How do you adjust to being “out” and being with a partner who is forced to remain “in” because of their career?

Now if you’ve been following along, you know that DrL isn’t exactly “in”. He’s an open soul and tells anyone and everyone who will listen about his spanking fetish. He told all of his co-workers about his experience with the “famous spanking model” Ten because never in a million years did he think that he’d end up leaving his virgin wife and moving me in with him. While DrL brags about his “deviance” and where he goes with it, it’s gotten him into trouble enough times that I told him not to even mention the word “spanking” at work anymore. I don’t think he knows how to be “in” any more than I do.

And I don’t. I’ve never had to. I graduated college and went straight into kinky porn. When you work for sites like Kink.com, you kind of have to be realistic and say: People are going to find out. I get at least one message a month from someone I went to high school or college with who’s found my stuff. I worked a dayjob for two years where I worked hand in hand with mechanics and truckdrivers. It took them about two months, and once one guy found it, man did it spread like wildfire. And now that all of DrL’s co-workers have likely seen most of the videos I’ve performed in (or at least the previews), it won’t be long before my co-workers of any dayjob I get  here know. I accepted that during the long week I took before choosing to accept Lochai’s offer to do Hogtied.com (DrL asked that I remove the link to this shoot because he didn’t want to give anyone more fodder. Censorship. Awesome.) right after I graduated college. Sure, I keep my Facebook vanilla because I’m friends with my adolescent cousins on there and I don’t give out my given name to anyone who asks, but for all intents and purposes, I am out.

DrL, on the other hand, has signed a morality clause. He can’t be publicly out all over social media like I can. He’s been talked to because of my last blog, which you’ll notice has disappeared because, while I never used his real name, I posted a picture of his face and while I never indicated exactly WHERE, I listed his actual occupation. I’m not familiar with censoring myself. Hell, I don’t even want to. But I guess it comes with the territory of being with him. I have to do it to protect him and his job and the image of the people that gave him that job. And, as I know his co-workers are reading this I want to say: I never meant to make anyone feel uncomfortable or to hurt your image. I support you and what you do, even if some of you can’t respect what I do.

I need to learn how to be more careful, especially since I added the last name to make myself more marketable and searchable, especially since I’ve allowed some of his co-workers to follow me through social media and especially since there is rampant curiosity about what it is that we do so that every time I post something every co-worker that he has is going to see it. I’ve always had the fear that family might find my stuff and try to reproach me for it but I’ve never had to deal with a situation where people *want* to know the dirt and certain people want to use it against us.

However, provided I can keep DrL as anonymous as possible, I can still talk about the gnitty gritty details of our relationship. Sure, his co-workers will know, but no one can claim that I’m potentially giving his place of business an unsavory name.

So, what’s been going on since I moved to the Midwest?

Well, we moved into our house in January. I haven’t traveled a whole lot yet in 2012. We went to Atlantic City to attend the party we met at. (sorry, can’t link to that one either, if you want to know which one, email me at ten@justcallmeten.com). I went to Momentumcon in DC due to the graces of very good friends. I’m going to New Orleans at the end of the month. Dallas in June. Vegas in September. But unlike the past, I’m no longer here, there and everywhere. We’re putting together a home and still in the introductory stages of doing so. We’ve gotten past some of the relationship stuff. For example, we’ve opened up. The rule was: We establish a foundation to build upon first. Then it was: Anyone who was your tertiary lover before me, you can do. Now we’re in the process of opening up more. All of the security and trust is there. And it feels good. I’m more restricted than I have been in the past and that’s ok. DrL really just wants to *like* the person I’m sleeping with. I dig that. I’ve always wanted partners to like each other in the past, but it was never a requirement.

I’ve also given up on that “there’s no hierarchy to my poly relationships” stuff. If you ascribe to it, please do not be offended. Mostly, I see it as an excuse for poly tops to hold a harem and have their “secondary” remain happy. DrL is my partner and he matters first and foremost. And I’m going to say it to any potential partners that arise. I know I’ve been hurt by people claiming the non-hierarchal stuff only to take it back when their primary relationship was threatened by the relationship with me. I ain’t playing that game.

And even though I saw chosen and given family on our stint out East and missed the hell out everyone, I’ve made the right decision. I know it every time I wake up next to him. I don’t say that to be cute and romantic. It’s fact. We just fit. And when we don’t, we take the time to sit it out and talk about how we’re going to fix it so that we fit. I can’t count how many times I heard, “You look happy,” by friends and family members we visited and saying it as if it was a long time coming. It really WAS a long time coming.

Click here to read his rendition.

This buttplug quickly became a favorite toy of mine. Because it is pyrex glass, it doesn’t require as much re-lubing during extended wear and it fits comfortably inside me. I’ve worn it for over 8 hours without any problems.

So when I was approached to try out their new Pleasure Paddle, I was definitely on board.

You see… I kind have a spanking fetish. I know, I know, go ahead and catch your breath after your shocked gasps.

The website doesn’t describe the paddle as a spanking implement, but my spanko brain went “there” and of course I had to try it out. We first used it as part of a photoshoot and MDin617 took some glorious pictures of me and [redacted]. I thought it would be fun to have some pics of [redacted] paddling me while I had the butt plug in, but since both are made of glass, the paddling was actually all fake. I’d actually hesitate to use many toys with a glass buttplug in, especially heavy paddles and the like. It looks good in the photographs right?

However the paddle can actually be used for impact play. It is glass, but it’s a very solid, strong pyrex glass. The toy is a full foot long, and the flattened end is 1.5 inches wide and somewhere between 5-6 inches long. The smooth hard glass provides quite the thud sensation. It isn’t long enough to go completely across both cheeks especially if they are as plump as mine. However it’s quite suitable as a cheek to cheek impact toy. I even used the paddle as part of a clip for my Clips4sale store  and it will be up very soon (as soon as I can learn my new editing software). Now, this isn’t an impact toy for people who like to go to town beating buns. The glass is strong and I don’t suspect that you’ll have an easy time breaking this toy, but it really doesn’t have enough of a head to become a disciplinarian toy. This isn’t to say that it doesn’t pack a wallop. As described earlier, it’s great for that pain-pleasure sensation one uses to “warm up” their partner– an EXCELLENT foreplay toy. It also  makes lovely, lovely symmetrical marks.

As far as using this toy in orifices, I’ll definitely sing it’s praises. It’s an interesting feeling to not have a “rounded” phallus-like implement shoved in there. This can make things all kinds of fun when you insert it and twist. Instead of having a fairly proportional full feeling that rounded plugs and dildos provide, when you twist this flat shaped toy in either orifice, it activates nerve endings that weren’t stimulated before. I invite you to twist, then leave it there while you pay attention to *cough, ahem* other areas. And then suddenly twist again when he or she least expects it. I promise a fun reaction.

And because it’s glass, you easily clean it– or freeze it. *wicked evil grin*

I’ve yet to find another impact play toy that can double as a sex toy. I’m sure they’re out there, but at the price that Crystal Delights is offering? For me, this multi-functional and aesthetically GORGEOUS toy is worth every penny.

I love this astonishingly beautiful and useful toy. The color I got was “chili pepper red”. (The Swavorski crystal matches the one on my beautiful red swirl buttplug). So if you’re looking for something in your toybag that you can use for both pain and pleasure (and also forced orgasms) this is it. It’s sure to be a conversation piece.

Just in time for the holidays! I do believe Crystal Delights is offering free shipping for December– and throwing in a free stocking and “stuffer”. So check them out!

The Break Up:

I waited a while for some of the more complex emotions to fade before posting a veritable retraction to my last blog post. That and it is somewhat embarrassing at how impulsive I looked and how quickly the conflagration that was me and Perth just seemed to hit a climax and then die suddenly.

I guess I shouldn’t use the word, “retraction”. That would imply that there was misinformation in my last blog post. Nothing about what I wrote was untrue. Things just changed very drastically in the 3-4 weeks we dated. The love and the passion was there, but the structure underneath was not. I couldn’t act or be monogamous enough. I’m an affectionate person at my core and the way I interacted with my friends was inappropriate for the type of relationship that he wanted. And while he compromised on me being able to do what I do for work, it was a struggle for him. He is of the mindset of “no one else should be touching my girl”. Which is a perfectly legitimate need in a relationship dynamic. It just posed quite the problem as I make an income off of people slapping my ass. We couldn’t see eye to eye on many things, not for lack of trying. When it was good, boy was it good. When it was bad… it was ruthless. And we fought daily.

We came to the mutual decision to break up. It was friendly. We even continued to be play partners and I was still planning on moving in with him. That is– until he decided to try things out with a girl he’d been speaking with for a while now. They are both very monogamous minded, therefore playtime and sleeping in the same bed as him was no longer appropriate. I took the decision pretty hard at first, but I had to respect it. I actually had had conversations with the new girl and really liked her. They’re actually way more compatible as a couple and I enjoy seeing them happy.

Are there still hurt feelings? Of course, there always is in these matters. But do I think it worked out for the best all around? Absolutely.

Plan B:

Weeks before, I had introduced Perth to my family at a dinner, my mother made mention of my possibly working for the company that she and my stepfather owned. It would mean a steady income plus the flexibility I would need for modeling as I was promised that I could come and go as I pleased and work the hours I wanted to work. The one factor that gave me pause, however, was my stepfather. He and I hadn’t spoken since early 2011 when he threatened me via text and I had went through the motions to acquire a restraining order. This man had terrorized much of my childhood. He’s why I left my mother’s place 8 years ago and never looked back. I visited them on holidays and whatnot and occasionally he’d be well behaved. I wouldn’t hear anything about him being taken out of the house in handcuffs for a while.  My family would begrudgingly forgive him and accept him back into their lives, but I never did. And the text threats were the last straw. I’d informed my mother that I would never be in the same place as him ever again. Whenever I was in town, my mother wouldn’t come out to dinner or whatnot with me without him and so…I just didn’t see her.

When I was 13, I *had* to put up with it. I no longer had that obligation as an adult. However, if I worked 9-5pm in their office at their residence and he was out in the field most of the day, I figured our interactions would be very minimal. I figured that I can grin and bear his voice on the phone or him popping in to pick up paperwork– As long as we maintained a cordial and removed business relationship. So I decided to take the offer.

After helping Perth move into the place that we had previously planned to co-habitate in, I headed to go work for Momsie. Halfway through my hour commute my mother called me to instruct me to meet her at a diner. I hadn’t eaten so I was grateful. She began explaining the various secretarial tasks that she expected of me and showed me precisely how she wanted certain things done. I had actually worked for her a bit during summer breaks while in college so it was all coming back.

To make a long story short, we didn’t go straight back to the house/office. I thought it was passing strange that she didn’t take me right there and drop me off while she did the estimates she did, but I paid no mind. I was getting work done in the car anyway. Then, when we finally pulled into their parking lot, she stopped suddenly. She was looking at his truck. We pulled around the corner and she leveled with me. My stepfather and her had gotten into a fight the night before, he refused to go to work today and in short was acting like the abusive prick I was trying to avoid. Everything from the past was being repeated and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the inanity of it. Not to mention that I continued my day’s work in the passenger seat of her SUV in the parking lot around the corner from her residence. Fucking asinine, ain’t it?

I dealt with it as best as I could, even returning to work the following day. I found out that my mother had taken my 10 year old half brother and stayed overnight at my grandmother’s the night before. Things were getting bad, indeed. I remember those years vividly. Countless nights spent with friends or in motel rooms. I remember adopting the habit of sleeping in my shoes– I’d evacuated too many times without them and no shoes meant I couldn’t go to school the next day. School was a solace compared to my home life.

My stepfather’s abusive behavior and my mother’s pilgrimage to my grandparents’ house continued every day as I commuted back and forth from Perth’s who blessedly let me stay there, away from the craziness while I worked for my mother. Finally, on the Friday before the Geeky Kink Event my mother went to court and acquired a temporary restraining order, forcing my stepfather out of their house. It was wonderful news. She had been trying to get me to stay in their guest bedroom since I started working, which would’ve been wonderful as I’d have had my own room, my own space, their condo had a nice gym and I wouldn’t have to commute to work. But as long as my stepfather lived there I wouldn’t. Now he wasn’t there and couldn’t be for 60 days.

If anything that gave me 60 days to save up money and come up with a more long-term plan. I left for the Geeky Kink Event planning on moving into my mother’s house after the weekend. Monday night, I hauled all of the stuff I had with me up the four flights of stairs and started settling in my temporary new home. I hung out with my 10 year old brother, saw a movie with him and my mom and started getting used to the idea of being there a while.

The next morning my mother returned from court to inform me that I had to cart all of my shit down the 4 flights of stairs again. That we had to evacuate as my stepfather had gotten the order overturned and would be back in the house by 2pm. I cried and felt stupid as I packed my belongings. Why did I think this time would be any different than the last decade? This was even before I’d learned that part of his strategy was to pull me into it. From what I understand he had explained that one of her adult children moved back into the house and that I was unsafe and a bad influence. He cited my chosen profession as an example (not that anyone in my family knows what I *actually* do, they just assume). All he had to do was insinuate that my job involved sexual components and boom! order dismissed.

I was in a state of despair. Even if I could steel myself for exposure to, and witnessing my 10 year old brother endure, the childhood I lived and the life I forsook 8 years ago– I no longer had any choice. My being there had given that bastard ammo. I had to leave to help my mother protect my brother.

So I did. I left that night after finding the keys that my brother had hidden in a desperate attempt to keep me there. After tears and pleas of, “But I *need* somebody, I don’t have anyone else,” from him. At least when I went through it, I’d had two siblings that- as different as we were and as much as we fought- were able to cling together at times like these. I couldn’t be that person for my brother. My stepfather had already seen to that.

I left, without a plan and not giving a damn.

Picking Myself Back Up:

I headed to Perth’s. I was planning on getting back there anyway as I’d left a bunch of my clothes and other things there and he said it would be okay if I stayed there again. I was planning on heading to WickedBlueGlow & Mataleao’s house the next day but that sort of didn’t happen. Instead I spent 2 days wallowing and in a state of either drunkenness or sleep on Perth’s couch. I was getting lost in my being lost. I felt homeless and wayward. I felt the old angsty emotions of my teenage life triggered by the actions of my stepfather. I continued to mourn my failed relationship with Perth. (Perhaps the place you were supposed to move in with the man you love who is going about texting his new girlfriend isn’t the proper place to try to recoup, but it illustrates that things really are amicable.) I thought about my little brother’s face, dismayed at my leaving, wanting so badly for me to stay, and how helpless I was to do anything to help him other than leave. And I thought about how I didn’t know where the fuck to go.

I called Mdin617 who has continued to be one of my best confidants and advisors.

“As far as I’m concerned, you still live here,” he’d assured. I started to feel better then. The whirlwind of chaos that was my life quieted a little.

I stopped at Mataleao’s & WickedBlueGlow’s because I’d left my Stitch doll under their care and because I needed chosen family. Unbeknownst to me there was a MaST meeting that was to occur at their place the next day. I almost didn’t attend. M/s… D/s even… hasn’t been a very big part of my life recently. But I stayed and I’m glad I did. The topic was “forgiveness” and a lot of what was said further quelled the feeling that my life was spiraling out of control.

The ride back to Boston was bittersweet. Between Perth, reuniting with my family, finding an extra source of income to get my feet back under me– everything I’d set out to do since leaving had failed & blown up in my face. And for the first time, my chosen career had directly affected other aspects of my personal life (other than my romantic relationships, I guess). It had been used as a weapon against me. I felt like a dog who’d been hit on the nose with a newspaper several times, from all directions. And now I’m crawling back to Boston with my tail between my legs.

It’s gotten infinitely better, however. I missed Mdin617 and my kitty. I haven’t had a chance to REALLY settle down as I was here for 2 days before having to traipse to NY for a brief visit and work. I’m not going to get that chance as I’ll be traveling back to NJ for Tied Down tomorrow. However, being in this familiar environment has really given me some of the tools I need to ground myself and snuff out that feeling of anxiety that I’ve been carrying since the break up and subsequent lost little girl wandering.

The future is still a big question mark at this point. I have a few options and one or two actual plans. Nothing I’m ready to announce yet. A lot of it is up in the air, but I’m no longer fretting it. Do you know why? Because I’m Inching Toward Daylight.

Graydancer can be quite brilliant at times. He’d mentioned that analogy months ago and it stuck with me. Timely enough, he revisited and expounded on the idea in his new blog. I haven’t felt this beaten down by life in quite some time, but it reminds me that it can get worse. And that I really am a Survivor.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

So there you go. A somewhat lengthy but definitely cliff’s notes version of what’s been going on to keep you up to speed.

Raise your hand if you were shocked.

I know I was with how hard and fast I fell in love.

Monogamy? ME?! This has to be some kind of joke, right?

Afraid not.

This was an extremely difficult choice to make but I’m happier for it. I was doing what I was doing for the wrong reasons.

I’d like to thank my friends and ex-lovers for being extremely supportive and understanding that I have to do what is right for me. I know some of you are hurting– I’m sad too. But I’m also very excited as I progress into a new chapter in my life that I believe will make me a healthier, happier Ten.

I’m blessed to have found someone to be my everything and who I connect with on a level that’s indescribable. Who also understands that the people in my life are very important to me. Who is also willing to make compromises on inherent lifestyle differences.

What compromises? Well, I will continue to model and do what I do for a living but at this time I’m no longer doing B/g scenes. And I wouldn’t say that I’m poly in play any longer but exceptions will be made for those closest to me (lookin’ at you dear DrLectr) that my Daddy trusts.

However, Ten’s still going to be the same ol’ Ten and I’m not going to disappear into the void. I know there will be naysayers and rumors but this has been the most amicable breakup I think I’ve ever had and it wasn’t even just one relationship! Communication has been pretty extensive and, while some are hurt no one is angry.

Thank you all for supporting me in my decision and for your well wishes. It means a lot.

<3 and butt wiggles

Ten

vanilla.

I’ve made a concerted effort to no longer use this word to describe those not affiliated with the kink community.

I believe that there’s a spectrum to being kinky.

Let me tell you a little story about what happened to me at Dark Odyssey’s Fusion event

You see, I’m a spanko first and foremost. My fetish as long as I can remember was spanking… Over-the-knee, Domestic Discipline, Big/little roleplay– I love it all.

But I have other interests as well. Although they are probably not as pronounced fetishes, these things get me hot too: Bondage, other types of impact play, takedown scenes, sensation toys– and just plain being naked. I’m not a “spanking purist” and I enjoy much of the variety that the sharper side of pleasure can produce.

So imagine my surprise when, ironically, the only thing I really felt like doing at this all encompassing BDSM event was get spanked. Oh, and walk around naked. Maybe have an orgasm or two. As far as BDSM goes, however, I didn’t want to be taken into the depths of myself, transcending thresholds of pain until I was I was a human puddle of bruised flesh–only to come out of the other side feeling purified with a sense of catharsis and a renewed sense of strength and spirit.

Nope.

Honestly, I arrived and…

I just wanted my butt whacked.

So apparently I wasn’t all that kinky during this event. You see, spanking isn’t really all that kinky anymore. Let me explain.

There was an event called the “Wheel of Destiny” which can be summarized as kinky Wheel of Fortune. There were all kinds of ridiculous things on there, some kinky some not. Anal, punching, grappling, making out, electricity, piercing, cake (yes, a slice of cake), a hug, and a something my devious friend Graydancer called “Tar & Feathering” (where the tar was actually maple syrup) were among the list but I noticed that “spanking” wasn’t there.

When I asked about why my favorite fetish wasn’t present I was told the following:

“Oh, spanking isn’t really all that kinky. It’s like… the gateway fetish”.

That stuck with me. It made me think about my the “spanking purists” I encountered. Were they not really all that kinky as well? Well, they get together in hotels and convention centers and slap each other’s butts so they’re a little kinky.

We’ve come up with cutesy little names for people that are only a little kink– names like “chocolate chip” or my personal favorite “neopolitan”. Fact is (stay with me on the ice cream analogy here) we’re all some sort of flavor. And I’m no “rocky road”, myself. However I wouldn’t want anyone to determine my flavor for me. Especially if it was something as bland as… vanilla. Some people might feel they, themselves are vanilla but who are WE to determine that?

Now, I’m not saying we need to have a contest or anything, but there are definitely people who are kinkier than others. Which is why I think there’s a spectrum to kink. And why I think very few people on the planet are SOOOO non-kinky that they embody the “complete vanilla” end of the spectrum.

So I’m thinking we need to come up with a different word to describe those that aren’t members of the kink scene. And “muggles” is already taken. Suggestions?

————————————————————————

I’m hunched over my notebook, diligently scribbling notes as I pore over my schoolwork. He comes up behind me and I stiffen a little, assuming he’s gotten tired of watching me work and is merely hungry for me, sated from the breakfast we had prepared and consumed hazily and now looking to satisfy another physiological need.

He plants both hands on the table on either side of me and in the instant I am torn between feeling trapped and protected by the size of his broad shoulders as they created heavy shadows over my notes. I pause, waiting for him to act, excited and anxious, wondering what his next move will be, bracing myself for the carnal violence I was sure would come.

Instead he leans in close and I think he means to whisper something in my ear, so I turn slightly, just as his lips brush the vertebrate that sticks out on the back of my neck. I shiver, surprised at the tenderness, confused by the affectionate way he lingers, his breath slow and soft on my neck.

Who was this man?

This was not my sensitive little doe-eyed lover, my silent and brooding warrior, or even my erotic and sensual “tall dark and Handsome”. This was my brute, ruthless and savage, guided only by feral instinct as he participated in every vice on the road to hell, dragging me in his wake.  I did not recognize the man standing behind me, hot breath now whispering sweet nothings as he nuzzles my neck ever so slightly.

I am at once both terrified and captivated by him. This was my safest. I never had to worry about falling, getting attached, or otherwise plummetting into certain demise. If by chance one day, I decide I’ve had enough of the brutality, physical and mental, I would walk away and not think twice, except maybe a rush of heat remembering our carnal encounters. But now he shows me a side of him no one else sees, exhibiting the tenderness that I seek out in one of my others.

I consider for a fleeting moment the prospect of not needing the others to play the role that he is playing now. To be monogamous, to ::GASP:: commit. But the moment passes quickly as his arms grow tense and I feel the breadth of his chest pressing down on me, splaying me belly-down on the table. This is the man I know. I rest assured that my wings aren’t in danger of being clipped and continue to enjoy the ride to Hell as the Devil himself enters me from behind.

” And I listen for the whisper
Of your sweet insanity
While I formulate denials
Of your effect on me”

What’s in STORE for Ten?

Been a little MIA as of late. Some big projects in the works. Let’s see, where should I start? Oh yeah! How ’bout my brand new shiny CLIPS FOR SALE site! It’s definitely a work in progress, but Ten Amorette’s Punishment Playhouse will have a variety of content featuring bondage, spanking, strapping, caning, belting and even tickling  of a variety of well-deserving punishee’s– from the girl next door to the biggest baddest punk on the planet.

For now it’s just lil ole me getting my butt all sorts of abused by PhotoDave but I’m already half-packed for Shadowlane Brat Pack Party happening September 2nd thru 5th in aptly named Sin City… Viva Las Vegas! I can’t get into too much trouble there now can I?

What’s in a name?

What’s with this “Amorette” business anyway? Well, I knew that if I were going to make this whole modelling thing work, I’d need a “last name” to be more marketable. True, “Ten” has an impact all on it’s own–for those who know me. But try Googling “Ten”. Or even “Ten Model”. Or even “Ten Spanking Model”. You might get a few hits that ARE me, but they slowly disintegrate into lists of “top ten”.

So, I went on the search to find a “last name” that fit with “Ten”. Try to find another one. It’s not easy to finds something that doesn’t sound cheesy or like ‘ten of something’. “Amorette” was one of the first ones I noticed. (duh, it’s in the A’s…) It struck me. But I felt it was too early on to decide. I had to look through the other options–just to be SURE.

But I kept looking back on it.  “Amorette” is of French origin and means “little love”. It totally plays to my age-play/ little tendencies. And it’s sweet and adds a little femininity and *cough* innocence to the “Ten” part of my name.

So Ten Amorette was born. Hope you like.

In the Wings

• Shadow Lane Brat Pack Spanking Party- the spanking MECCA
• First MAINSTREAM shoot
• More Clips for my store
• Another shiny new website
• Retirement?

Stay Tuned!

I used to lament about a lack of an identity. In high school, I never had a group that I belonged to. I mean, I got along with everyone and participated in many different activities and groups, but I didn’t have one particular label that I identified with. It drove me crazy. It made me insecure and vulnerable and unstable.  It was maddening not to have a pedestal of a fixed distinguishing characteristic that I could stand upon and feel grounded. I yearned to “fit in” and try as I might, I could not.

Years later, I’ve finally come to a point that I feel that my identity is fluid. It’s dynamic, subject to change gradually or even epically with every new experience. It leaves room for growth. It keeps me from being boxed into one single label, keeps me from “fitting in” to a pre-shaped mold. Even as I was formulating this post, someone re-tweeted a link to a great post written by Charlie Glickman entitled “When Identity Gets in the Way”. Go read it. It’s ok, I’ll wait.

If you’re too lazy to read it, it basically states some of the same points as I did above in a much more academic and articulate way. Here’s an excerpt:

…in English, we tend to say things like “I am hungry” while other languages approach it differently. In French or Spanish, for example, the literal translation is “I have hunger”… If I say “I’m feeling anger” instead of “I am angry”, then I’m also leaving room to feel sadness, boredom, excitement, or an itch on my foot. Rather than claiming “angry” as everything I am, I’m acknowledging both its presence in that moment AND creating room for feeling additional things.

He goes on to explain that “Identity” is very much the same and when you adopt an adjective as an identity, you tend to limit yourself to that adjective.

I, like him, no longer adopt one single adjective as my identity, nor do I claim any one adjective is fixed. My identity has slowly been shaping itself throughout the years and has many leaps and bounds to make. I relish the experiences that will amend, add to, enhance and enrich my identity. My identity will not be  stamped into stone. It will always be dynamic.

So where did I find stability if I don’t have some sort of sanctity in an impenetrable role or label? Where do I turn when something has happened in my life where I need some sort of rock to keep me steady? What do I hold onto when life takes a loop-de-loop in the veritable roller coaster that it is?

My sense of self.

There is a difference between identity and sense of self. The former is a “distinguishing characteristic”, the latter is not so easily explained. I define it as operating with integrity to yourself and those around you under a constant vigilant analysis of one’s self. It’s that unshakeable feeling that you behave within your moral code. That you do right by yourself and others just by being in tune with yourself and taking personal responsibility for your actions and acting as you deem right for you in a given situation.

It took me a long time to find my ever elusive ‘sense of self’. Part of the reason was due to age– while some find their ‘sense of self’ early on, often it’s done painstakingly through maturity and experience. Another reason was probably due to an unstable childhood. I moved several times and in one instance went to three different 3rd grades in three different states. Momsie also brought in a lot of different men after my father died–none of whom were father-figure material. Both of these things make it a lot harder to explore inside and find some sort of self-awareness. When your life is always changing it’s hard not to always focus on external things like trying to make new friends at each new location  or making sure you didn’t leave any of your possessions behind at the old ones or dodging the backhands of grown men. Not only was it hard to be introspective, it was borderline necessary to my survival NOT to be.

Therefore, by the time I entered the BDSM scene and a D/s relationship, I still had not found that sense of self.  Which was troublesome, because if you take on the identity of “submissive” as I did, before you find that self-awareness, it can actually impinge your progress. One needs to know oneself before they submit to another. One needs to have a sense of their limits and triggers before they can let someone else tell them what to do lest they be seriously damaged by an order. One needs to know their own personal strengths and their own character weaknesses in order to aid in their own growth instead of just relying on the Dominant to lead the way.

I pursued a D/s relationship for all of the wrong reasons. Since I did not have that “sense of self” and because of my childhood, I fancied myself damaged goods. I wanted someone to “fix” me. I wanted to depend on someone to make all of my choices for me so that I no longer had to take personal responsibility for my actions as I viewed everything I did on my own as flawed. It was unhealthily co-dependent and frightening to look back on. I’d rendered myself weak and therefore exposed myself to predators and made myself vulnerable to anyone who would scoop me up and tell me what to do. It was downright dangerous. It’s unfortunate that so many new naive submissively-identified people look for someone to “save” them, expose themselves in the same way that I did and wind up getting hurt.

I began finding self-awareness when I got tired of everyone telling me how I was “supposed” to act as a submissive. I was the “perfect” slave but by someone else’s definition. And I finally came to realize that it was damn unfulfilling.  So I set out on a journey to find who I was as a submissive–which in turn led me to find many other things, including my sense of self. Now, it wasn’t *poof* -sense of self appears-. It’s been a long, arduous, sometimes painful but always enlightening adventure to get to a place where  I am in touch with my sense of self. A place where I have a handhold on my core to the point that if anyone wants to take it away, they can pry it from my cold, dead hand. A place that, while I’m leaving room for continual growth, I still know who I am and that I act with integrity. A stable foundation that I can grab a hold of when life gets chaotic.

In a life that’s so far outside of how society tells you to live, a sense of self is especially important. In spite of what society would say of my slutty, hedonistic ways I am able to deflect their opinions and insults. I’m able to have confidence that the way I live my life, while deviant, is not morally wrong. I am able to expose arguments otherwise as merely societal mores and challenge believes that ascend out of tradition–and not much else.

I now treat myself better, have become a better partner in my relationships and dare I say a better submissive. I no longer latch on to how I’m “supposed” to act as a submissive. I don’t follow orders simply because I’m submissive. I don’t submit without negotiation. I know not to communicate with those who don’t have the necessary skills to do so. I don’t fall into the trap of “the Dominant is always right/responsible”. I know what I want and need out of a Dominant or a partner or a friend or anyone involved in my life. I also know what I don’t and am able to remove those people from my life in a fashion that is much quicker than the girl of the past.

So while I still have yet to find a set “identity”, I’m comfortable in that because I have my “sense of self” and that is irrefutable. At least it was… until recently.

Maybe it’s all the changes that have happened?

On April 28th, 2011, I moved from New Jersey to Boston. 18 hours later, I was on a 3.5 week tour–mostly of the West Coast. Since then, I’ve embarked on another 1.5 week multi-state tour, taken 10 flights, had 6 days of driving 4 hours or more, 20 shoots/sessions, 3 major kink events, and several other kinky/vanilla commitments to adhere to. Up until I returned from Dallas last week, I’d spent 14 out of the 47 days I’ve lived in Boston, IN BOSTON.  During all of this I had one aunt become diagnosed with breast cancer, 2 developing relationships go South rather abruptly and one friend commit suicide.

With all of that chaos, it seems logical that the unshakeable foundation that I call my “sense of self” had been shaken. Just a bit– a little tremor that had me second guessing myself and feeling a little unstable once again. It had me yearning to give someone else the reins to my life for a bit, it had me feeling insecure and uncharacteristically antisocial. I even started to wonder about my intentions and whether or not I was a good person. I started to fear how I was being judged. I started to let external sources dictate how I lived.

But you know what?

Fuck. That.

I’m not going back to that person. It sucked being that anxious, vulnerable and scared. I can examine my behaviors and actions while still being self-assured. Hell, that’s what growth is all about. I never lost my sense of self. I thought I did for a minute and it was a terrifying minute. But like I said, you can pry it out of my cold, dead hand because I’m tightening my grip. I will not let external forces rattle the solace that I have found in being true to myself.

And, if you haven’t already, once you find yours, you better hold on tight. When it comes down to it, it’s all you really have.

I know that it’s definitely the fall-out from all of the above after I was home from my 3+ week traveling trip in which this all of these events ensued…

I’m wondering about how much responsibility I should feel in the aftermath of being a veritable White Rabbit leading them to Wonderland (and/or an experience that transforms the world as they know it.)

I don’t claim to be any sort of guru here. However, in a lot of ways I feel like Morpheous offering a choice of red pill vs. blue pill. The difference being that I really didn’t anticipate what the red pill would do in any of these instances.

I never took a pill. My journey through kink/poly/sexual awareness had been a gradual state of growth. I cannot say that I’ve had one singular event that has completely toppled everything I knew about the way I was leading my life and my relationships.

Some of the people I encountered on my trip now know the earth-shattering feeling I never felt . I’ve opened their eyes to possibilities they’d long given up on accessing. Our encounters have them questioning their present existence and the steps that they’ve taken to get there. I’ve torn the thinly veiled cliched biases right off of their perspectives. They are viewing the world with new eyes and they are confused. Some are floundering. Some even are thinking they should’ve taken the blue pill and remained “blissfully” ignorant.

So what’s my role here now that I’ve returned home? I’ve ignited a conflagration of confusion inside these people. Do I need to stand by and help put it out?

I have been helping, of course. I’ve been an ear for the people that I’ve encountered since. I’ve helped them muddle through a concept that confused them due to it’s need for self-analysis or helped them see beyond their preconceived ideas based on societal mores. I’ve spent a lot of my energy helping them through a maze of new ideas and notions their brain is inundated with since encountering me while being very careful not to impose my perspective and trying to let them figure out how to process and adapt this new awareness into a lifestyle that works for them.

I’ve been told that it really isn’t my responsibility. That I should now just let them figure it out. That I shouldn’t regret exposing these people to a wider world that what normal society would have them think.

Let it be said that few of the activities of my trip that I listed in the first paragraph were of a professional nature so I can’t just absolve myself by saying that I was working and I got paid for my time and that I should be done with it. I forged relationships with many of these people to a varying degree. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.

And it happened because of ME. Granted, in many cases it would’ve happened anyway. However, I was the catalyst. So where does that leave me? So far I’ve been providing resources that I wish had been provided to me and sharing the tenets & perspectives that I’ve learned throughout my tenuous journey. It feels like it’s all that I can do. I want to be there for these people in every way that I can be. The problem is– I don’t know how, or if I should even be as involved as I am.

I’m also waiting for backlash. I’m waiting for negative emotions. For anger and blame. For people to call me a “homewrecker” and say my actions were irresponsible because I should have known the consequences. As a big fan of personal responsibility, how much of that should I own?

I’m really thinking: not much. Feel free to respond if you feel otherwise.

I’m reminded of Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” from his The Republic. This piece uses an analogy to describe education/enlightment and it’s effect on humans. The first part describes several people who have their limbs and their necks chained to a wall in the cave (kinky, I know *wink wink*) forced to stare at a blank wall with a massive fire behind them. The fire illuminates everything that passes by and the chained people see shadows. Those shadows become their life and their reality– or their perception of it.

It is then discussed what release from the cave would be like. Now the chained person can see what has cast the shadows that he/she had been looking upon for years and years but they would not recognize them as the shadows are more real to him/her than what they now see since that was how said person grew up. However, that person would acclimatize, see and understand their surroundings more and understand the other “reality” beyond the shadows.

If they opted to return to the cave, they could no longer live the life they led and had become accustomed to, even if they wanted to. They could no longer just look at the shadows as their reality because they now know what it is that cast the shadow that was their old reality.

I’m no philosopher, no expert, no philanthropist, no psychologist– I’m just me. But I guess what I’m wondering is how to feel when those cave tenants wished they could have their simple lives that revolved around shadows back? And how much responsibility should I feel in helping them understand what causes the shadows once I helped to free them from the cave and altered their perception of reality?

I’d actually “met” him online around October after his wife retweeted a link to a blog he wrote about a shit-storm I had happened to have gotten caught in. That’s right, I actually followed his wife first. I hope that they aren’t offended when I say I thought they were an older happy kinky couple when I first met them: their sagacity (and proper use of English) gave me those presumptions. He’d offered me advice. I’d made a new friend.

I remember how the flirtation began. He’d tweeted something about being frustrated at his inability to reply to Twitter DM’s. Being the brat that I am, I taunted him mercilessly via DM. Of course, once his DM’s were reinstated the threats of retribution only resulted in adding to his allure. I bantered with him back and forth a bit and next thing I knew things were getting all sexy up in my DM inbox.

I explored their blog and Fetlife accounts to discover that he wasn’t a man of 50, but far closer to my age. Soon we moved from DM roleplay to sexting in a way I haven’t done since before I discovered BDSM sex actually existed outside of an internet chatroom.

There were talks of meeting and real-life sexual encounters. He assured me that his wife knew about our intentions and was fine with it. If only the distance wasn’t so immense. A six hour drive one way wasn’t something either of us could make time for in our busy lives. Then, I learned he was moving to Switzerland. The chance of us meeting one day when he had to go to NYC to get his visa  evaporated as the hours of my day job wore on.

And then he was gone, nearly 4,000 miles away. Suddenly a six hour drive didn’t seem so far. We continued on with our respective lives, every once in a while touching base-when the time difference allowed, however the sexting ceased. I still cared about him and his life and would pay attention to tweets, DMing him when he seemed upset or excited about something for updates.

You see, even though I’d never met this man, I did actually care. Even through text-sex I’d formed a connection. I form a connection with everyone I’ve ever been intimate with. It’s never intentional, it’s how I’m wired. It’s true, I’ve had dozens of sexual encounters with many different people over the years but I don’t have casual sex. It might be a spur of the moment activity but something always lingers after- even if the connection fades shortly thereafter it never really completely dies. The emotions and level of intensity of said connection varies depending on the person. However, whether they are a tertiary lover I really only speak with when we’re in the same 20 mile radius once or twice a year or they are a long-time lover that I fuck ten times a week, I feel something for them. I can have angry sex, I can have “fuck the pain away” sex, I can have playful unattached sex, but I can’t have mindless sex. 

So yes, even though we’d only spoken via text message and Twitter, I felt a connection to this man that had developed over the months. Even if we went weeks without talking, that didn’t go away. I’m used to that from my tertiary lovers throughout the country.

When he informed me that he was coming back to the states to visit I jokingly told him to make a detour to New Jersey. When I realized he was seriously considering this, I didn’t hesitate. I had used all but one of my vacation days and I wanted to take it before I left my day job. I was waiting for the perfect day to do so and now it was presented. I mean, the guy was coming all the way from Switzerland, the least I can do is give him more than a four hour period after work before I passed out and groggily got up the following morning to suffer another sleep-deprived day at work. He talked to his wife, slept on the idea and booked the ticket the next day.

A busy three weeks passed in which we barely communicated. All of a sudden the week of his arrival was upon me. I tidied my room and stocked up on essential supplies (aka condoms & energy drinks– at least I asked his opinion on that). In retrospect, I’m glad for the lack of trying to sort out details about our fuckfest. I really think all it would have done was create expectations, some of which were destined to be dashed.

It was a little awkward when I picked him up.

When I pulled into the airport, I recognized him from the face picture he emailed me the previous day. I’d requested it, realizing that all that was present on his blog were of various parts of his anatomy and a view of his entire body–from the rear. His body was beautiful which helped with the attraction but his words were what had turned me on the most. His face could’ve won first place in a Shrek look-a-like contest and it wouldn’t have mattered. The fact that he was actually quite handsome was just a treat for me.

We made light conversation as we made our way to the one local diner that serves alcohol. We both were in the mood for some social lubrication (and I needed help shaking off my workday). Our conversation was pleasant as we consumed our meals. As the plates (and our drinks) grew more and more empty, our conversation grew more and more heated.

I asked what he was thinking and as he described in delicious detail what he wanted to do to me when we got back to my place I felt that heat grow in the pit of my stomach. I might’ve even been a little too forceful in my answer when the waitress asked if we wanted dessert.

“No.” Dessert will be this man’s cock inside me.

When we got home, we engaged in polite conversation with my non-kinky roommate and his friend that was somewhat abruptly halted. We went into my room and I immediately went to him for that first kiss. My want had increased ten-fold since the restaurant. We began to disrobe each other and stay that way for the next 24 hours.

The first time, he rolled on the condom and we fucked face to face. We both had agreed that doggy style was our mutual favorite position but it was unspoken that we wanted to watch each others’ faces the first time. I only caught glimpses of him as my eyes kept rolling back into my head with each thrust.  He popped quick, which was fine because as an unselfish lover he then went down on me. This was the test. My cunt is awful particular about how it’s licked, but boy did he pass with flying colors. No really. I saw colors. In the afterglow, I debated breaking out the energy drinks. This was to be an all-night fuckfest after all.

Before I could bring myself to make the move he was on me again, this time with me on all fours as he pumped into me. I had maybe 2-3 orgasms but alas, the travel and exhaustion must’ve gotten to him. After about 20 minutes of furious thrusting we stopped and curled up again. I offered the aforementioned energy drink and he declined. Both spent, we drifted off to sleep.

An hour or so later we were at it again…and then back asleep.

Seven hours later, I awoke to his fingers probing inside. We fucked again and then curled up feeling each others’ skin, caressing each other, occasionally bringing up random topics to converse over, but mostly being in a comfortable intimate silence. Until we fucked again. And then again. Different positions, different toys used (one particularly overwhelming orgasm coming from the accompaniment of my hitachi).

We broke for breakfast, which I insisted on making as it is somewhat of a tradition to feed those that have kept my bed warm for the night the next morning. The house was empty and we enjoyed our goat cheese omelets in peace before we retreated back to my room. His photographer’s eye had seen a picture that needed shooting. Even though I fed him, he looked at me hungrily, but wanted to make the picture happen. Several snapshots were taken but among them were:

The brief respite from fucking didn’t last long. He ached to put his hands back on my naked flesh and I ached to have them there. The morning was spent in a tumult of fucking, talking, joking, fucking, cuddling, fucking, oral sex, fucking, the occasional pause as I wandered into the kitchen in my robe to obtain hydration for us, and more fucking.

And then I found myself at the moment I described when first writing this. Feeding him yet again before I would walk him to his train and we both re-entered “real life”.

But wait… his plane got delayed. So, of course, there was more fucking.

We’d cleaned up what I called the “Condom Wrapper Graveyard” once already and again it was littered with the discarded packages (the actual used condoms he courteously tied himself before I walked them over and dispensed them in my garbage which I jokingly referred to as his sperm donor bank during the day). The box of condoms I’d purchased was nearly empty. I’d had countless orgasms, he’d ejaculated 7 times and we were both feeling pretty content as I walked him to his train.

We hugged and kissed before leaving. There was no extended goodbye, no longing words, nothing that indicated that we’d treat this as a committed relationship. But this was no casual encounter. 

I remember him with a smile and I hope he visits the states again often. He’s become somewhat of an ideal lover. Intelligent, able to hold a conversation, attractive, possessing a significant aptitude in bed, compassionate but  feels in no way possessive over me or insecure about my current relationship. Completely cling-free. I think all parties involved appreciate that particular aspect of what he and I shared.

My only regret was not reaching out to his wife beforehand. It’s a tough line when dealing with somebody else’s primary partner. If you try to communicate to make sure the other partner is ok, you’re meddling. If you don’t, they might think you don’t respect the relationship or the other partner (the one you’re not fucking) as a person with emotions and feelings of their own. I DM’d her to make sure everything was ok. She seemed quite fine with the events that encountered.

And he couldn’t wait to get back to her. I didn’t take that as an insult. The fact that he had a partner who was okay with everything that had transpired made him feel lucky in a way few men ever feel. He was grateful to her and couldn’t wait to get her home to show her how grateful (if you know what I mean *nudge, nudge*). In fact, I don’t think it did wait. He relayed that he’d brought her to orgasm on the long plane ride home to Switzerland. His experience with me had actually fueled his lust for his wife, rather than the opposite. How cool is that?

I feel the same for my partner/Daddy/Triceratop (who gave the marathon fucking man a virtual high five). After all of the complicated poly situations (V-style, OPP, harem, triad) I’d found myself in where control, insecurity and jealousy ran amok, I’ve coupled with the one person on the planet who was genuinely happy that his girl was being pleased–even if it was by someone else. He joined me in reveling in the afterglow and in being amazed by a libido that has topped any performer I’d performed with. He’s coupled with me since with nary a mention. He knows what I feel for this other man and it hasn’t affected our relationship in any way–except me falling more in love with him for it.

Seems all parties involved are pretty happy and have gained something from the experience that those who couldn’t even conceive of attempting to do what this man and I did will never have the chance to. When it works, it works really fucking well. That, my friends, is why I do non-monogamy.

**Both the man and his wife have written something about this experience on their respective blogs, but as it’s sleepytime in Switzerland I’ll have to wait to see if I have permission to link to said blogs until they wake.