In my day-to-day life my brattiness shows up as snark and a tendency to play devil’s advocate. It wasn’t until I entered the BDSM scene five years ago that I learned to express it in new and unexpected ways.
What does it mean to be queer and a sex worker at Skirt Club?
“You are so so soft and just achingly warm and good and I’m just dying with the urge to pin and grind and tease and make you even wetter for me, taste you in your bed.”
“Something about our conversations just makes me want to take off my underwear. And by ‘something’ I mean ‘everything.'”
no this look on my face is “excitement”
look how excited I am
also turned on
also our therapist says Tuesday morning is still good
“I like my fucking deliciously stressful, especially after a good spanking, and in the hands of a capable partner the business end of the Bück can provide.”
I feel lighter than I’ve been in a year. I feel ecstatic with the possibilities. I feel giddy, like I’m falling in love.
I get it now. Hot toppy girls will like me just as I am or they won’t get to like me at all. I am good enough.
Before any of my other sexuality identities, I was kinky.
I’m queer, and I’m kinky. But being kinky doesn’t make me queer. Kink is not a sexual orientation.
It’s not that I don’t want to submit, it’s that submitting is so different from how I have to conduct my life that it takes effort to turn off that HBIC part of me so that I can relish letting go.
I wish someone had told me sooner that I had been seeking mastery all this time, but I wouldn’t have been ready to hear it. Until r came along.
“When I’m being used for sex, I feel like a vessel through which pleasure flows, hot and bursting.”
It took me years to settle into the idea that masculinity and topping were actually, authentically my identities.
Somehow, self-identifying as a submissive makes some potential doms think I am their sub.
“I guess I had a lot of opinions that night because you told me that I was especially chatty. I told you it was because you weren’t giving me anything to keep my mouth busy.”
Sometimes, being in kinky subspace opens old wounds from an abusive relationship — but sometimes, it can give you the power to close them.
I want to break things — holes, walls, people. I want to feel the begging in my pelvis and let it ignite the fire under me to burn bright up my spine and light up all my colors.
I imagine being a collared submissive as a physical manifestation of my and my dominant’s commitment, a symbol around kinky folks and a public secret around vanilla ones.
“He’d asked me about it before, saying it was something he’d always wanted. And now, he was quivering on the floor, looking up at me, handing me an open knife with both hands.”