Content Warning: In my discussion of fantasy I talk about the challenge of discovering and embracing my sexual desires in light of my experiences as an incest and rape survivor. If that’s an issue for you, skip the section of this post about fantasy and go right to the EroticAdventure.
Hello, My Beauties,
It’s a beautiful day, and I just ordered bright yellow rain boots, with bees on them. Bees! I wanted ones with unicorns and rainbows, but they don’t make those for grown folks. It made me sad until I saw the school-bus yellow pair decorated with bees.
Aren’t they delightful? There’s never been a better time to follow me on Instagram. I promise you’ll get a peek at the bee boots when they arrive.
I’ve loads to tell you this week, so let’s get started.
Fantasy: The #30DayOrgasmFun
Masturbation for a Mental Health Boost
We’re on day 17 of Tabitha Rayne’s #30DayOrgasmFun Masturbation for Mental Health Boost and I’ve got to say, I’m feeling pretty boosted. I’m weathering ups and downs with ease, noticing a little more “this will pass” and a little less “the sky is falling.”
Today, I want to talk about fantasy because this morning I spun a wonderful one in my noggin and greeted the day with a shivery orgasm. After, I was thinking about how I learned to embrace the kinkier side of my sexual expression.
Fantasy has played a huge part in self-acceptance as I learned to embrace my sexual needs.
My sexual fantasies swing between collared daddy kink complete with floggers and St. Andrew’s crosses to PG-13 vanilla sex on the Observation Deck of the Enterprise (What? Vulcans are sexy). I’m fine with that, in fact, I think it’s great, but it took years to learn to celebrate that part of myself.
Being an incest and rape survivor, there was a lot about sexual expression that I had to learn far later in life than most folks. My fantasies were the first place I let go of the shame I carried around about my sexual desires.
Pre-recovery I liked sex, liked, not loved because I wasn’t sure where the line between the fantasies I was groomed to embody ended and my own sexual expression and fantasy life began.
It was confusing as fuck.
Add to that the strange melange of post-modern feminism and the buckets of shame and prejudice that plagues the LGBTQIA+ and kink communities, and I was lost.
There were conflicting messages lurking everywhere and everyone had an opinion, from the books I read, the therapist I worked with, to friends and partners.
My gravitation toward daddy kink and the submissive side of D/s play was either learned behavior or claiming my truth. And my switchy-Service-Queen-Dom side was either empowered sexual leadership or internalized oppression.
For fuck’s sake, I just wanted someone to tie me up, call me darling, and spank me. Or find someone to bathe, feed by hand, and scratch behind their ears while they licked and kissed me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. (I think I’d be an amazing puppy-play-mama. Don’t judge.)
Was that too much to ask? It turned out it was, depending on who I asked, and no one was pointing me toward embracing and questioning the most important person in the equation: me. Folks who wanted “the best for me” were stripping away my agency by judging my sexual expression as wrong and damaging without asking me how I felt about it first.
None of my desires looked anything like the abuse that I endured. I heard (and read) about how my early experiences bent my desires toward darkness and any kink was a manifestation of abuse that I had yet to confront. And yet, no one stopped to ask me if my kinks triggered memories of abuse or if I interacted with memories of abuse in a sexual way.
Of course, there are folks whose sexual expression becomes pathological and damaging. Eating. Exercising. Drinking. Masturbating. Anything can be used to mollify intense personal pain to the point it interferes with well-being.
But when it comes to sex, the line where healthy expression passes into pathology moves according to social, religious, and cultural beliefs that stigmatize sexual expression, sexuality, and gender identity. Teasing out what is legitimately unhealthy from stigma is hard. I’ve learned to listen to my gut and use the idea of safe, sane, and consensual play to examine my needs and desires.
SAFE, SANE, AND CONSENSUAL also applies to solo play. Never involve folks in solo play without their consent. For example, if you want to wear a vibrating anal plug out in public, do it. But don’t hand the remote off to an unsuspecting friend, colleague, or even a play partner without giving them the scoop first.
When I stopped listening to other people and started embracing my needs as a legitimate, healthy part of human sexual expression, I was able to release my shame. The first steps I took toward exploring and owning my sexual desires were in my fantasies.
I share all this to say, learn what makes you happy, what fulfills you and then give yourself permission to fantasize. If being spanked turns you on, then imagine earning a rose-red bottom while you’re folded over someone’s lap with your skivvies around your ankles. If it’s suspending someone from the ceiling in an artful nest of woven ropes, then give yourself permission to go there.
And if something in your fantasies bothers you, find a non-judgemental, affirming therapist, and talk about it.
Use your incredible mind to explore your desires. Be fearless, it’s worth it, I promise.
The EroticAdventure Week 15:
Traveling Tales to Pass the Time When You’re Fleeing the Black Death
The Decameron is 14th-century anthology-style porn set against the backdrop of Europe during a devastating plague. The characters, seven men and three women, take turns telling sexy stories to keep their mind off the Black Death while they’re traveling to Florence. It reminds me of the campy 1965 horror movie Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, where a group of strangers on a train listen to a series of stories to pass the time. The difference is The Decameron’s stories are erotic, and sadly, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee aren’t among the travelers.
I chose it as a stop on this adventure because I tripped across Rachel Rabbit White’s article Sex Scenes: A 14th-Century Tale in Praise of Dumb Dick Energy. She described one of the stories as a “sort of ode to being simple and horny.” That’s how I feel most days, of course I had to read it.
White also pointed out that, at the time The Decameron was written, women’s literacy was on the rise. Boccaccio, a true subversive of the time, wanted to pen something that turned women on and made women’s pleasure a “constant presence” within the text.
Eternal thanks to Rachel Rabbit White, because “dumb dick energy” will now and forever be a part of my lexicon.
I’ve just finished the opening chapter. It’s a prose poem setting up the structure of the novel. I don’t have much to say, other than I’m excited to start digging into this beauty and seeing how a 14th-century male writer portrayed women, pleasure, and sexual expression.
That’s all for this week.
Be Well, Be Wonderful, and Above all Be You.
Image Credit: “The Nude Girl and the Abbot, from The Decameron”, Hans Schäufelein (German, Nuremberg ca. 1480–ca. 1540 Nördlingen), before 1534, Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1917, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, www.metmuseum.org.