I don’t often talk politics in this space, but the announcement that hit the wire yesterday was too big for me to ignore. As sources told Politico, a drafting session by members of the party responsible for drafting the official party platform have included language in support of Equal Marriage Rights. Openly gay, married, retiring Congressman Barney Frank of Massachusetts reportedly said the vote was unanimous. This is a tremendously big deal for me, and not only because I identify as a member of the LGBTQ community, but also because I grew up in the Southeastern United States and have seen the lingering effects of willful discrimination all my life.
SINful friends, I had a different post entirely lined up for you today, in which I was going to issue my views on a subject that’s been running amok in the news and among bloggers everywhere the past few weeks. I had the first few paragraphs written, I had links lined up, and I was starting to get on a roll in my diatribe. It was becoming incendiary. My page views would have lit up, I’m sure, and many who would never find me otherwise would have stumbled here, likely to leave and never return. Halfway through the writing I realized that I couldn’t post it. It was too negative, too inciting, too destructive. It dawned on me in that moment that I cannot push such negativity forward. No, friends, I have a different responsibility here. In fact, I have several.
“So you want to ravage each other tonight?” Mrs. AP asked, a deep shiny gleam in her eye as she pounced me.
“Ohhh, that sounds delightful, ” I responded.
“What do you want to do?” She asked, sitting back a little, beaming down at me.
“I want you to flog me and fuck me.” I stated my intentions boldly, not giving myself time to think about how big a step this would be, or how much I would have to let go. I was letting my body and my needs lead me, and I needed to be Hers in ways people outside of BDMS just don’t understand.
She sat up a little more, looking at me quizzically for a moment, before leaning forward and asking “How do you want this to happen? What do you want me to use? This is our negotiation time; I want to make sure I won’t take things too far and hurt you.”
I looked into her eyes and held my voice steady as I said “Use your fingers, use toys, than take the strap-on and fuck me. I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”
“Good, ” She said. “Then go to the bathroom and when you come out I’ll have some tasks for you.”
I wish I had another one of my deep, meaningful, inspiring posts for you today friends. Instead I’m sitting here in my work vehicle, no A/C, at 5:30 in the morning. The temperature is 80F/26.7C with 81% humidity. The Heat Index moves that up to 87F/30.6C. It’s sticky. I’m sweaty. I go home in just over half an hour, where I will enjoy a lukewarm shower with Mrs. AP and try to find something to eat. The thought of the shower got me wondering, though, if my clean up routine is different from that of the many wonderful friends I’ve made here, so here goes:
The time had finally come. Her car was pulling into the lot, and I was finally going to get to meet her in person. I sat on my stool, eyes scanning the entrances to the lot until I finally saw her car pull in. Tracking it to it’s spot, I waited eagerly, nervously, knowing she would be everything in person that she was online and hoping I could live up to my own presentation. I had been myself, right? Surely I hadn’t exaggerated or overestimated. I adjusted my shirt again, checking my buttons, my collar, my belt, my pants, making sure everything was tidy and in place. Then her door opened, and I saw her step out…
It began, of all places, on OKCupid. My profile was honest; I was married, I wasn’t happy with the sexual relationship, I was trying to make everything else work, and I just wanted some quiet, NSA sex. I wasn’t looking much beyond the Orlando area for travel and time concerns. I’d had some success, meeting one or two people who were local or local-ish and with whom I’d played a bit, but nothing much had come of things. One day in mid December I received a message, which read, roughly, that while she didn’t agree with why I was on OKC she understood that shit happens, and that my profile interested her do greatly that despite her reservations she felt compelled to talk to me further and hear my story.
It was the most brutally honest, to the point message I’d received on the site yet. I fired back a response immediately, and only the paused to view her profile. I was instantly hooked. She wrote succinctly, with a controlled intelligence and a strong passion that matched the pictures of her brilliant red hair and red lips, both shining like rubies reflecting firelight. There was no way, I thought, that such a smart, strong, gorgeous woman would ever want anything more to do with me, but I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to find out.
I’ve not touched on Polyamory in my life here on the blog a great deal lately. It’s been over a month since I posted about realizing that a part of me wants the idealized Poly unit. At the time I was perfectly sincere, but I was missing a key component that has been preventing — and in fact, destroyed chances — for me to realize that dream. As it turns out, I’ve not been as ready for a truly Polyamorous lifestyle as I thought I was. I did not properly prepare myself, nor did I seek out the advice of those who have been Poly for years or decades. My own ignorance and inability to see beyond myself failed me and my partners. I failed Mrs. AbsinthePassion, while simultaneously being exactly what I thought she needed. Things I said and did were wrong, flat out, and here now is my confession.
As I grow and explore all the facets of myself that have lie dormant the past decade, I often find myself running headlong into ideas that both fascinate me and set my anxiety to full throttle. In many ways it’s like being a clumsy teenager again, where I know I want to try something but my inexperience sets my nerves ablaze. The perfectionist within me hates being unprepared or to look foolish or awkward, which leads me to over prepare and over anticipate and generally short circuit myself. This habit at least makes sense when I’m expecting to try something new and I’m nothing but nervous smiles and silly giggles. My protective mechanisms kick in and I react by becoming a nervous school girl. I get that. What I don’t get is why it happens when I’m expecting or presented with something I’m already done? Why the anxiety and insecurity over something I not only can handle but also enjoy?
In the realm of BDSM the grouping of individuals is generally regarded in Binary terms. Dom and sub. Master and slave. Many of you readers strongly identify with one of these labels; just a quick look down the blogroll even shows these terms in several of your blog titles. Whether you’re training your slave to follow orders or you just really need your partner to bend you over and spank you sometimes, the deep need to operate within that mode is such a strong part of you that you feel something is missing when you don’t get proper playtime. In a way, I envy you, because the need to feed just one mode does not exist within me. I do not have the strong, overwhelming urge to be a good little submissive to Mrs. AP all of the time, nor do I feel that correlating urge to dominate her all the time. No, SINful friends, I have it much better and much worse. When it comes to those kinds of urges, I get them both.
I am a Switch.
In many states throughout the U.S., there are two questions asked by the wait staff upon entering a restaurant before the party is seated; “How many in your party?” and “Smoking or Non-Smoking Section?” The answers to these two questions determines both location within the establishment and the potential wait time before a table is available. However, in many states (such as Florida) the “Smoking or Non-Smoking” question is not asked thanks to a law passed a few years back known as the Florida Clean Indoor Air Act. The act banned smoking in public buildings such as libraries, indoor malls, airports, government facilities, and business buildings. It also bans smoking in restaurants that earn more than a certain percentage of total income from food sales (I believe this number sits between 30 and 40 percent, although I cannot confirm this with the official statutes at this time.) It’s been 10 years since the voter-passed amendment instituted this ban, and it’s been wonderful for me. But I got to thinking today, where else might a smoking ban be useful?
Friday night Mrs. AP and I had a date 3 weeks in the making. It wasn’t Vanilla per se — we discussed Poly and BDSM and a portion of the local community — but it wasn’t wholly Non-Vanilla either. Turns out there’s a gray, blended area where Vanilla and Non-Vanilla swirl together into what I hencefoth deem Vanilla-esque. Aren’t I catchy?
Said date was Non-Vanilla in multiple ways beyond the topics discussed. Our date, Rigger, found our profiles on OKCupid and sent us both messages, which led quickly into talks of profiles on FetLife. Perving on FetLife turned to becoming friends on FetLife, where the vast majority of the conversations have taken place between us. This is where one of my recent posts rings true; I’d had several chances to begin conversation with Rigger but failed to do so simply by waiting for him to start. Ooops. I’m a dumbass.
So through FetLife we arranged a date, finally, and thanks to certain life circumstances leaving no other options the date occurred with Princess and Tank in tow. This necessitated having the date at not only a public space, which we always do for meeting somebody for the first time, but also a family friendly public space. Right. Cheap family-oriented chain restaurant to the rescue!
Just a quick note, SINful friends, before I head to bed after what has essentially been a 30 hour day for me.
1) Twitter and Tumblr integration are now active. @MrAbsnthPassion for Twitter, mrabsinthepassion.tumblr.com for Tumblr.
2) Follow options now include Twitter and RSS in addition to email notifications.
3) A Contact Us link has been added to the sidebar.
You’re all wonderful and need as many options to find and follow us as possible. These additions should do the trick.
Stay SINful, friends.
As I’ve mentioned in my last few posts, I’ve gone from being in a bit of slump to realizing that I was losing focus on my core self while also gaining a better understanding of one of my kinks. As weeks go, that’s a broad spectrum to cover, and no journey so diverse would be complete without some introspection and self-discovery. Enlightenment isn’t quite the correct term, as I still feel very much the philosophical and introspective novice, but some of my realizations have been enlightening. My goal now is to take some of these new understandings and put them into proper practice.
As I mentioned in my last post, Mrs. AP and I had a long talk wherein she helped me realize that I hadn’t been paying the amount of attention to her that a dedicated loving partner should. I had, in truth, been behaving selfishly. At some point during the discussion, Mrs. AP brought our her Coffin Case and opened it. Her Coffin Case is her Domme toolkit; within it she has multiple floggers, a small whip, and several riding crops with various tips. To work out some of her frustrations, she started testing each of them out across my ass and back. Although she stayed mostly light with her lashes, some of her instruments deliver a sharper bite than others and left marks that stung for hours. It’s only the second time she’s broken out the toys on me — I have sensitive skin that welts easily and with that comes a remarkably low pain threshold — but this round lasted longer than previously. All told, I think she spent about 10 – 15 minutes on me. I think. I’m not entirely certain, for you see, I think I started entering subspace.
Human beings are constructed to be social animals. We saw it in the tribes of old during the early years of Homo Erectus and Homo Sapiens, we saw it in the construction of ancient and medieval towns and cities, and we see it today in the increasing focus of population within large metropolitan areas. As socially constructed animals, we long to be not only near other people but also to be perceived as fitting within the socially accepted norm of those people. There are, as with any rule, exceptions to this rule, but even among those who run counter to accepted norms there is typically a theme of independence present — those with large amounts of sustainable wealth or those who support themselves via artistic talent maintain the ability to create a self-norm that is eventually accepted by the public at large as normal for that person, to the point where deviating from that created norm to the conventional public norm is then deemed impermissible. But what of us in the middle of the spectrum, who work 40 hour work weeks earning middle class incomes who don’t fit the traditionally assigned normative roles? What behavior patterns do we assume so as to not expose ourselves to inordinate risk?
For all of you in the United States, and for all Americans serving across the world, have a safe and happy Independence Day. For those of you in Colorado, please stay safe and follow all burn and launch bans. You guys have enough fires right now.
May you all stay safe, set off your own bedroom fireworks, and stay SINful.
You ever sit back and take stock of how your life has been lately? Just some reflection on how you’re feeling, what you’ve been doing, et cetera? Mrs. AP popped me into that headspace this morning with one very simple comment. As we lay snuggling after I got home from work she was gently playing with me — no urgency, just enjoying the feel of me in her hand — and after several minutes of me taking my time to respond to her ministrations she asked “Have you noticed your sex drive has dropped?” And just like that, I was in self-examination mode trying to figure out what’s going on with me.
It’s true, of course. Mrs. AP is highly perceptive when it comes to me, my moods, and my reactions. She often figures out what’s going on in my head before I do, which is a wonderful blessing for me because she gives insight I seem to lack, but it’s a curse for her when she knows what my issue is and is still waiting for me to figure it out. I’ve been trying to get better at understanding how I tick — I can do it with technical stuff all day long, why not with myself, dammit — but I still very often feel like I’m way behind the eight ball on figuring myself out. Despite that, I started digging around in this cluttered head of mine and I’ve come away with a few things that I think I can change to get me back to being my multiple-times a day randy self again.
After Mr. No Name posted about his coming out as a Swinger and a Sex-Blogger to a colleague (with favorable results so far, detailed in his post Busted!) I got to thinking about how I feel about Going Public. On the one hand, my relative anonymity here enables me to write unfiltered and uncensored without having to give any thought or worry to what somebody I know will say in response to what I’ve posted. On the other hand, I’m very open and honest in my writing here and provide links to social and dating sites where I hold active profiles. Anybody who knows me and goes searching from here through those sites would very quickly recognize me. There will come a day — a day I deem eventually inevitable — when my presence here will become irrevocably public. The question then becomes, how will I react?