish to do the hard work of changing peoples minds about what gender really is past the shape of the flesh between our legs (intersex inclusive), we will have to stand out there, play in our bands, do our nursing work, bag those groceries, etc, and face those who will scratch their heads at us at best, catch us in the alley and beat the tar out of us or take our lives at worst. And what we will do, by sheer force of numbers that don’t match their stupid theories of what men and women should look like and act like, what we need to do…we will be true to ourselves, we will love ourselves, and we will change society. Not today or tomorrow, maybe long after anyone reading this has passed the expiration of a normal life span, but we will make the world better for our children, for our nieces and nephews, for the little 5 year old down the block who’s still being dressed by his parents, but fantasizing about expressing a different gender …who if he did it today could have his life snuffed, possibly painfully, by ignorant parents who fear what people will say if their child looks weird.

All any of us can do is to support each other in this painful, but blissfully rewarding life that we share independent from the masses of lemmings who secretly hate themselves.

And know this…

If you want a trump card, whether you want to be the best trombone player or the best psychologist, or the best lawyer, or the best at any endeavor your choose, bring your whole self into it, bring your gender queerness into it. A few of you may encounter resistance, possibly even violence, but more of you will be embraced, and loved for loving yourself. It really does show through. Your unique visions will inform and guide your creativity and you will be capable of more and better works which will give you that edge to show the world that if they will stop fucking with our self-concepts and our self-confidence we will make the world a better place. And they will love us. Know that amongst the few in my family who have rejected me, many more have shown me that I’m loved for being me.

Hugs to you all and Namaste, Misha

Misha Elizabeth Balch, LPN, PSN, RC,

http://www.facebook.com/Psychobablishous?ref=profile
Gender Alliance of the South Sound, Founder, and Twice Board Chair;
http//www.southsoundgender.com

Guest Blogger: Amber Green

Guest Bloggers 2 Responses »

May 262010

We have a new dog, Baron. He’s at the stage where everyone has a different name for him, from Baron von Hund (I know, cringe-worthy) to Mr. Paws. I call him the Big Brown Puppy of Happiness.

Sixteen years ago this summer, when my children were quite small, we were given two kittens. When we went to pick up the second, the woman said, “Here, now! You want a puppy? These is five weeks old and their momma left them a week ago and today they’re every one going to the pound!” Well, three went home with me. I gave away two at Legal Services and kept one, Jake. He would bring his leash when he wanted to go with us somewhere, or his ball when he wanted to play. He was a perfect squirrel dog, an unhelpful but enthusiastic fishing companion, a fought-over footwarmer in a cold tent at night. The mailman called him The Dog Who Smiles. As the boys grew up and went their own ways, my husband retired and Jake became his shadow. Jake died a year ago January after a protracted illness.

Four months later, we lost our beautiful big dog. Shiloh had come to us as an underweight 120-pound adult, a pedigreed white Alsatian but much too tall for breed standard. His family had moved here from South Carolina and left him in the charge of a hotel manager (my neighbor) to go househunting. They’d come back to the hotel saying they’d signed a lease on a townhouse only to find no pets were allowed, so where was the animal shelter? The following hour involved a shotgun, lots of yelling, and a purely defensive bite. Then Shiloh made his place at my right hand; he would lie beside me on the floor as I wrote and lay his head on my knee when he thought I needed a big sweet doggie to pet. His big trick was turning the bathroom door knob. I would go sit there because I needed a big doggie’s head on my knee, right? I learned to let him in before I shut the door, because I really am fond of closed bathroom doors. He died suddenly, at what was an advanced age for such a big dog. But it was too soon after losing Jake. Way too soon.

This left us with one dog in the house. She is not the stuff of fond memories. Losing her playmate, Shiloh, did not improve her disposition.

Most of a year went by. We talked at length about what we each wanted in a new puppy or dog. We agreed that it would be best not to bring in a lively new puppy yet because our eldest two cats are sixteen years old. But I needed a puppy. My husband, who has never regained the weight he lost after Jake died, needed a new puppy. On our third trip to the pound, my husband said, “Look at this one.”

Are you nuts? You’re the one who didn’t want any trace of pit bull, and that there is a red-nosed pit bull. No, he’s not. He’s got a lot of chocolate lab in him. Says who? Ridgeback mix, someone else suggested. Maybe some mastiff in there. We played with him and watched him nap over the next couple of hours, checking his disposition and trying to gauge his intelligence. Friends dropped by and reminisced about Jake and Shiloh. Other people we haven’t seen in years happened to show up and offer opinions. My son raced to the pound to talk us out of getting a puppy, but sat on the floor and went all chibi once he arrived. A friend quietly got the paperwork together during this time, so we had little to do other than sign and shell out the bucks. My husband signed as the adopter, since he got the senior citizen’s discount. I signed as the landlady, since my name is on the tax appraiser’s roll.

One of the adoption consultants tried to talk us into crate-training, but I don’t see the point. We have a Shiloh-sized doggie door, a fenced yard, and the kind of household where someone is virtually always around. The first night, my husband set up a mat beside the bed so he could drop a hand to touch the puppy whenever the puppy got anxious or lonesome. In the morning, I found Mr. No Dogs On The Bed curled up around a cinnamon-caramel puppy.

During his first day here, my husband would put him through the doggie door every two hours and every time he ate. During the first night, he was carried out every time he whimpered. On the second night, he didn’t whimper. That morning, we found a a pile and a puddle right by the door. I could just hear this little voice saying, “I big boy! I do it myself! Awwwww!” He got the hang of opening the door flap by himself that day, though.

He’s only just now grown big enough not to trip over the teddy bear he carries around. When he dances into a room, with or without his bear, grins break out all around. I think we have the makings of a great dog here.

Amber Green lives in Florida with a mixed household of family, friends, and critters. Some household members fall into more than one category. Visit her website at www.shapeshiftersinlust.com for cover art, excerpts, blurbs, reviews, and the occasional nauseatingly self-promoting bit of “news.”

Guest Blogger:HB Kurtzwilde

Guest Bloggers No Responses »

Apr 172010

Everybody’s Vanilla

I have an obscene relationship with food. This is nothing like what leads to pudding-glued sheets or the eternal question of how to get Reddi Whip out of silk undies. That would be far too mundane for the passions I harbor.

No, friends and neighbors, I am a food dom.

I feel mine is a position of privilege. There are those who struggle to find a good partner who will either indulge or actually enjoy the kink of their choice. I am not so burdened. On each occasion when I have met a person who claims to be of the plain-jane missionary-lights-out-only persuasion, there has been no trouble persuading them otherwise.

Perhaps this is related to modern culture’s simultaneous revulsion towards actual food, and the more natural tendency to enjoy things which are good. Alas, with the advent of New Food, Slow Food, Whole Food, Fast Food and the diet of the day, my way of life has been moved into the ‘perverse’ category.

I couldn’t be happier.

Do I get strange emails inviting me to indulge in a latex and grease party? No. Is there really a list posted by the door of folks who will be stopping by to have their asses tanned? No. Instead I get thoughtful messages from dear friends who still somehow manage to sound lecherous when they want to nibble my cookies.

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It was with some trepidation that I entered a marriage intended to be straight-edged in the sexual sense. My partner is charming, adorable, loving, kind and absolutely as vanilla as the day is long. The question foremost in my mind was “Without my bag of tricks and whips and ropes and needles and lube, how in the world will I keep this person in love with me?”

Imagine my surprise and delight when I began to understand more deeply. It began with my favorite pastime, working in the kitchen. It ended in a plate of muffins. The muffins depicted here are not the muffins in question, but are artistic reproductions of the originals.

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Time passed before I realized that there were many, many people who cannot or do not cook. For them, my skills are sought after and nurtured as if I were passing out free blowjobs with every brownie. While I enjoy the attention wholeheartedly, I admit I don’t quite fathom the reasons for all the flattery, cajoling and outright bribery that my kitchen skills attract.

Like many doms, I find my complete understanding is not required. I am merely called upon to accept and respect my opposites, and enjoy their attention and affection. If there’s a line between sexual arousal, and the physical arousal I often witness over food, I can’t see it. On the whole, sexual arousal seems to have less shame attached to it now than shoving one’s face directly into a bowl of Tokyo-style ramen and chowing down.

GEDC0479

I had this principle in mind when I pitched the idea of ‘Chocolatiers on the High Winds’ to Circlet Press. I was lucky enough to attract the attention of Cecilia Tan, who writes scorching hot D/s fiction. I’m pleased to say I’m not the only one who finds the idea of guys in a steam-powered airship on an international quest for cacao beans to be a rockin’ good time.

To this end, I hope I’ve caused countless cravings today. If you’re just not able to go one minute more without something delicious to nibble: Congratulations! You’ve been food dommed.

H.B. Kurtzwilde resides in the distinctly southern portion of Florida where he is kept sane and happy by his darling partner and their pet house. Between renovation projects and Extreme Gardening missions, he writes science fiction and romance about loving queer, trans or both. He welcomes and encourages his readers to visit his Facebook Page, or email him at

Guest Blogger: Katrina Strauss

BDSM, Guest Bloggers 5 Responses »

Mar 312010

Many thanks to James for inviting me to play here today. When it comes to play, shouldn’t it be fun? Yet for all the enjoyment of BDSM, sometimes we can forget it’s meant to be fun, or that fun can be, well, funny!

When my partner and I ventured into the lifestyle years ago, we were so serious about it. I recall our first visit to fetish shop Leather by Boots, located in Dallas’s gay neighborhood Oak Lawn. I stood by, expecting my Dom to go in first. He waited, door open, with a stern-lipped look. Taking the hint, I bowed my head in apology and went ahead of him.

Two middle-aged bears stood behind the counter. One of them wore a leather vest over a white T-shirt with leather pants. His co-worker, who I would later learn was Leather Daddy’s boy and shop co-owner, simply wore a polo shirt tucked into jeans. They both watched with amused looks as my Dom and I navigated the store and communicated with questioning glances from me, authoritative nods from him. In retrospect, Leather Daddy and his boy probably knew we were n00bs because we were So. Fucking. Serious.

That, and this was during our goth-as-fuck days, the two of us decked out in black vinyl, fishnet, and boots. My ensemble included hot pants, while my Dom wore more eyeliner than I did.

“You two look like you should be behind this counter,” Leather Daddy cracked. My partner and I laughed. The silence broken, the shop owners came out from behind the counter and asked what they could do for us. The conversation took a warm, friendly tone from there. It was at that moment that I realized “Wow! BDSM can be, you know, fun!”

We discussed what accessories my Dom and I already had on hand versus what we needed or wanted to upgrade. After making a few selections (read: the basic beginner’s pack) we looked at the paddles. “What about riding crops, Sir?” I whispered.

“What about riding crops?” my Dom asked out loud.

Leather Daddy explained how metropolitan Dallas was still part of the Bible Belt, and for whatever reason, nipple clamps, ball gags, and leather paddles could be sold as novelty items while riding crops had been deemed a no-no. As he rang up our purchase, he referred us to another store. “Their crops are kind of cheap, but serve their purpose.” He scribbled on a slip of paper and passed it to my Dom. Elliott’s, it said. According to the crudely-drawn map, Elliot’s was a few blocks away on the edge of Oak Lawn.

The owners’ shared sly grins struck my partner as odd. “What kind of store is this?” he asked.

Leather Daddy’s grin widened. “A hardware store.”

“Seriously?” I blurted.

“You’ll see. Check out aisle 17. Agricultural goods are a few rows over.”

His boy chimed in. “We should get a referral fee for every customer we send their way.”

A short drive later, my partner pulled into the parking lot of Elliott’s Hardware. As we crossed the sun-baked asphalt, we passed a bowlegged farmer in flannel shirt, faded jeans, straw hat, and cowboy boots. He eyeballed my legs, tipped his hat at my Dom who he probably thought was a girl, then spit a wad of snuff in the opposite direction. He jangled his keys and walked to a ramshackle pickup truck weighed down with bales of hay. I noticed similar vehicles parked between Jags and Bimmers. “Only in Dallas,” I muttered.

We walked through the doors of Elliott’s. We were greeted by a blast of A/C and a display of power tools, lava lamps, and pink patio furniture. “Only in Oak Lawn,” I added to my previous sentiment.

We headed straight to aisle 17. Yep, they had riding crops, in every color of the rainbow – which meant no black, so we settled on blue. Two aisles over, we found various types of rope. My Dom, who was himself learning the ropes, tossed a coil of white nylon into the cart.

As we wandered the aisles, my eye was caught by housewares. “Clothes pin!” I announced. I corrected myself. “Sir, can we get some clothes pins, please?” I held up a bag of wooden ones.

“What about plastic?” he asked. “We could get blue to match the riding crop.”

“Wood gives a better pinch.”

“Get a bag then.”

The preppy gentleman standing near us edged slowly away. I guess he got the hint we weren’t talking laundry. I threw the clothes pins into the cart next to the riding crop and rope. I grabbed some really cute dish cloths while I was at it. Hey, they matched my kitchen theme, and they were marked down!

We found the agricultural aisle. A tall woman in a black dress and high heels studied the spreader bars. Her companion, a short, meek gentleman, stood dutifully by with the cart. I peeked and saw they’d picked up one of the lava lamps, bathroom cleaner, and a toilet brush.

She eyed our cart in turn, then each of us. She addressed my partner, apparently sensing a fellow Dominant. “Excuse me, where did you find the riding crops?”

“Aisle 17,” he told her.

She thanked him and walked away, heels clicking against tile, her sub following behind. I got the hint they weren’t farmers any more than we were. My partner and I discussed the spreader bars, but decided they were too heavy-duty and that we’d be better off with ones tailored specifically for play. Another customer cleared his throat and scuttled away.

We went to the checkout lane. A young black woman stood at the register. She eyed us in our vinyl and fishnet. She studied our selection rolling down the conveyor belt. With a hand on her hip, she shook her head and quietly rang us up. I suspect she was thinking “Who keeps sending these freaks over here?” I was tempted to ask for the Leather by Boots referral discount, but refrained. She looked like she’d had a long day.

My partner and I laughed all the way home. We learned a valuable lesson that day: It’s okay to inject some humor into BDSM. I think of other hilarious moments friends have shared. Like the professional Domme onstage at a club. One of her stiletto heels broke halfway through the scene. “Look what you made me do!” she growled, shaking the heel in her bent-and-bound sub’s face. He trembled, not from fear but because he was trying not to laugh. She made him clench the heel between his teeth, then hobbled around behind him where she proceeded to flog his ass six ways to Sunday. He wasn’t laughing anymore!

Or the May/December couple role-playing as teacher/student. He took her past her comfort zone during the spanking session, and she forgot the safe word. She turned around, skirt hiked over her hips, ponytails whipping in her face, and jerked the paddle from his hand. She yelled “I don’t think so, motherfucker!” and threw the paddle across the room. This scenario might sound disturbing to those of us who know how intense things get when a Dom/me brings their sub to the breaking point. But this couple took turns laughing in the middle of Denny’s as they regaled us with their tale of how she then cursed him with every name in the book while he massaged her rump, talked her down, and gently reminded her that “motherfucker” wasn’t the safe word. They went on to integrate what they learned from that mishap into future scenes. He quite liked it when she stole the paddle from him and cussed him out. It gave him reason to rein her in and paddle her all the harder.

Don’t get me wrong. In my younger days, I liked my play dark, rough, and intense. But really, as in all matters of life, it’s okay to laugh. What’s the point of any relationship if it’s not fun?

And if you’re ever in Dallas, check out Elliott’s Hardware on Maple Avenue. Let me know if the riding crops are still on aisle 17.

Warped at a young age by sneak peeks at her grandmother’s romance novels, Katrina Strauss pays homage to the genre with her own spicy twist. Be it homoerotic, heterosexual, or menage, from steamy romance to fetish and kink, her stories are all about exploring our innermost desires with that special someone.

A Texan by birthright with the accent to prove it, Katrina currently lives with her family near St. Louis, Missouri. When not writing, she enjoys reading, cooking, music, and entirely too much anime.

Learn more about Katrina’s BDSM series Blue Ruin and The Eldritch Legacy at: http://www.katrinastrauss.com/

Guest Blogger: Byrl R. Tyne

Guest Bloggers, Transgender 4 Responses »

Mar 202010

You may call me. . .

Sir, dude, man, or hey-fucking-you; but you doesn’t has to call me, she.

Thanks for the invite, James. For those who don’t know me, my name is Bryl R. Tyne, pen name at the moment, but future legal name. I am an author, editor, marketing manager, advertising coordinator, graphic artist, handyman, mechanic, college graduate, abuse survivor, spouse, parent, grandparent, child, sibling, and so much more I could never list it; and I am F2M transgender.

As with any of the above descriptions, it took me awhile to figure each of them out. A few examples: When my current employer said, I couldn’t possible know how to edit for I worked in advertising and production, I searched for a publishing company that would value my strengths and found one. When my ex, the devil himself, said, I would never amount to anything for I didn’t, at age thirty, have a high school diploma, I sought out a community college to earn my GED and eventually attended a private college and earned my four-year degree in Communications also, including amassing a number of managerial positions along the way and even owning my own company at one time. And when my children said, I could not be a man for I had labored to give them life, I decided it was time I stopped trying to prove my worth to anyone but myself.

First, you must know one thing about me, which I firmly believe: I abhor labels. Why? Simply because labels bind you, constrain you, box you in. I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand the thought of being stamped any "thing" in particular. But alas, we don’t live in a perfect world.

Took some serious consideration to realize why I’m a jack of all trades, though, but I finally came to the conclusion. I can be anything I strive to be. But that answer doesn’t satisfy a label-happy society, does it? So, I sat down with myself a few years back and took an internal inventory. What did I uncover? Well, I realized, despite my best efforts, I was indeed amassing a gigantic list of labels to call myself. However, the question then became, Why? Once I found the correct question, the answer was obvious. I was hiding the fact that I was afraid. Terrified of what others may think of me, how much I stood to lose if the truth be known. I also realized two other very important aspects. I wasn’t getting younger and I was tired. Tired of trying to conform, tired of putting on a front, tired of running. Running away from "Me".

So, I decided, despite all I abhorred, that I did in fact need a label. One that says, "Oh! That’s you," and I picked up a pen and began to write. In a six-week span, I wrote a 77K word novel about a young person with a major identity crisis. Full of fantasy and guardian spirits, men loving men, and women loving women . . . and no one was ever going to publish this crap, I thought, at the time. Of course, I was mistaken. Not that that manuscript will ever clutter a publisher’s desk, but searching for a publisher who might accept such a work opened my eyes to a world I, up until that point, never knew existed.

"Oh! So, you’re an author," you say.

No. If I must choose a label, I would say, I am a transman.

One, who happens to have experienced more in my forty plus years than many other people experience in a lifetime . . . and from it all, I write some pretty damned good, and sometimes funny, stories about men loving men, women loving women, and men loving men who believe they are women, and every combination of gender and sexuality one could imagine.

We’re here, everywhere really. Many of you have transwomen or transmen as neighbors. You may even work alongside one of us, undergo medical care from one of us, be taught by one of us, have your groceries packed or your drinks served by one of us, and not know we were born into bodies that don’t "fit" who we are. Would knowing change anything? Would slapping a label on our foreheads help you choose how to treat us? I doubt it. But again, I may be mistaken. So, here I am, Bryl R. Tyne, transman, author–Oh, you know the rest.

I invite you to check out my latest story, the first in the mini-series The Zagniel Diaries, titled Forsaken, which will be available next week from Untreed Reads Publishing.

Later.

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, and Untreed Reads Publishing. You can find out more about Bryl at: bryltyne.com

Guest Blogger: Victor J. Banis

Guest Bloggers 2 Responses »

Feb 202010

Baby Daddy

By Victor J. Banis

The story is told in my family that on the day when, as a toddler, I took my first faltering steps, one of the uncles gave me a dubious look and said, "But he walks kind of funny, don’t he?" And the reality is, people have been looking askance at me ever since.

I can look around at this site and see that in truth I don’t quite belong here. Which troubles me not at all, in large part because I don’t think I’ve ever quite belonged anywhere. I’m just not a belonger. I am the classic loner, fully at ease only when I am by myself, never altogether fitting in, uncomfortable in crowds (for me, three people constitute a crowd). I think this is in large part how I became a writer. Even as a child I was engrossed in studying those foreign-to-me creatures who shared my planetary existence and were so much better than I at living in it. It is easy to see from this how it happened that my writing became very much character driven. I got to be very good at reading those creatures. If there is a blessing in all this, it is that I can say in all modesty I am almost never wrong in my assessments of others, though there have been times when for one reason or another I was willing to pretend to myself. Love can be like a ski-mask to a bank robber.

Well, what, you may ask, does any of this have to do with the subjects of interest on this blog? Hmm. It doesn’t—and it does. Because, as I confessed earlier, I don’t quite fit in here either. I have no personal interest in bondage or discipline. There have been any number of persons in my life who would like to have tied me to the bedposts, but none that I felt confident would ever get around to untying me. S & M. Oh, goodness, from my point of view, pain hurts. I am a devout coward. Leather and uniforms? In leather anything I look like an extra from Barbarella, and no matter how macho the uniform, I resemble nothing so much as a lesbian WAC. Albeit a quasi-butch one.

This is not to say that I stand in any kind of judgment of those who are into these scenes I grew up in a conservative Bible belt community in the very conservative 40s and 50s, so when I began, early in my writing career, studying and writing about human sexual behavior, it was very eye-opening. I quickly came to see, however, that it was all but impossible to define normal or abnormal sexuality. People are all different. I realized there was nothing anyone could imagine in the way of sexual behavior that someone at that very moment wasn’t practicing and enjoying it – and, as it happened, it was probably one of my friends. None of whom want—or need—my approval or disapproval.

Which is sort of the point I’ve been dancing around. I have been exposed to almost every kind of sexual aberration one could think of. It doesn’t bother me in the least what other people do, so long as, for the most part, they aren’t doing it to me. A long-time and very dear friend liked to eat feces. When he told me about it and asked if I was shocked, I said no, but I would very much rather we didn’t kiss in the future. And we did not.

I have a great many friends in the leather community. I used to sing with my friend Heidi her anthem, "Whips and Chains" (and our other favorite, "It’s hard to say I love you, when you’re sitting on my face.") When I lived in Los Angeles, a friend owned a very popular leather bar on Santa Monica Boulevard, and though I did not wear the leather regalia (I was more into jeans; I can send a pic, if you like) I was always welcome and even invited to the "closed door parties." Read, orgy nights. Some saw me as a potential Daddy, some as a Daddy’s Boy. Whatever. I also learned early on that if I managed to be what the other one wasn’t, I’d have twice as much fun.

I used to hang out, too, at the old Falcon’s Lair, then "the" place for the L.A. leather crowd, where I knew most of the bartenders and lots of the regulars. And I can tell you frankly, my failure to adhere to the dress code did not hinder my chances of success. By the way, I was at the Lair one night when a young man came in who sported the most impressive bulge down the inside of one thigh that I think I had ever seen. Heads snapped about, eyes widened. He was the center of attention.

I can’t say exactly what it was that produced that bulge but I can tell you for certain that it was not a permanent part of his anatomy because after a time whatever was holding it in place (a safety pin, one supposes, though in this instance that nomenclature proved erroneous) gave way. The tubular shaped bulge began to slip down his leg, leaving a conspicuous and growing gap between its end and where it had begun at the crotch.

All eyes remained on him, but the smiles were turning into something more humorous. The young man grew increasingly puzzled, until finally some kind soul approached and whispered in his ear. Red-faced, he fled, never to be seen again.

Standing next to me was a handsome hunk in full leather regalia. The two of us laughed so hard together that we found we must go outside to get our breath back. And then we…oh, but that’s another story, isn’t it? I will just say, he didn’t find my jeans and tee shirt objectionable at all. Of course, once we were back at my apartment, they vanished in a trice. And so did all that leather. And just as I had long since discovered, underneath it all we weren’t so very different after all.

People aren’t, you know.

Victor J. Banis is the critically acclaimed author ("the master’s touch in storytelling.,.." Publishers Weekly") of more than 160 published books and numerous shorter works published in the U.S and abroad, in a career spanning nearly half a century. Read more at http://www.vjbanis.com

Guest Blogger: Claire Thompson

BDSM, Guest Bloggers 2 Responses »

Feb 032010

The Hot versus the Sublime

What’s the difference between a really hot BDSM scene and a truly sublime BDSM experience?

In a word – it’s the aftercare. And the before-care too, if there is such a term. It’s in the buildup to the intensity, the taking of the sub by the hand and leading them, firmly but carefully, to the pinnacle of the experience, and then being there as they return to earth, to catch them in strong, safe arms.

I guess first of all I should define my terms.

Guest Blogger: Jeff Erno

BDSM, Guest Bloggers 4 Responses »

Jan 232010

BDSM: More than What Meets the Eye

Several years ago I began writing a short story of D/s theme which was loosely based upon the relationship I was in at the time. By “loosely based” I mean that the central characters of the story related to one another with much the same dynamic as did I and my significant other. Surprisingly, the story and the relationship were well-received, and as I continued to post the story, it evolved into what is now a published novel. The reason that it surprised me to receive so much positive feedback about these characters was simply because I regarded the relationship as being rather unconventional. It did not exactly fit into any established or defined category. Although the couple in the story were very much Master and sub, it was not a story about bondage, abuse, humiliation, or extremely kinky sex. Mild fetish was involved but nothing extreme. No slings, nipple clamps, electrodes, whips, or chains were included. The characters did not dress in leather, and no one was wrapped in cellophane. I honestly felt that it was just going to be too boring of a story to appeal to the average BDSM reader. As for the romance reader, I thought the D/s element would be a pill too difficult to swallow, so I resigned myself to the reality that it was probably a story that would never have much market appeal.

What I find very interesting is that within the LGBT community, we tend to compartmentalize and stereotype one another in a manner that is often harsher than the criticism we receive from outside our community. There seems to be a “mainstream” element of our society that is often uncomfortable with those regarded to be on the “fringe”. Basically the only interaction that the fringe groups have with the mainstream is once a year or so at Gay Pride events they are represented by a contingency in the parades and festivities, and sadly these displays tend to offer little more than entertainment to the majority of observers. Leather Daddies, Bikers, cubs, bears, transsexuals, drag queens—all a part of our community but none fully embraced. Those of us in the BDSM community tend to run in our own circles and socialize with those who share the lifestyle, and sadly we understand that we are not going to be fully accepted and welcomed by the mainstream. We’re sort of the outsiders.

Each of us, of course, must find ways to mingle in the community-at-large, and we each have relationships outside the BDSM community. We have jobs and families and even friendships that we keep separate from who we really are. From nine to five we appear to be just like everyone else, or at least enough so that we are able to function in a manner that allows us to pursue our careers, feed our families, and acquire the material things we desire in life. We also acquiesce to the sensibilities of our extended families and conceal the things we need to hide or pretend when we need to do so, in order to protect the relationships we have with our loved ones.

What if, however, it was possible to have the best of both worlds? What if we could actually be who we are twenty-four hours of the day? What if we could actually be mainstream and also open about the fact that we are within the D/s lifestyle?

What I have come to believe is that the relationship a Master and sub have with one another is not all that different from what we for years accepted about traditional heterosexual marriage. One partner is King of the castle. He makes all the decisions, implements and enforces the rules, and bears the burden of responsibility for his choices. He is Provider, Protector, and Leader. The other partner obeys the rules and strives to please the Dominant partner. The sub has a need to be guided and reassured and possibly even controlled, yet his role is just as essential in the dynamic. This sub partner often tends to all things domestic, takes care of the needs of the Dom, and finds contentment and satisfaction living within the security of the Dom’s control. Is this type of relationship really all that different from heterosexual marriage prior to the sexual revolution?

The thing that I feel has most prevented us from being open-minded enough to accept these sorts of “alternative” relationships is our rigid adherence to gender roles. It is not palatable to many people for a man like me to crave the guidance and control of another man. That’s just too wimpy, too effeminate. It also is not necessarily politically correct. Shouldn’t I be demanding my rights? Shouldn’t I be fighting to be seen as equal to everyone else rather than submitting to a role in which I live as a second-class citizen?

My sincere belief is that as a sub, I am not all that different from my counterparts in the mainstream LGBT community, or even from those in heterosexual society at-large. I do not have an interest in wearing the leather uniforms that are so often associated with our lifestyle. I do understand and respect the symbolism associated with much of the gear, but I don’t have a personal desire to include that in my life. When I am in a sexual relationship I am very focused upon pleasing my Partner, and I would readily submit to any reasonable (and possibly some not-so reasonable) fetishes that he enjoys, but in truth I’m really not all that kinky myself. I have no problem telling my friends that I must first ask permission before committing to plans, and I actually am proud of my Dom when he steps forward publicly to assert himself, be it a situation where he’s protecting me or simply to stand up for himself. I like not having the responsibility of decision-making, and I love having a Man in my life who understands my sensitivity and emotionalism.

Why is it that we all know heterosexual couples who have relationships that are at least somewhat similar to the one I just described, yet we find it so unacceptable within our own community?

And I also wonder why the members of the BDSM community who fully embrace all of the traditional bondage/domination elements of the lifestyle, tend to look down upon those of us who do not go that far? I’ve had people tell me that I obviously must be ashamed of being sub, or that I’m hiding and play acting in order to fit in. I’ve had people who suggest that I’m just a novice who dabbles in the lifestyle to satisfy my own sexual fantasies but that I’m not capable of fully committing. Actually, these attitudes are patently offensive to me, because I feel the opposite is actually true.

To me, being a sub is not about maintaining a “look”. It is not about any particular sexual fetish. It is not about fitting into a stereotype. Being sub is defined by a person’s heart. I absolutely want to be the property of my Master, to be owned and loved by him. I want to be a part of his everyday life, to be his helpmate and nursemaid, and housekeeper and any other little thing that he desires of me. I want to feel protected and guided and know that he will be there for me to give me the reassurances I need. I want to feel comfortable with the fact that he has accepted and chosen me as I am. He understands my weaknesses and helps me to be stronger. He does not condemn me for being too feminine, but actually enjoys the fact that when others see us together there is no doubt that he is my Master and I am his sub. He is not annoyed by my emotions, but regards them with the same level of respect that a heterosexual husband does when he sees his wife cry. He doesn’t scold me and tell me to be a man, because he knows that I’m me—period.

So in my opinion, the manner in which I live (or I guess I should say, “have lived” since I’m not in a relationship right now) is just as genuine and real as putting on a leather uniform. I mean absolutely no disrespect when I say this, but to me personally it feels more like a costume when I dress up in the gear. I embrace all viewpoints within our community when it comes to issues like monogamy, stables, open-relationships, polygamy, etc… yet I also wish that others would afford my viewpoints this same respect. There are those of us out here who do desire a “mainstream” type of lifestyle, and we are just as much a part of the community. I am just as much a sub as the slave boy who sleeps in his Master’s dungeon and who wants to be whipped and electrocuted. I am just as much a sub as the muscle boy who is proud of his ability to endure hot wax and fisting. I’m just as much a sub as the leather slave who kneels to lick his Master’s boots. I just choose to live my life in a more mainstream way, and I don’t feel the need to express my heart with all the symbolism. I want to express it instead by my obedience and devotion to my Master.

Maybe there are a lot of others out there who feel similar to me. Maybe it is just that we keep our opinions more to ourselves, and we live our lives more privately. I guess my point is that there is more to the BDSM community than what may initially meet the eye.

Jeff Erno currently lives in Southern Michigan and works as a retail store manager. He holds a bachelor’s degree in business and human resource management. He began writing in the mid 1990s and first posted some of his work on an internet website. After receiving a high volume of positive feedback, he continued to complete several full-length novels.

The novel Dumb Jock is his first published work. Erno also volunteered as a newsletter editor for two charitable organizations and has written training manuals for previous employers. Visit Erno on the web at http://www.jefferno.net/

Guest Blogger: Sarah F

BDSM, Guest Bloggers 6 Responses »

Jan 062010

My particular “expertise” in BDSM is not in a particular kinky activity (although I have a few under my belt). Nor is it that I’m a fiction writer, like James’ last few guest bloggers. I’m more of a general expert on BDSM literature and romance for two reasons: (1). I’m a reviewer for Dear Author; and (2). I’m an academic whose general field is popular romance fiction and whose specialty is erotic, BDSM, and m/m romance (and yes, I’m the President of the International Association for the Study of Popular Romance. So I’ve read a lot of romances in general and a lot of BDSM romances in particular and I’ve come to some conclusions. I’d love some feedback on these conclusions, especially since I’m going to write a paper about them at some point.

My first conclusion is that there’s two different factors in how good a BDSM romance is going to be: (1). How good a writer the author is, and (2). How experienced the writer is with BDSM. These can interact in fascinating ways on a number of different levels. Continue reading »

Guest Blogger: Uncle Jasper

BDSM, Guest Bloggers No Responses »

Dec 272009

UNCLE JASPER’S QUICK GUIDE

TO SPICY BEDROOM ETIQUETTE

Ladies, do you really want your man to cower and grovel and beg you not to hurt him? Wouldn’t you rather he snarl and flex and defy you with his dominating manliness? Don’t you want him to be a man, and not some wimpering wuss? A man who could never be broken, like a Steve Reeves? I’d bet money this is exactly what many of you want your man to be.

My books and audios tend to get categorized as FemDom, but really they’re more about hero worship, the “now will you talk? No, I will not!” types of scenarios. These kinds of fantasies can be played out with your man minus all the equipment, without the commitments to daily regimens of slave training and whatever else you’re supposed to do as a Female Dominant. Most people I know don’t have the time for it.

Good sex with your man should be impromptu sex, and the best domination fantasies are created spur of the moment, script as you go. An evening that might have begun with a standardized man on top, insert, deposit and good night, can suddenly become a “Go ahead, woman… do your worst.” Keeps the bedroom lively, plus, pretend bondage is less risky and far less expensive than the real thing. All it takes is an utterance from you along the lines of, “All right, mister. We’ll just see if you’re as tough as you think you are. Take him to the dungeon!” Continue reading »

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