That does not mean that Jacob Marley was not once a man.

Recently I was told a picture of me could not be me because I am a 32 year old man, and the person in the picture was a woman in her mid twenties. I lovingly pointed out to them that I was transgendered, and that I used to be a female adult performer, but now I was a guy. In response someone else spoke up and said I had never really been a woman, I had always been a guy, just a guy who had stumbled in front of a camera.

The second one hurt more than the first.

I have this piece of art by Brian Andreas hanging in my bedroom

There are many trans people who want to wash away their past, or have it understood that their current identity has always been their truth. They are the gender they have always been, and let any photographs of them be cast aside as a painful reminder of life lived in-authentically. I powerfully understand and appreciate that, having had a partner whose past name being used in reference to him would lead him into an emotional tailspin that often crashed and burned. But that is not my journey… though it does get me thinking about my own.

I have no one who is my Slave at this time, and I still consider myself a Master. That one feels easy. Sir, Master, these feel etched in me. Even when I was a 24/7 Slave myself, people still Ma’am’s or Sir’d me.

Ah, but Ma’am. Am I still a Ma’am? I can respond to it, but no, its not really me right now.  Does that mean that I was a liar, or putting on a mask when my former Girl called me Ma’am? No, I was authentically Ma’am at the time, and proud of it. I was a Mistress, and in that time was fully and truly the Mistress of the men who served me. I was not some dude putting on the skinsuit of a femdom and riding it around for voyeuristic and sadistic thrills. I was authentically me, as I knew me to be at that time.

I have been a female adult film performer, a hot porn clown, a baby butch dyke. Just because my current identity and truths do not encompass those things does not mean I never was. For I feel like I am asked to traverse the land of never was.

But you, you were 7. Now that you are 47, does that mean that you were never 7? Was your 47 year old self peering out from behind watchful eyes, planning and predicting when your true self would bear fruit?

If I embrace my slavery, for I am a Slave, under a public eye- will I have never lived the years in-between my slavery to Masters and my experience with my Matron now? Is the rest a lie, a passing tale, a false truth?

I believe humans are complex beings. That our identities and expressions shift over time. That there are things that were that are not. That there are things that are not that will be. And that there are things that were and will be but are not right now.

Let my center have wheels, moving easily in the slightest of breezes.

Diamond is the female lead of the house, a woman whose service to the world and her tribe is delicious to bear witness to. Many in the kink world would know her as “one of Murphy Blue’s girls,” as he has three incredible women who come with him to events- two who live here at Harmony House. But she is so much more.Powerful, beautiful, hilarious, loving, and mindful of her tribe, her friends, and the conscious construction of a world she wanted to live in. “I knew the shape of the thing that was the void in my life,” she said. “I always waited for them [the science-fiction or fantasy characters] to come and take me away to a land where I fit, and they never did. So I figured I needed to become one of them, and make a place where others could come and be taken away.”

Living at Harmony House, there are 6 adults and 4 children. Dinner is always on the table at 6:30pm, and Friday nights are older kids friendly movie nights. Love abounds, and someone is always there to give directions for friends who call, or to help a kid with a scraped knee or math homework. The walls are decked out with novels and dvds, and laughter abounds.

I am in love with Harmony House.

I told Diamond about my desire to find others for my own tribe, dreams of similar setups of sorts. Of Aiden’s vision of horses and tribe of all ages, of my desire for chickens and space for everyone and yet having shared spaces and so much love. Where love was not about who you were with, but a whole collective and those beyond the walls as well. She smiled, nodded, and understood.

Looking around I feel the heartbeat of Harmony House.

The difference, Diamond says, between her and other poly houses she has met that later exploded, is that that heartbeat was established for years before they made it tribal. That she did not try to form a poly house before she and her first mate were over 30 and already established life tracks. That her mother was a passionate being, and never separated work from life from love.

Between Erosong and Harmony House, I feel like I am starting to not just get, but grok, how to make it work. Some of what it would take. That I am starting to see it form around me, a vision and smoky theory that is cropping up amongst my tribe at large. Seeing friends in Maine slowly take over an island. Feeling the beat of Florida and the altar of love constructed there. Knowing the joy in San Francisco on black leather wings of desire. Because it works, and not just for a few years until it explodes.

Diamond worried that she had just read too much Heinlein.

I think Heinlein looked ahead and read Diamond coming, and wrote about her dreams.

I had had my hysterectomy less than 6 months earlier. And the reality is that my body is not the same.

I was emotional. He asked why, and I said it was because I was a fisting bottom, and can’t be fisted any more. He paused, then asked me if I came. Well, yeah…

So, what is the issue?

My identity was wrapped up in the notion of being a fisting bottom. If I am not this, then what else am I? What does my body really want? The reality was, I did not know what my body wanted. I had been on erotic replay for most of my life. It’s like finding that favorite restaurant and always ordering the same thing. I knew the twenty things that did it for me, and hit rewind, re-play. With different lovers, in different settings, with different music and lighting and levels of dramatic effect- but the same menu items.

I realized it had been a very long time since I had simply explored with no expectation at all of outcome. A few years, but even then had layers of past truths. So if I am not able to be fisted in my front hole any more- what does my body want?

More than that, am I okay with it? With not being a vaginal fisting bottom? Because that is identity, right there. It had become a  “who am I” rather than a “what I do.” When our identity is attached to what we can do, and what we can do changes, our world can seem to fall apart.

I was hospitalized related to my long-term health four+ months ago. And the reality is that my body is not the same.

I was emotional this week. I asked myself why, and realized it was because I was a guy who traveled for work, who worked his ass off, who went out to where his students are… and can’t do that to near the same degree any more. I paused, then asked me if I was still reaching my students. Well, yeah…

So, what is the issue?

My identity was wrapped up in the notion of being a hard-working traveling presenter. If I am not this, then what else am I? What does my being really want? The reality was, I did not know what my being wanted. I had been on work replay for most of my life. It’s like finding that favorite restaurant and always ordering the same thing. I knew the twenty things that I did well and could help me fulfill what I saw as my dharma, and hit rewind, re-play. With different people, in different settings, with different music and lighting and levels of dramatic effect- but the same menu items.

I still reach the world, a few students, fans, friends, and allies at a time.

In fact, a year ago I even said I wanted to eventually cut down to only working 1-2 weekends a month. And yet, now that I am here, mandated by my physical reality- I find myself lost. Because my identity is wrapped up in doing “so much more” Working harder, not smarter. Going OUT to the world rather than having others come IN.

So, what does my body want? Sexually, and career wise, as someone who has had identities attached to the “what it is that I do?” Who are we each when we separate these two from each other, and begin to explore without judgement.

I like two fingers, sliding in and out as my hips rock and my lips moan into a slow growl. We’ll see what the next explorations bring.

So I look for the Old Gods, the beasts, and the faeries,
I speak of their names and their sigils I mime
their stories, perpetually grand invocations
are secrets preserved in the midst of rhyme

And what did we learn down the yellow brick road?
And what did Alice really find down that hole?

Well…

It’s a shaman’s journey if ever I saw one
and I ought to know cause I’m continually on one

-Storm Faerywolf, from his poem “The Faerie Tale” in The Stars Within The Earth

I was talking with people last week in my new yoga class. I mentioned that I do fire spinning. Later, someone asked where my favorite place to visit was, and I said out of the country it was a hard split between central Cappadocia in Turkey, and Manly Bay in Sydney. They blinked. Later that day, I ran into one of the girls from the group…

“You are totally like a ken doll.”

Stories in my head run through about gender, not having outed myself, and internal thoughts on not having external genitalia- my differently gendered boy a line between ken doll and angel. But instead I asked, “How so?”

“Because you are totally too good to be true.”

I look at my life and it is true. It would not surprise me to see someone make a movie from my life (starring Maggie *and* Jake Gyllenhaal) that folks would read as a fantastical fiction. Child of army intelligence folks, art nerd and punk turns christian faith organization database administrator while shooting porn on weekends. Car crash leads to porn full time, leads to international travel, leads to becoming a sexuality educator and dedicated spirit-worker. Gender transition, heart breaks, heart string…

My former boyfriend Mars used to joke by calling me “Sydney” a la Alias. “Uh huh,” he would say,” You HAVE to be in Berlin next week for a video shoot and performances. I should keep my eye out for assassination reports.”

I have come to realize that I have come to live down the rabbit hole. I am an acclimated citizen of Palimpsest. I have walked along the yellow brick road, having journeyed the OZ. What is odd to others is my day to day.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”

-Jack Kerouac

I have danced with demons under the pale moon light. I know the smell of bodies wrapped in leather and packed onto the dance floor. The sound of the earth’s rhythm and sylphs singing has rocked me into sleep and frenzy alike. These are… life. My life.

I do not intend to have judgement, but as I look up from down the rabbit hole, I see the Victorian era on the other side and see it as a strange dream. Here, I look across the gap and find I just don’t quite understand the thoughts and processes of the “average” person, the supposed soccer mom and blue collar, white collar worker. I have spent too much time with pink collar workers, have seen authentic self exploration as the day to day of perverts, tantric visionaries, gurus and those very same soccer moms, blue collar, white collar workers on their weekends. My mind does not get it. I don’t understand the close mindedness…

and yet, that perception of close mindedness is itself a judgement. A perception that the mad ones are better. That the faerie tales are more awake, more alive. That the beauty of Oz and Wonderland somehow outweighs the beauty of monster truck rallies and golf courses, jam competitions at state fairs and time at the spa with the girls. Different beauty is all. Mindful of my judgement, I breathe, try.

Try to see the beauty of it all. Of it ALL.

From here, down the rabbit hole, I try a breath at a time. A breath at a time, I try.

Wrapped in invocations
wrapped in rhyme
wrapped in mystery
wrapped in time.

I try.

In the United States, I have a close friend named Jim Forest. When I first met him eight years ago, he was working with the Catholic Peace Fellowship. Last winter, Jim came to visit. I usually wash the dishes after we’ve finished the evening meal, before sitting down an d drinking tea with everyone also. One night, Jim asked if he might do the dishes. I said, “Go ahead, but if you wash the dishes you must know the way to wash them.” Jim replied, “Come on, you think I don’t know how to wash the dishes?” I answered, “There are two ways to wash the dishes. The first is to wash the dishes in order to have clean dishes and the second is to wash the dishes in order to wash the dishes.” Jim was delighted and said, “I choose the second way — to wash the dishes to wash the dishes.” From then on, Jim knew how to wash the dishes. I transferred the “responsibility” to him for an entire week.
- Venerable Master Thich Nhat Hanh, from “The Miracle of Mindfulness”

Today, a shortened version of this tale came across my mind, a gift as my partner read to me from “Wide Awake: A Buddhist Guide for Teens” by Diana Winston.  This book was purchased because last weekend on retreat at the Brooklyn Zen Center, it was recommended to him by the teacher he had met with.  We have been discussing Buddhism a fair amount, because he used to be a lay monk, but has been out of practice.  We are building a space for him to sit in meditation, and him going to the silent retreat was a chance to re-immerse himself in a part of his spiritual practice that has profound meaning to him.

I have come to refer to Wide Awake as the Buddha Book.  I have always fascinated by Buddhism, and especially through my friend JD, I have come to find profound appreciations for a number of the teachings.  But much of Buddhist teachings have felt out of reach for me due to the denseness of the language, and the wide variety of approaches to what Buddhism looks like that seem sometimes at odds with each other.  But he is reading the book to me, just as I am reading Phantom Tollbooth to him.  We tried to do Palimpsest, but yeah, that’s a hard one to follow as a bedtime book read sporadically.  And as he reads, we pause, we process, he thinks, I think, we talk about what came up for each of us.  I am diving into his mind and his spirit, and in turn he asks me questions, I face demons of my own heart, and more.

Today, the comment of “wash the dishes in order to wash the dishes” came up, I was stunned.  And then, before any true thoughts came to my mind, my mouth spoke.

“I want to write to write.”

We had been having a very heart-wrenching conversation about how my writing under deadlines, and just for the purpose of “will it sell” had been hurting.  How I have doctors who want me to do some pretty intense care plans, which may affect my capacity to go out of town for more than a few days at a time.  I have been in a panic state at times over fear of being unable to pay bills again – how can I commit to conferences for 2012 if I am unsure if I can fly cross-country before the con begins, and back afterwards?

He kept encouraging me to be here, now.  To live in the moment.  How can I live in the moment, I argued, in a career where I must plan my reality 4-8 months in advance, or have no work available to me?  Being a keynote speaker, headline presenter, etc… we are the first booked most of the time for events so that producers can use our names to advertise.  I respect and appreciate this, but when I’m not supposed to leave town for more than a few days at a time- I keep finding myself paralyzed.  I have said yes to a few conferences for next year, and even in those, I have fear.  I do not want to live from a place of fear, but so often as of late that is the word that comes out of my lips.  Fear of loss.  Fear of inability.  Fear of pain.  Fear.

My fear has kept me from writing.  In my journal, on my writing projects.  I have to pause from panic as I look at deadlines.  The book I am co-authoring was due to the publishers in September.  We are nowhere near done.  December is our earliest hopeful date at this point.  I feel blessed that the publishers have not dropped the project. But this thing, this fear.  I have been writing to share stories I feel *should* be shared.  I have been writing messages to communicate what *needs* to get out there.  I have been writing for a paycheck.  I have been writing for fear of feeling inaccessible to my friends or world at large.

I have over 1500 emails in my inbox.  Those are not spam.  Those are people who I want to respond to.

I have 4 books partially written.

I have 21 subject notes for blog posts I want to write.

I have 170 lines of overarching concepts of projects I want to do on my to do list.

I…

If while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as they were a nuisance, then we are not “washing the dishes to wash the dishes.” What’s more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes. In fact we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink. If we can’t wash the dishes , the chances are we won’t be able to drink our tea either. While of other thing, barely aware of the cup in our hands. Thus, we are sucked away into the future — and we are incapable of actually living one minute of life.

I pause.  I breathe.  If while writing, I think only of the outcome that comes from the writing, thus hurrying to get the project done as if it was a nuisance, then I am not “writing to write.”  What’s more, I am not alive during the time I am writing.

I freeze.

I stare.

I am not alive during the time I am writing.

Tears fall.

*

I have spent so much of my life attempting to live up to the expectations, needs, wants and desires of others.  I stare at myself and feel lost.  If in the thing I proclaim to have such passion in, I am not even there- where am I within my own statements of truth.  I espouse to the world that a life without passion and soul is not one I care to see.  And yet, in this thing I claim to have such passion for, I am not even present in.  I adore food, and yet, I cram another wedge of orange in my mouth without ever tasting it.  I say I love you empty…

and then stop myself.

Over dinner I say I love you, and stop.

“What I meant to say was thank you for being vulnerable and open with me, it makes me feel safer to show you more of my heart, and I feel very special in it.  That is what I meant in that moment by I love you.”

He stares at me for a moment, then smiles, and says thank you.

*

It is easy in our society to replace the depths of our heart with brevity.  In a world where psychotherapy sessions are strapped down to 50 minutes, where classes are timed, where our work is set by hours on a clock rather than what needs done in a day- it is to be expected.  I find myself in a world where we have more technology, and less time to do what we want.  Where I know more people, and have less time for them.

We shorten down hello to “howsitgoing” at 30 miles an hour.

If I gave the eyes locked, deep breath, shoulders rise, fall, smile, hello I long to give- where is the time to say hello to everyone else on my facebook friends list?  This is what my spirit longs for, to give fully and freely to every spirit on this planet.  I want to let each person I meet know how much I see in them.  That yes, you, you before me- you are AMAZING!  You light up before me, and I delight in the fullness of you.

And yet, if I do so, what is left?

I stand empty, hungry of heart.  Which I know, is a lie.  I stand in the mirror with my eyes empty for myself.  But with one other set of eyes, I see in them the love that I am.

I pause, breathe, look in the mirror.  LOVE.  This is why it is there.  LOVE.

“God is love,” I said weakly, and the moon flickered through black branches.  I believed then that it was so.
“When you say that, and I say that,” said Qaspiel, I do not think we mean the same thing.  You mean it only as a metaphor.”
I brooded on that, and the angel walked beside me, the hematite in its hair like black tears.
-Catherynne M. Valente, from “The Habitation of the Blessed: A Dirge for Prester John Volume 1″

If I am love, for I am, I know this as a core truth of my heart, soul and body, then I know the knowledge that is love in my pores.  This is love, this breath, this moment.  This is love, this moment.

And by loving myself, I know that you too, you, there YOU – you can go look in your own mirror, and know you too are AMAZING!  My eyes are not the only mirror.

I breathe.  Tears fall.  Love.  Smiles, beauty, truth.

I step away from the computer.

Learning again, full of love, having written to write.

What I wrote:

If we go into judgemental behavior, think “huh, that was judgmental” rather than “I am such an ass for being judgmental.”  The first is an action, the second is an identity.  The first is what happened, the second is a story about it.

I added the lines after I paused, and realized what I had just written.

How often have I said “I am stupid,” “I am afraid,” “I am…”

I am not these things.  They are not my identity.  I am someone who has done stupid things, has felt afraid, has felt and done a thousand things.  But these are actions and experiences.  They are not who I am.

I am a beautiful being.  I am a piece of universal light.  I am a fragment of divinity, and in being so, am divine in my own right.  I breathe in, and release.

If emotions are a controlling part of our lives, we must become aware of them.

Aware.  Mindful.  Conscious.  Cognizant.  Informed.

This is in contrast to being oblivious.  But even this is more easily forgivable to my heart than purposefully turning away, hiding in shame of my own emotions.  “I should not have felt that way,” my heart says.  ” I should not have acted that way,” my mind says.  And then my spirit pipes up, tries to cast a different light… and in doing so is pushed down.  Buried under shoulds.  Buried it sinks in, shinks small.  Shrinks in, until the light is buried under the weight of the world and these shoulds.

I turn to my heart, and ask it to acknowledge that it was how I felt.

I turn to my mind, and ask it to acknowledge that it was how I acted.

I can not change these things.  They were what they were.  But I can move towards a better, brighter tomorrow… and more actively, I can try to be here.  Now.

I forgive myself in this, as I endeavor to be here.  Be here, now.

This is not a skill I have been the best at through time.  I, the time traveler.  I the being who has prided himself at being able to put emotions in perfect tupperware, an episode of Eerie Indiana playing out in my heart.  I open the seal years later, there it is, my love for you glowing with the same vibrancy.  But in this gift a challenge wrapped in a bow- that if I can move back to then so easily, how do I stay here in the now?  If I can go into when then will be, how do I stay here in the now?

How do I two-foot, as I have between this world and the realm of spirit?  How does that skill apply to this, here, now.  For look, the skills are not buried under a stack of books or under the lore of ancients in their towers.  We, every one of us, knows how to do this.  And yet, such simplicity feels elusive.

Be.
Here.
Now.

Such simple words, complex in the dance of the king of flying butterflies and the queen of breath.  I am neither, both.  I am a dream and a possibility, and yet, I am here, becoming myself.

Trying, acting, doing.

Letting go of judgment.

http://www.mastmetrony.org/

They are a chapter of Masters and slaves Together International (I really do dislike the lower case of Slaves, I always capitalize all positions in my writing, or none.)

At the end of the meeting, they mentioned that the Secretary was not present, and thus there would be no minutes posted.

I offered to post my many pages of notes online for them to use and reduce down to minutes if so desired.

Thus, instead of only posting my notes to their list, I have decided to post them on here.  I have 7 moleskin books full of notes from sexuality, teaching skills and spirituality classes and speeches I have attended over the years.  I began the practice of using these specific notebooks on my way to Berlin and London in 2006.  A few months later I began systematically noting at the top of each set of notes what the class/speech was, who taught it, and when/where it was.  I cross-reference these notes when I write, as well as my folders/filing cabinet of notes/handouts/resources, plus my library of books on these topics, when writing… that way I can try my best not to mis-quote- a bad habit of mine I’ve had on and off.

So, enjoy!

Click each file to enlarge.  Notes (c) PassionAndSoul.com, but copy left’d for your use

Hundreds of people have been arrested, if not thousands at this point. I am moved by the visibility to issues of bank reform, financial desperation of the people, and anti-big-government bailouts/tax breaks being brought to the attention of the world.

However, I am concerned.  I am concerned because from what I have found so far, there is no *point* to this movement.

Don’t get me wrong- visibility is important.  But it’s visible now… and now what?

On the NYC General Assembly for the #OccupyWallStreet movement, there is a statement that:

Through a direct democratic process, we have come together as individuals and crafted these principles of solidarity, which are points of unity that include but are not limited to:

• Engaging in direct and transparent participatory democracy;
• Exercising personal and collective responsibility;
• Recognizing individuals’ inherent privilege and the influence it has on all interactions;
• Empowering one another against all forms of oppression;
• Redefining how labor is valued;
• The sanctity of individual privacy;
• The belief that education is human right; and
• Endeavoring to practice and support wide application of open source.

We are daring to imagine a new socio-political and economic alternative that offers greater possibility of equality.  We are consolidating the other proposed principles of solidarity, after which demands will follow.

Is it just me, or is this really, well, vague?  I feel my concerns are best summed up by “Tannubyky”:

…To “stand together to say we are tired of the greed and corruption” isn’t enough. This is supposed to be a NVDA protest. Non-violent Direct Action… Where is the action? It’s not easy to find for those who aren’t already involved. However, if you delve into it, watch the livestreams talk to the people involved do some research into the 1% and democracy, capitalism, tax allocations etc. etc. it soon becomes apparent that we do need to come together to solve this problem. THAT is what this is about…

Yes!  So what is the action?  What are the demands?  What is the point?

I would be DELIGHTED if O could see some actual proposals on the table.  Reform… okay, in what form?  To re-form, we must, well, form back into something, right?

Some banks themselves have called for bank reform ideas, such as the IBC in Scotland.  Back in JANUARY of 2010, Obama asked to seek reforms of the system, but there has been little movement- in many cases from what I have heard due to, well, no fresh ideas on the board.  I recall in March, listening to NPR (can’t find link, anyone?) when they interviewed the team trying to create a new oversight committee to oversee the banking system.  The lead of the team was deeply frustrated, because when they put the call out looking for members of said oversight committee, or proposals of names of who could be on it, the only names that came up were, get this, members of boards of directors for the major banks in the US.  The team lead was so frustrated- no one else seemed to want the job.

If the proposal is complete reform of the currency system and moving from big government to local government, such as moving to the alternative currencies already at play in the USA, its an interesting idea.  If the proposal is that we give the money currently being given in tax breaks to multi-nationals to the average person, its an interesting idea as well.  If the goal is to create an anarchist state free of any form of government or financial systems whatsoever… I have serious concerns.  I flash back to a lover of mine who had a sticker on his car during the 2004 elections that said “Bush in 2004, because the fall of the system is not coming fast enough” or some such thing.

I am not an anarchist.  I see major flaws in the US system of government and financial oversight.  I see major flaws in the corporate bodies that fill the skyline at Times Square and the NY Stock Exchange… but I want to see ideas.  Proposals.  Movements with a point.

Where are they?

I have sent out a LOT of thank you notes. I am still working on them, but there are a few folks who I have been unable, through a LOT of facebook, email and twitter searches to find. I tried google… some of you are slippery!

So-

Elisabeth: Thank you for the vitamin A… I am taking it daily

Eliza: thank you for both Hellboy movies, and the moleskins (or maybe there are 2 Eliza’s??). Aiden and I watched them both this week, and its fantastic to have it on our wall of DVDs. Guillermo Del Toro kicks butt, and I am only sad that he never did his “Beyond the Mountains of Madness” project. He could have done right by Lovecraft. As for the Moleskins, I have been using one already.

Starlet: The Kwan-Yin statue is AMAZING! It’s in the livingroom right now, so I can see her daily. Remind me of balance, healing, and the everflowing waters of life.

Rebecca in Ireland: The Mindful Path of Self-Compassion… beautiful, thank you.

Abagail: Squee Dr. Horrible, and Neverwhere. I adore both, and they are great comfort films.

And then the anonymous stuff comes up:
Soy Milk
Emergen-C
“Get out of your own way” and “The Mouse that Roared”

So thank you. Thank you thank you. All. For the funds, the emails, the well wishes, the hope, the joy. The Mac and Cheese and the gift cards. The laundry assistance and flurrys of text messages keeping me on even keel. I am so very grateful.

My former Girl knitted these for me, image by Christine Kessler

Boymeat’s fetish is for feet, something everyone who knows him seems to know.  He even teaches classes on foot fetishism for Tops- hurting feet, tormenting feet, being sexual with feet.  There is a perception in kink circles that all foot fetishists are submissive or Bottoms.  This is not the case, and I am grateful that Boymeat is out there flying his particular freak flag.

In the past I had a really intense sweater fetish.  I could run my hands along stacks of sweaters at stalls in Peru and feel myself getting wet.  Bound in layers of sweaters, I would squirm and moan.  When SweaterBondage.com closed their doors, RopeLover.com (my old porn site, now closed) became one of the top places on the internet to get sweater bondage images on the internet.  I became the American Queen of Sweater Bondage… it was pretty amazing.

A lot of this was specifically thanks to one custom shoot client of mine who would push my interests and get me going in new directions.  Could you bind a girl in layers of sweaters in front of a waterfall?  Sure.  How about sweater mummification.  Absolutely.  We surprised this specific client by doing a shoot that was about being bound and buried in sweaters.  I enjoyed it so much that my former husband Eros_Wind took pics of me masturbating while in that heap of sweaters, ball gag in my mouth, wrapped in white rope.

Cozy Bondage in Sweaterdress by Juliet Heart in 2002

During my time with Hunter, we combined sweater fetish with my desire for filthy street punk stuff.  On the Sydney docks we found an abandoned sweater.  He dared me to try it on, and I did.  Far too small.  So we pulled out a knife and cut off the collar on the turtleneck and separated it from the body of the sweater.  Sliding it over my head, my breasts (in a bra) stuck out over the top, and we pulled the knitted “collar” down over my neck.  That night, clad in torn clothing, the life porn was very hot.

But pulling on my sweater today, I realized that I don’t have an outright fetish any more.  A fetish, or paraphilia, is a desire for a specific object or activity that gets us turned on, and may be needed or seriously desired for sexual desire to be engaged.  Today I really liked my sweater, I feel happy and warm in it- but it does not turn me on.  I thought about it, and realized seeing others in sweaters had not turned me on for a while.  During my last trip to Ireland, at the Donegal Woolen factory, running my hands over sweaters did have a minor cock jump, but nothing as serious as the past.

This has me sitting with the transitional nature of some fetishes of mine.  That they move in and out from hardcore fetishes and desires, into likes, or once in a blue moon, not that big of a deal.  When they are fetishes, there can be a consuming nature.  Foam/soap suds has been one, tight denim another, sweaters a third.  I have had a serious hard-on for vintage hosiery and 80s fashion over the years.  Having my hair cut or feet rubbed has made me cum in the past.  But not all of them are there any more.  Denim still rides hard, but the rest have come down to a slight interest.

Desperation and debilitating obsession has slowly been replaced by ambient joy.  I’m not sure how I actually feel about this.  The first has also been known as “Passion” in my world.  And if I am a life governed and guided by “Passion and Soul” where does that leave me?  I find this movement of fetishes disconcerting, because amidst my recent malaise, it makes me wonder whether I am lacking in passion right now.  And some days, the answer is yes.  I miss my levels of driving and fueled obsession…

And yet passion is beyond obsession.  Passion is described bty Dictionary.com as:

Bound at Columbia University by Dov, 2004

Self Portrait in my newest sweater, September 2011

We move in and out of things in life.  We change.  Every 7 years the bulk of the cells in our body have been replaced.  Why not desires?  Our choices, experiences and lives effect who we are, and thus our sexual desires.