Sexy is a Contradiction & Self Love

Sexy is a Contradiction & Self Love

This week I am stopping to remind myself that confidence is something that ebbs and flows.  Something that has cycles just like the seasons. I’m currently on my moon cycle and this month I feel a heightened sense of shadow self. So I’m just going to sit with it, heal, to feel all my emotions, to be kind to myself and forgive myself instead of being my own worst enemy.  I don’t feel sexy when I’m on my rag. I don’t feel sexy when I’m feeling low. One of my very dear friends, challenged me to go to a place in my head when I did feel sexy and sit in that energy, to absorb that happy and warm feeling, to remind me I have it within me even if it is on a little break for a quick minutes’ rest. So here is my “Sexyiess is a Contradiction” musing.

I feel sexy when I’m alone, the air is thick with music playing that my body can’t resist to dance to and misty smoke swirls of delicious incense fill the air. My body feels in touch with my inner magick and power.  When I feel like the dark and light all at the same time, when I’m not the naive little girl I used to feel like, when I feel like the woman grown, mature, wise and sensual in the way I move, hold myself and know how and when to share my energy with people who deserve it. I feel sexy when someone looks at my energy, connects with the me that hides behind my eyes.  When the manic noise of all our existences slows down for a second and we just breathe, giving space for beauty, silence and all the senses to come alive.

Sexy is shaving all past off my head and letting my tears flow, feeling vulnerable, standing in the middle of the campsite naked in the warm spring pouring rains, with not a care in the world.

Sexy is stranding up for myself when I’m scared and hurting.  Sexy is looking into someones eyes and seeing that although I’ve changed and gotten a bit more beaten up around the edges I’m still the truest version of ME that exists right now and being proud of that. Sexy is the wink the glance across the room from someone who makes me blush and heart beat faster. Sexy is watching seeing someone enthusiastic and in the moment and rhythm of what they love to do. Sexy is getting lost, losing all sense of time and space in movement, passion, sound and rhythm.

Create Magic: Baby Flossy

Create Magic: Baby Flossy

Sexy isn’t the modeling photos I shot 10 years ago that I showed you when I wanted your attention. Sexy isn’t the memories of my clubbing days, the skimpy outfits, big smiles and enlarged eyeballs of the young me that drowned out my inner introvert with colour, noise and wild adventure.  That self didn’t know how to make any kind of deep or meaningful connection. That self didn’t give a fuck, but made no space for vulnerability or things less superficial.

Those to me represent eating disorder I battled when I was 20, the way I knew how to contort my body half one way and half the other to create the illusions you see in photos. Sexy isn’t someone finding me attractive, putting me on a pedestal of what they admire in me. Sexy isn’t the sheer revealing clothes I wore as a sex worker, selling my body for money to support me and my ex girlfriend even though she didn’t know that’s what I was doing.

Sexy is refusing to conform to the unachievable social norms of women’s beauty standards, and embracing my dork, my short colourful hair that will never be “normal”, sexy is forgiving myself for binging on food and alcohol that makes my body feel and look shit, and healing myself with baths, hot showers and delicious fresh food that makes my heart sing. Even if it costs more to feed myself this way, when suddenly I’m not flush with money, I make this a small self love priority.

Sexy is floating in the ocean, the sea lifting the weight of my boobs off my chest and letting my legs relax after holding me up all day. Feeling like a streamlined ocean creature that loves water and moves swiftly and gracefully through the warm salty water at sunset, that feels sexy. I can imagine a place where the sky is magical and covered in stars, I feel safe and at home in my space- maybe a tent by myself, warmth envelops me in a comforting blanket of love, and my shape melds with blankets and covers. I like being that sexy slug. There I don’t feel like you have any expectations of me and what my confidence in myself should be. There I don’t have to be or do or look a certain way in order to gain approval from anyone.

Letting myself be okay and at peace with rarely feeling sexy around other people. Making space for being scared of be vulnerable or sharing my insecurities – which have always been there, bubbling like a little creek. I’m just putting less energy into hiding them now, the creek doesn’t go underground any more. I can’t pretend to be the eternal optimistic fountain of all joy and carefree optimism 24/7 – I still am these qualities, however I am allowing myself to be more selective with who I share that joy with.

I love being open and connecting with wonderful people I meet on an emotive level, but I choose who, how and when I let people in or share that gift with now.  I’ve been told two or three times recently that I’ve much thicker walls up now and I’m much less open than I used to be. This used to worry me, but I wonder if it is because people who used to feed of this energy no long find it accessible to them? 

My sexy is now sacred to me. My sexy is my gift, my joy. Those photos on the internet of me almost naked showing the curves, the body, the smiles and the “seduction”- THIS is my performance art.  I’m a great performance artist but I want to retire from “being on show”. I want to retire from supporting everyone else with my positive free spirit attitude. I really truly believe love increases the more you share it but am exploring my boundaries keeping it safe and protected, I think just for now. I know right now my boundaries are pretty close and tight, and as time passes and I grow I believe they will expand to share and love more people and be more open again.  Sacred joy, sacred shadow self, winter of self love that grows back when I nurture it softly.

I feel sexy when someone approaches me to bootblack my leather shorts. I feel sexy when I feel my dance partners body pressed against mine and know she can read my body language.  I feel sexy when I’m naked in the warm summer rain. I feel sexy when your eyes never reach my body they stare deep into my soul and when tears stream down my cheeks they keep eye contact with you and you show me your openness and softness in return. I feel sexy when you say you’ll miss me but we’ll still hold space and love and support each other even if we won’t live in the same country for a while. I feel sexy when I hold you to warm you up on a cold night out and your body leans back into mine. Everything happens for a reason, it’s up to us what we do with these experiences. <3

 

Queer Erotica: Pony Play. Reclaiming the devilish

Queer Erotica: Pony Play. Reclaiming the devilish

I wanted to go, but $80 was too much.  She was coming I thought it would be wonderful to see her again… I said

“I’ll be yours for the night if you have a plus one.”  It was too late, I’d said it and she’d said yes.  I was going and I was quite excited.

A bold move on my part, such bolshy confidence I hadn’t felt in such a long time, metered with the overthinking after thought of “was that rude, what if she says yes, what does that involve, what have I signed up for?!” It was too late, I’d said it and she’d said yes.  I was going and I was quite excited.  I knew one of my best friends would be there if I needed so I knew I’d be safe, but the adventure of the unknown was intoxicating.  I’d not been out on a wild unknown limb in a while, and certainly hadn’t let anyone any near my body.  The day grew closer and she sent me a picture of a pony bridle and bit, and asked if I was into pony play. My mind raced, I didn’t know what that would entail for her.. I’d participated in a few other play scenarios before mind you, with less industrial equipment shall we say.  Unicorns are ponies I thought, I love those rainbow tails you can get, I jumped online and put one on a wishlist, thinking the always come with such wee plugs, maybe that’s so it’s more comfortable to wear over a longer period of time.  

Anyway back to the story.  The day arrived and I’d cried three times before it was near time to get there.  I’d woken up feeling low, tired and lonely… tears flowed in the shower as I pulled myself together to face the day, dance practice was next.  I was looking forward to this, a blat of exercise to shake up the adrenaline and shift the mood so I’d be bouncy and ready to dance later.  Queue a wonderful lesson, on preparing for dance competitions by being kind to your inner child – and tears.  I love this work and have much to say to my inner child and much to re-write.  Shaking that off I was on to the next thing. I don’t do busy days by halves I thought, and at least it was a comedy show, laughs and light heartedness that I love to shift the mood so I’d be bounce and ready to dance later.  The universe really had other plans for my day.  Hannah Gadsby was doing her retirement show “Nannette”.  She’s an amazing woman, and boy did she share her story and the ringer she’s been put through.  Powerfully she announced she’s retiring. Boldly exposing how so much comedy is based around self deprecating, self humiliating and reinforces one’s own attachment to emotional repression, an inability to communicate or ask for help when hurt, frustrated or angry.

That much “humour” is mocking someone, something or calling oneself terrible things in order to garner a laugh from an audience.  She was standing up for herself, her self worth and refusing make herself the brunt of the joke anymore.  

Humour is amazing but boy does it conceal or shut down emotional openness and deflect from a world of hurt or acute fear of vulnerability. Queue more tears, me and the rest of the entire theatre.

This isn’t the sexy story you thought you’d be reading but it has a happy ending I promise.

I was shaken, the universe had wanted to get a point across to me, and I was listening.  I was fragile but being kind to myself again.  Sitting in my vulnerability, I thought “I guess I’m ready for a dance now”. This was not the mood shift or energy I had been expecting.  The club was dark, mirror ball covered dangly light installations decorated the ceiling and rainbow flashes danced about the walls and across the faces of all the shadowy people in the venue.  I was late, they’d all been there for a few hours, but I crept in ready to be swallowed by a crowd of faceless bodies, rolling to the waves of the bass as it thumped from the speakers. I wiggled my way to the midst of the madness, my skin taking in the temperature difference from outside to the damp warmth inside. And there she was.  

Legs crossed in lotus position, arms out beside her, oosing the power of the goddess to the very tips of her long tallon’d fingers. She was floating a good metre off the floor, a spider web of ropes woven all around her in a beautifully symmetrical arch that made her look like she was floating on a throne.

She didn’t move, her limbs hugged tight by beautiful purple bonds, “it is her favourite colour”, I thought. Her head masked in glossy black latex, like a bald cap that came all the way over to mysteriously hide her eyes, ending elegantly just above her nose, highlighting her cheekbones.  The mask sported a glossy black latex halo, a solid dark shiny disk that framed her head, with silken tassels hanging down past each ear. This was a powerful goddess of the night.

I was barely clothed, covered mostly in golden bronze metallic paint.  Feeling freer without clothes trying to force me into a certain shape or cover up the beautiful ink that I’ve etched into my skin over the years.  My hair was high, and filled with colourful flowers, my neck draped with a heavy necklace of tiny cocaine spoons. My body strapped into a beautiful pink harness that glowed like magick under the lights. My boobs sported matching weighted twirling tassels that I knew I’d show off later. The music was hypnotic, wooing me into it’s dark rhythms, most of the humans that surrounded me, naked or equally dressed in little clothing.  I’d brought my flogger with me, feeling proud it was a well made piece and beautifully colour coordinated with the other harness pieces I was wearing.  My mind had started to wander, so I asked a person dancing close to me if they’d want a gentle flogging or if they wanted to flog me.  My offer was quickly accepted and we moved to part of the club there was room to swing.

My body warm, my skin warming up too as the sensation of tickling, teasing, and soft leather smacking into me repeatedly building up to an intoxicating sting.  

My shoulders leaning into the pleasure of this pain, the thud then the tickle of the ends of the straps as it brushed up my bare back. The sting and tingle as it flicked around to the soft sensitive skin of my inner thighs. My butt cheeks framed by a little delicate black hassling and hanging sequins were bare and flushed pink with the blood flow of excited skin. My body didn’t wince, or jump, it leaned into the intoxicating sensations all over my skin. My mind ceased to be in my body, it felt like it was simply consumed by sensation. A gentle hand runs over the raised skin checking in to see that I am okay, and if I wish to continue. Hips press onto my ass, my body leans closer into the brick wall in front of me as I feel skin against skin, and breath whispering into my ear. I haven’t had another person’s skin against mine in what feels like an eternity. I return to my body, suddenly feeling very raw and vulnerable. The music floods back into my brain as I come back down to the environment around me, and we slink back to the dance floor to be enveloped again into the safety of the crowds, suddenly aware of the audience behind us hiding in the shadows enjoying the play we were having, sensing the energy of wild abandon and tactile pleasure.

She was there in the crowd, released from her suspended throne of purple ropes. She kissed me on the cheek and I blush. I feel like a kid around someone they admire and look up to. Suddenly all my experiences of kink and all things of the underworld melt away and I feel like an innocent creature next to her.  

She is covered in beautiful tattoos, the long silken tassels from her latex halo frame her as she looks around then back to smile at me. I tingle with excitement and uncertainty. These things are never rushed, or non consensual but still I was still feeling very vulnerable.  Where was the sassy creature that wanted to be hers? I didn’t know but I was enjoying myself regardless. My energy open with a “wise” innocence calmly just letting what ever was going to happen unfold around me.  I sighed, this was beautiful, I was safe, cared for and surrounded by wonderful humans who knew what they were doing and had warm sexual energy and love.  Flash forward through my body moving and getting lost in the hypnotic rhythm and thump of the music, I was warm sweaty and happy, some how letting go over the tension that had built up and the emotional overwhelm of the day.  This was the energy and and mood I’d hoped for… the universe had rewarded me for my patience through the lessons I’d needed to learn that day.  

There was a small room off the side of the dance floor, it’s roof a web of shibari rope she and I had woven for hours the day before. Suspended in the middle was a giant tire, as if it were her prey and she were the Queen of her web and it was caught in her clutches.  The master behind the rope works of art lurked in the shadows, as we pressed our bodies together.  A few moments later we are lashed together, a happy sweaty pile, teasing, scratching and writhing around.  It’s curious, I thought, this is not quite what I expected tonight.  Later I sit on a little crate as she is pleasured by the master, and the other person I’d played with earlier with the flogger.  The exhibitionist in me is excited, I am not yet ready to participate, but I love being a voyeur. My body is excited by the unfamiliarity of it, yet not surprised that this beautiful collision of sexual energy has culminated in a beautiful puddle of wonderful people.  We all writhe around in pleasure, me on my wee crate and them on and around the suspended tire ropes, with plenty to grip as our legs turn to jelly. Someone, maybe the rope master, I don’t remember – grips, pinches and roughly twists and squeezes my nipples as the tassels had come unstuck from my sweaty skin.  

Fingernails scratch my skin.  The tattoos on my back are dancing with sensations raised above my skin like icing on a cake.

I remember how much I love roughness, that fine line between pleasure /pain and being thrown around, and my body sighs in pleasure. Willing to take risks, willing to adventure to push my boundaries and grow. Learning my limits by testing them. Taking my philosophy on emotional intimacy and connection and put it to the practical test. Living life to the fullest, putting intellectual beliefs to the front of my lived experience and holding space for myself and where my mental headspace was at. My body, glowing, glistening with dampness, the taste of my pleasure on my lips. My limbs shaking, overwhelmed and on sensation overload – torn between wanting more and not being comfortable all at the same time, outside of the four walls of my temple boudoir.

I was in my power, open and vulnerable, willing to share intimacy and connection.

Rewriting rejection with scratch marks, practicing self love with welts across my skin and positively reframing ‘neediness’ with raised red lines over my body.  That desire for affection, craving intimacy and wanting the comfort of physical touch are not weaknesses, and nor should I be ashamed of my desires and emotive affections.

I am not broken, I am just rediscovering my sparkle – she is wonderful, but tonight I reclaimed that devilish part of me and fell in love with myself again.

 

Queer Erotica: Shibari Free Spirit

Queer Erotica: Shibari Free Spirit

Tie me up, bite me, be rough with me.
Make my body remember the feeling your presence.
Look into the green depths of my eyes see me for the vulnerable, emotional and honest being I am.
I do not need fixing, I am imperfectly complete.
Kiss me hard, be rough with me, let your fingers leave marks on my skin.
Taste the sweetness of the sweat on my skin, the softness of my belly and scent of my arousal.
The rope on my skin pulls tight, I feel held, confined and for once let my guard down.
There is a strength in being confined. Allowing someone else to bind my limbs, allowing my movement to be restricted.
There is power in submission, I am in control of the experience, consent is my magick wand, and my soul yearns for this intimacy.
I’ve been broken before but this body is pieces put together with a glue made strong with time, tested and abused, that has learned to love again.
Let the fire of passion in our bellies consume, let the water of intimacy flow between us.
Let the earthy grounding of trust connect us.
Let the air carry the moans of desire and sensual whisperings of consent and sweet boundary negotiations.
Let the stars shine down on this magick.
Let us cast spells with our power and connected energy.
This life is too short not to connect on a spiritual, mental, philosophical and physical level with those who’s magick is in the same language as yours… ♡
My Phoenix is rising, my free bird inside is shrieking with the maddening pleasure of this adventure called life…
looking out to the wolves, the owls, the pirate people…
the witches and fae spirited as we journey….
our paths cross, meet and the stars bring us together…
as I descend into sub-space I am grateful I live on more planes than just this earthly one.
Sub-space. My skin is alive like the feeling of velvet, I am conscious of every touch and sensation on my skin.
Pressure, tightness, tickle and softness, but at the same time I cannot tell where the sensation begins and ends.
My body ceases to be made up of parts, limbs, and organs.  I am a floating cloud, a hurricane, a storm, wild and free.
The animal in me roars, the sensation takes me some place, there is pain, there is pleasure, all I can feel is the adrenaline in my veins.
There is a pounding my chest as I bound across a wide open space in this other plane of existence.
Somehow being bound, my wildness is free, I transform into my magickal form, the pure free spirit.
In this sub-space I feel the wind blowing on my skin, freeing the cobwebs from my brain, bursting them off of my heart.
My skin is covered in glistening beads of excitement, my brow is damp, my cheeks red and flushed.
I breathe deeply, slowing my breath sinking deeper, leaving the confines of this body behind.
My body trust this experience as yours trusts mine.
I trust you to open the portal to other planes, be there guide my journey back as tenderly as you released the wild within me.
I am more familiar facilitating this for you, more than you facilitate this for me.
I am a natural giver and take so much pleasure in seeing the bliss on your face, watching emotions of vulnerability and ecstasy blowing over the pages of your face.
Unusually this time I am tied up, vulnerable, open, strong in my fragility – at the mercy of your trusted hand.
My fingers are at home with rope in them, creating magick and art work with rope. This time, my skin electrified bound in rope.
My skin bears the marks of our connection, lines and marks that speak of moments writhing in pleasure.
I feel a sense of decent, grounding and a returning of the consciousness of feeling in places I can once again identify as limbs.
A damp lock of hair touches my face.  The lines around my mouth twitch into a half cocked smile.
I inhale deeply as my consciousness returns to this plane, and as I breathe my body presses against the ropes that still bind me.
Your fingers run over the rope and tenderly touch the parts of my skin tested by the tension, tingling with extra sensations.
You grab the rope and pull on it.  My body has no choice but to move where you put me, and my eyes catch yours with a sassy glance.
The mischief in you wants to toy with me a little before your release me.
I am no hurry to escape but enjoy the game of resistance and submission we are playing with our eyes.
Your face is close to mine, I can feel the air of your breath caressing my skin.
You begin to unite me taking ever so sweetly all the time in the world.
The ropes have not yet released around my shoulders, but you have the end of a rope in your hand.
Tugging gentle at it, and tracing the end of it across my skin, already heightened with sensation overload, my eyes close over and I inhale sharply.
My breath quickens and behind the curtains of my eyelids I am again momentarily lost in the touch of your fingers on my skin.
My limbs feel the rush of blood as release and movement is gifted back to them.
My body relaxes limply back against your chest, feeling a rush of warmth and vulnerability.
The power to move has not yet returned, and you continue to untie me, running the rope over my skin as you release each bond.
Your body close to me, you arms reach around me as each knot loosens.
A tear escapes my eye, my feelings of gratitude, trust and vulnerability leaking out my tear ducts.
My body feels scared to be this open, like you could see right into the darkest corners, the deepest feelings of insecurity and laugh back at them.  But you don’t instead you whisper unintelligible sweetness in my ear. I catch the words “that was fun” said with that mischievous twinkle in your eye, that tells me you had your own journey of pleasure, animalistic desire and vulnerability that connected with mine.
My eyes catch yours back seeing for more. Where did you go, what did you see?
Did the wolf find the dappled sunlight in the river and chase it’s flow, feeling the cold stony river bed beneath it’s paws?
Did the owl find new heights, light in darker spaces a connection, a forrest of sweet fruits?
Did the pirate adventuring on the open seas of pleasure, sailing into uncharted waters of physical experience a new magick?
Did the witch find calm in the faerie world as we escaped, seeing peace, finding guidance from the animals that tumbled across the mossy banks as she walked along the river?
In my consciousness I return my inner child, curly hair bobbing about my face, no concepts of what was expected of me, the social expectations I was supposed to conform to.  It feels simple, loving, protected and safe in this world inside my head.
I inhale and breath in your scent, knowing this connection is our beautiful queer magick.
My heart warms sharing this gift with you, knowing there is no expectations from here.
Friendships cemented in trust, a sacred adventure, a memory created for the vaults of trust.
My face sinks into your neck, and we lay back into the ground beneath us, a gentle giggle and sigh of contentment escaping our mouths.
A shooting star flies through the stars above us, the universe glittering it’s starry diamonds back at us.
So many worlds to discover, touch and feel connected with..
I am blessed and my cup of love runneth over.