I'm of mixed opinion about writing a bio here at all- not because I don't want to reveal who I am, but rather, because there is this irritating propensity for people to see fetishists as people who are a little warped, psychologically damaged. Beliefs that people turn to kink because of something in their past irritate me- why can't people be kinky merely because they find it fun and exciting?
And now that I have voiced that, let me tell you about warped, psychologically damaging past.
My folks split when I was an infant- I have no memories of my mother, and the only reason I know what she looks like is because I tracked her down in my teens and exchanged mail with her for about a year.
My dad raised me- and in the 70's, a bloke raising a child, let alone a girl, was unusual enough that we both had to defend his ability to do so numerous times. Remember- this was a time before shopping malls has a "family" bathroom. He was also re-discovering his freedom- he was newly single again- and the last time he was single, he and his friends were lamenting the fact that they were too broke to go to Woodstock. Aids was un-heard of. Naturally, he went a little crazy with the man-whore-ishness. I had a succession of "babysitters" that came and went so quickly I don't remember their names or faces. We often lived in one-bedroom apartments, so I saw the various comings and goings from my bed on the couch.
I never developed that mental "ewww" factor many people seem to have regarding their parent's sexuality. I've never grasped who people feel uncomfortable with the idea that their parents might have a sex life. To me, it was a normal thing. And I think that early exposure resulted in my having a fairly open mind about sexuality in general- things were not censored at home, and Dad had a general rule about sex which included the notion that if I asked, he would answer. No topic was taboo. Sex-ed in school was not, therefore, a revealing moment for me. There was no uncomfortable "birds and the bees" talk- anything that would have been covered there had already been revealed to me throughout the years without fanfare- or embarrassment.
I did not know it then, but the concept of S&M was introduced to me very early too, by mere accident. I stumbled one day upon the lady from next-door crying to my father while confiding in him the face that her husband sometimes hit her during sex and liked calling her his whore. I never spoke of this with anyone, but even then, I remember not understanding why she was upset about it. I understood what she was saying, but not why she was crying about it.
When I was 7, Dad moved his latest girlfriend in- she came complete with three kids of her own- all boys- one my age, the others 3 and 6 years older then me. The middle boy and I remain closest mates even now, when we live half a globe apart and see each other about once a decade. The oldest boy immediately began a three year pattern of sexually abusing me. I am left with permanent scar tissue inside the womb from this, which results in me being unable to carry a child- I can get pregnant, but as there is not enough healthy tissue to sustain a foetus, it aborts itself. The abuse halted after three years because I deliberately and with conscious, pre-meditated thought, bit down on his testicle until it ruptured in my mouth. He has since served time for abusing other children, but I never pursued prosecution. He is in occasional contact with my family, but there is effort made to not have us at the same family gatherings. I've encountered him only once in adult life, and at that meeting, I broke his nose. I don' t expect our paths will cross again. Despite the patterns of violence towards him, I'm actually not stunted by the abuse, nor ashamed. I am comfortable discussing it in detail, and spent years counselling kids groups on abuse- I've talked it to death and examined everything- it is part of my past, but rarely interferes with my present.
At 16, I moved in with my then boyfriend, and partially raised his sister's child- she was 3 months when she came to us and 7 years when she moved back with her mother for good. I worked full time as a checkout chick during the day, remained registered in high school and held a weekly meeting with my teachers wherein I would pass in assignments and collect next weeks reading. My boyfriend worked nights in a warehouse, so one of us was always with the kid and we did not have to pay for a sitter. I graduated high school in a class of 120 students, but hardly knew anyone. At 22, I got married. a couple of years later, he was diagnosed as suffering depression- a diagnosis which I think incorrect, and believe him to be manic-depressive. At 29, I had an unexpected miscarriage, which devastated me, but which merely irritated my husband, as it meant I had to take three days off work to lie on my back in recovery. It was during those hazy days of cramping and sleeping that I had a personal epiphany that I was glad I lost it, as having a child then would have meant being tied to him for 20 years. And with that, I realized my marriage was over. His depression was in a serious "down" bout, and so I did not leave.
It was during this period that I discovered my interest in Kink, Bondage and generally odd fetishes. I was working at the time as a writer and copy-editor for a Queer newsmagazine, as well as doing reviews for Sexuality.org. For reviewing purposes, I always abstained from bondage and S&M based material, as I felt undereducated in the area and therefore, felt I could not do such material justice. The newsmagazine sent me on a road trip to Vancouver to cover the North Amercian Conference on Bisexuality, Gender and Sexuality Diversity. The conference was 4 days long, but I stayed in Vancouver for two weeks, during which times I covered workshops such as "Flogging and Fireplay", "BDSM and the Law", "Political BDSM" and "BDSM? Or Abuse?". I watched a large man be suspended from meat hooks embedded into the skin of his back. I also got arrested for public nudity and indecency, and spent a night in jail, wherein a large scary tranny streetwalker stole my mattress and blanket, was released (still naked) in the morning, whereupon I met a lovely non-scary, non-streetwalking tranny, spent the day sightseeing with her and fell in lust. I never saw her again, but the trip changed my outlook on sexuality forever.
About a month after this conference, my husband accepted a job in Norway, and off we went- me biding my time for him to get over this round of depression till I was sure he cold stand on his own, when I would leave. I enrolled in Norwegian language lessons and found work as an editor/translator. About a year after arriving in Norway, after about 8 months of meds and therapy, my husband was functioning fairly well again, and so I moved in with a friend in England, and there myself headlong into the rich and somewhat intoxicating underworld of the weird and kinky. I travelled on a monthly basis back into Norway for work, and to visit my husband and our flatmate, though by this time I had the spare room. I'd sort his meds, chat with his Dr, and make sure he was on track. About 8 months after I left for England, he introduced me to his new girlfriend. His girlfriend was the just- turned 16 year old daughter of a good friend of ours. Since they had been together for a few months, when she was under aged, they had not yet told her mother. Wanting no part- or blame in this rather delicate not to mention morally questionable matter, I filed official separation documents with the Norwegian government that same day, and left Norway for the last time.
By this time, my London flatmate and I were well and truly trying our best to burn ourselves out on pure hedonism. We took Tuesday night off from fetish events to lie comatose on the couch with tv or movies, we ordered groceries online on Wednesday for Thursday home delivery, and took Thursday of work to cook for the upcoming week and do the laundry and cleaning from the past week. Six nights a week saw us hiking all over the city in full fetish regalia of rubber and leather, taking the tube to get to events and late night cabs back home- barring of course, for those nights wherein we landed ourselves a submissive chauffeur who actually showed up on time and would then drive us to and from the event, complete with door to door service and valet parking.
I don't know what makes it so, but it seems to me that Britain has more submissive males then any other country I have seen or experienced. Culturally, I'm not sure what it is they do to their men to make them all bitches, but I'm also not complaining about it. We fended off constant requests, from simple one-lined emails, all the way through to multi-paged formal requests and contracts from submissive men clamouring to come to our home to cook and clean, give foot massages, chauffeur us around the city, do our gardening, and serve as furniture. A dominant woman living in the UK need do nothing for herself if she has only the patience to wade through a mountain of applications and petitions of service.
In the midst of all this clubbing, I had couple of relationships, first as a submissive, then entering into a poly relationship with a married man, his wife and her boyfriend which was both romantic and D/s based, wherein the married man and myself would both switch roles with each other. I also spent several years talking to a guy from Australia, who was planning to save some cash and come to spend a year in London with us. The shortened version of this had the poly relationship exploding in a painfully way due to jealousy on the wife's part, and deceit on the part of myself and her husband.
With remarkably bad timing, it was at this point that my visa renewal to stay in the UK was rejected. Faced with the prospect of returning home to Canada, or going back to Norway- or entering Australia on a backpackers visa to explore things with the Aussie bloke, I found myself a month later on a three day trip through Amsterdam, Bancock and Taipei, landing at last, jetlagged, nervous and giddy in The Land Down Under, where I knew no one other then this arrogant dominant dude I had known online for a couple of years. No job lined up, no plans for what to do in case of a fallout other then a reservation in a cheap hostel should he prove to be a axe-wielding maniac.
A year later I was divorced and re-married to him, and once again heavily involved in the fetish community- which, while less diverse then London, still means events most every weekend. Our non-kink friends are relatively few, and even they know of our interests. Our home is a refugee camp of kinksters of varying ages and backgrounds, and most weekends means stepping over a sea of sleeping bodies who have travelled into the city to attend an event and could not get home as the trains don't run overnight here.
As I write this, our house is backed into boxes, and we are about to move into a two -apartment, 6 bedroom home in order to accommodate our ever-growing kink tribe. I do some work for an international kink website, we run our own local social networking style kink website, and are about to launch a couple of other kink -related business ventures.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment