An entirely different topic: Privacy and the Internets…

Hello again....... Photo: Andrew Brucker

So. I’m sure you have noticed I have been missing recently… IF you read these that is ; ) But there was reason (besides being crazy busy), I had had an interesting experience with regard to living so openly on the Internet. By that I mean twitter/Face Book/here… and so on. I can’t get into the experience itself out of respect for others privacy. But the whole ordeal really put me on edge. Made me draw back from the computer…. and regard it with hurt/frustration.

I live my life very openly. I try never to edit myself…. that is a huge triumph/luxury for me. I was prior to this incarnation very fearful about sharing myself, deeply angry about always having to lie to make others feel comfortable. I also didn’t grow up caring about the Internet. I was WAY too busy being super goth, painting pictures of crucified women, and watching old tapes of David Bowie and Iggy Pop. So when I grew up and found myself and my voice… the Internet seemed like this playground where I could be completely honest. No more lying just to keep the boat steady, no more silence when I really did want say something, and I could find other people like me. IN FACT those people would want to find me through it! The whole concept was so delightful to me… but then I encountered the concept of sub-cultural etiquette and the web.

The expirience has made me evaluate just how much I’m sharing, especially where. People have said to me “you should keep somethings for yourself”…. But that sentiment is actually strange to me, it insinuates I share everything, or that by sharing the result is a less special expirience. I have my secrets…. those I never tell. I have things that ARE really just for me, or just for my slave, or my other lovers. But what I share, I share willingly with an open heart. Because to me, when I share about this strange wonderful life I live I affect change. When I speak openly with joy about who and what I am it can possibly change the minds of people who would seek to view me as less than them. To me sharing is a humanist act. One that I owe myself….

But where sharing intersects with the privacy others, especially when there are prexisting rules is an area that deserves a great deal of meditation. Do you change the foundation of yourself to suit such etiquette? Do you say “fuck off”? Do you do penance and try to find a happy medium? In my situation I chose the third option. I realized that my openness cannot interfere with my relationship with a subculture or the people in it out of respect. I respect others in whatever life they choose when it involves a certain lifestyle role/rule… I strive to respect that always. I ALSO respect myself, and live within those boundaries while still sharing myself in the very way I have fought so hard for. The way that brings me the most joy.

The Internet is a very powerful thing: some of my idols have found me on it to tell me they enjoy my art… AND I get into trouble on it. OH life.

Stick with me dears… I have fun topics on the way- including:

1. Traveling to Vegas for BHOF!

2. The interesting adventure of breast augmentation

3. HOT HOT shows

4. Redecorating tips for the lifestyle BDSM enthusiast

5. Farmers Markets vs. CSA’s and strippah recipes!

6. Falling in love with Ayurveda


Very sexy exciting times I do say! I promise to do my very best to stay out of trouble ; )



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Why StripTease wipes the floor with Burlesque (and it’s lame UK version Make it Happen)

Okay. Yes. I sat through the entirety of Burlesque. It was worse than I thought it would be. Which is really fucking amazing, I mean I thought it was going to be painful, but it was beyond…. a true horror show. I watched it with the slave, we wanted to see if was worth possibly doing commentary on for a new project of his. And while being a source of comedy gold: I will never forgive Steve Antin for making such a huge self important, poorly researched, confused, sexless piece of music video crap.

I was very inebriated while we took it in, so I was more than a little belligerent. I kept yelling “I DON”T UNDERSTAND, THIS IS WHERE THEY SHOULD BE TAKING THEIR CLOTHES OFF. WHY ARE THE LIPSYNKING?! THIS IS DRAG?! WAIT IS CHER RUNNING A DRAG BAR?! THAT MAKES ALLOT MORE SENSE! WHY ARE THEY ALL SO BITCHY!? I WANT BOOBS! SOMEONE SHOW THEIR CANS YOU ASSHOLES!” This is the problem with the film. Despite its supposed understanding of the art of the tease, when we first see the dancers they are already in their lingerie. Which they never take off. Which is of course not burlesque by any definition. Though it is cabaret dancing. But that movie was already made (and way better). By introducing us to the girls already half naked, you loose some tension. By never showing anything beyond a bra and panties you loose any erotic arch at all. Also further confusion was brought on when Cher sings a number describing each of the girls as though they’re harlots on a bunny ranch. And also by the fact that they do perform all dances while lip synching which is far more tethered to Drag Queens, than to the likes of Tempest Storm. Oh did I mention there are 15 numbers in the film? Yeah 15 BOOBLESS numbers.

What this looks like to ME is Christina THE SHOW. Can I see some boobs please?

There are the vague nods to the classic Burlesque aesthetic and over the top female personalities in acts like “But I’m a good Girl”  and “Guy What Takes his Time”…. Which we don’t get to see the entirety of because the film keeps cutting back and forth between acts and Xtina’s riveting daily life. So never once do we really see her build the kind of relationship with the viewers that is so characteristic of the art form. The nods are laughably minimal and can really be summed up in one good eye roll while the newly be-wigged Xtina flirts from behind a feather fan. THAT’S IT FOLKS. Oh actually I take it back, there is ONE strip in the show. Performed by Cam Djigande. Who to seduce the apparently Christ like figure Xtina disappears and reappears from behind a set of french doors, until he’s totally nude. With a box of Famous Amos covering his dick. Yep.

I wanted to give the bare minimum of back ground to make my case. Because in order to wash the terrible taste of idiocy from my mouth I put on a movie that changed my life the first time I saw it when I was 12. Strip Tease.

Yes yes I know its NOT a great movie. Though it IS fucking Citizen Kane when compared to Burlesque. What Strip Tease gets right is: raw sexy feral female sexuality. OH and Demi shows her cans! Burlesque with all its hyper modern Rob Marshal-esque cutting never allows us to just enjoy the sensual nature of the dance. You get the sense that in Anton’s mind as he was story boarding he was saying to himself “and 5-6-7-8 boom and cut, and stick it, and cut, and hair flip, and cut, and swish, and cut… and work it girl!” But Strip Tease gives us long uninterrupted takes to just drink in the sexual deity that is mid 90′s Demi. She prowls that stage, she tempts, she girates, and she does full on classic strips including: a suit strip, a chair dance, a boa strip ect. All classic tropes of the burlesque vocabulary. True she is an exotic dancer, she does do some poll work, and she is of course sans pasties. But the formula is there on full display. You start with at least a little, work your way down to less, and make them beg for it.

Oooohhhh She makes me shiver in my stilettos. Mouth watering.

Another a key distinction is, in Burlesque the bodies on display are uniformly of the Maxim variety. Which of course we all know to be a false representation of what the neo burlesque movement stands for. The new burlesque that cropped up in the early 90′s was and I believe still is about embracing and sexualizing all body types- but especially ones that we might think of as confrontationally female. And there again Strip Tease shames these cheap imitators. Demi’s body though surgically enhanced is fully female, thick, and juicy to the point of vulgarity. Like having a fire bath. Seeing a woman with such an archetypal build be so uninhibited and sensual is powerful. Its overwhelming. Its as some theorists have said: female drag. A hyper representation of feminity where its performed, not inherent. (My favorite theory for obvious reasons!)

Yet another thing that Strip Tease gets right, that Burlesque fails to include are the audience members themselves. In Strip Tease you get a look at some of the dudes that roll in…. some of them are both emotionally and physically moved by what they see…. some act out…. some embarrass themselves. In Burlesque you may get a quick glimpse of a couple enthralled by the lip synching. And though at modern burlesque shows you see more couples than men in rain coats, each audience member is there with their own set of expectations and frequently/hopefully emotional reactions.  The audiences of burlesque shows are just as much of an attraction as the shows themselves… some very interesting and lovable characters show up: sometimes for years. I especially love some my audience members who have seen me from the beginning…. what a lucky thing!

That brings us to “Make it Happen”. The only thing I have to say about this film is: when asked what this salacious art form is…these girls dancing sexily, the proprietress responds with “it’s rooted in Burlesque, but we take it way beyond the traditional stuff…”.  Which I accept and can cope with. Now the idea of taking the art beyond the “traditional stuff” is an entirely different conversation… I personally feel like my journey as a strip teaser has led me from being VERY non-traditional/extreme to being a devout traditionalist/provocateur. But I respect that the film didn’t try to re-engineer the deffinition of an artform simply to suit itself. Otherwise, not very good film- I will always prefer Flash Dance in the genre of “girl just wants to get into dance school and is willing to take it off and learn about herself to get there.”



P.S. I will also say I had a second round of Striptease while in the bath with Ms. Syre and I highly recommend such a viewing. Though you have to get your own hot porn-star girlfriend.

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Escapism is Really About Attention to Detail, Part 2

Detail: I miss my custome corset. It's time to tight-lace again.

When last I left you (breathless, I’m sure), I was describing my new exciting living arrangement for you. Having a live in slave, especially one as cute and charming as mine really has its perks : ) BUT a slave more so than most is imperfect; they have smartly decided to give themselves over to someone like me who can help give them direction and reshape them so they exist beyond concerns for their troublesome imperfections. To me its as much about gifting peace of mind as it is getting my bathroom cleaned by a naked man until it gleams. ALSO there is the parallel benefit of having a willing beast for my sadisitic impulses…. but that’s for another for entry >: )

I have found that the motif of most of my rumination lately seems to revolve around attention to detail: whether (as in part 1) I’m really listening to my desires, taking a true inventory of my needs, thouroughly knowing both my fetishes and my kinks, or having the astuteness of perceiving the same things about others. Atention to detail seems to be my answer for everything…. I see it most plainly in my slave: when he dosn’t listen, or gets distracted, does a sloppy job: shame/pain is the result. I empathize with him, I feel that same way myself if I ever don’t really follow through on something. With my other playthings I’ve noticed the same motif, the more detailed/personal the flirtation…. the more I seek to know their motivations and pre-empt their desires: the more fun we both have. In all areas we both win. Now this paragraph is devoted to the human aspects of this motif… but what led me to this meditation was really much simpler.

The delight and wonder produced by great attention to detail is easiest seen in physical objects where the eye can employ its natural instincts. While I was at home visiting my Mom, this became more clear to me than it ever has before. Though I think I may be a little slow coming to this realization, I think it’s one we frquently forget as a race. My Mother and I were sitting at her computer in her beautifully appointed/detailed store (it’s been staring me in the face my whole life), and we were enjoying the most recent tapes of the Dior Couture S/S shows 2011. My Mother and I both have a huge yen for fashion, but specifically Chritian LaCroix and Galliano’s contributions to the House of Dior. (This was before the anti-Semitic rant, mind you). We were ooohhing and ahhhhhing and squealing with delight. “Look at those gloves! They’re a dusky rose!” “That graduated dye effect is TO DIE FOR.” “Oh its so late 40′s early 50′s.” “Oh my god, oh my god, look at her shoes!” “Oh now they trained her to walk like that, what a great period element, that’s how all the girls back then posed!”  That’s what it’s like to be around my Mom and I. She was so delighted to see these creatures wobbling down the runway in frocks that were so amazing it was hard to perceive them as real. But she didn’t just focus on the dress, she was studying the shoe and accessory choices, the hair and makeup, everything down to mannerisms of each model. Receiving and reveling in that much detail is just second nature to her. My Mothers abilities in this realm are second to none.

She also is wonderfully supportive of me both in my personal and professional lives. We have fun talking about my acts and costumes as they develop. So for fun I showed her the primary source of inspiration for all my acts: the legendary Dior Anniversary Haute Couture Show Spring/Summer 2007. It’s LONG. And therefore 10 times as fabulous. Galliano was asked to go all-out for this show, and he delivered, of course, in the grandest way possible. A perfect fusion of the Parisian fashion philosophy and the Orientalist aesthetic that permeates Galliano’s work. As a story it reads: “Beautiful Parisian woman travels to Japan and is adopted by the height of aristocracy, and brings all her treasures back to Paris where she is now the quintessential exotic confection.” Here are some of my faves:

The classic Dior haute suit reinterpreted with origami overtones...

Sculted black Dior evening gown with black laquer/gold leaf Orientalist detailing

Equal parts French Marquise and Japanese Empress in the Dior-niverse

Picking a “Top 3″ was HARD. There were at least 55 looks in the collection… so obviously we were able to lose ourselves in the experience. We continued with the ooohing and squealing… but around the 35th look we were silent…. every now and the pointing emphatically at the screen if the camera were to zoom in and show us some bit of exquisite bead-work or embroidery. And then my Mother let out this huge quavering sigh, as if she was going to cry (my Mom’s a tough bitch, she doesn’t ever cry)… and she turned to me and said “its just SO beautiful, it’s so moving, I feel like I’m somewhere else”. I’m sure to some it may seem silly that a dress and some makeup could spiritually transport a well-educated woman to an emotionally vulnerable place. But that for me was the proof in the fantasy pudding. When art is good, it’s good up close, it’s good far away, BUT it’s better under scrutiny.  When art holds up under intense micro-devotion it succeeds in an even greater capacity to sweep the devotee out to the ocean of passionate fulfillment and satisfaction.

When I was first getting started in my fine art career (when I was 12), I understood this. I was a painter then. And the artists that qualified to me as masters were those whose brushes created mini-masterpieces across every inch of the canvas. It wasn’t something executed by a technician, it was something only a visionary could conjure. It was their signature style, it was THEM on a canvas. Now, in stark contrast to that early understanding, I find I frequently fall into bad habits: “Oh, this costume piece is ripped.  The audience won’t know.” “It may look like shit up close but from far away they’ll get it.” Its the Burlesquer’s conundrum… when you have limited means how do you create such immersive visual expierences? Should you? The answers for me are…. learn new skills, learn how to drape, sculpt, and pleat your way to a couture experience. Because, yes. Yes, I should care if I really take this at all seriously. Because I want to have that effect on women like my Mother. I want to move them to tears. And if this is the answer then let it be my guiding philosophy. Because I’m never satisfied unless I go all the way with something. Extreme is my middle name.

Here are some more looks from the show I just couldn’t not share ; )

Dior sculpted alligator pencil suit. This to me is day wear. I get turned on just thinking about wearing this in a session. Fashion boner.

Dior, whether its the pearl flower details, the fans in the hair, or the had me at Haute.

Perhaps the best-known dress from the show: The Crane Dress.

Another jaw-dropping reinterpretation of the Dior Suit's so beautiful it hurts. Good hurt.

Stunning Geisha inspired makeup (Dior 2007) Fun Fact: I used to perform my Burlesque only in Geisha drag. Geisha disciplines are among my greatest obsessions. Remember this, as there will be a test ; )



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Escapism is really about Attention to Detail- part 1

ME! Stretching, you filthy pervs ; ) Photo by Jo Boobs

So my babies, its been a long time hasn’t it? Since I’ve shared too much, in those TMI posts from the past. Well now as a Darling I’m sure the intamacy level is only going to get deeper. I’m honered to be a member, I’m thrilled to be a part of a sexy tribe. I like the idea of a sex tribe….. an xxxtribe if you will.

After I was asked to join I stopped writing on my own blog as Darling House was being fined tuned… and allot has happened in the interum. When last I was writing I was in the process of “coming out” and finding my feet in the communtiy. I had just told my Mother, and was trying to make new friends. I had put all other sexual distractions like kinks and fetishes off to the side whilst I dove head first into as many vaginas as possible. Which was allot less fun than it sounds. But WHAT a difference a 4 month break makes.

I’m sure you’ve all meet my girlfriend: Sovereign Syre (Head Mistress Blogger of DH)

Top Vagina- Pic by Holly Randal

I’m also sure you’ve met my husband/slave: Bastard Keith (also a Blogger here on DH)

Bath TIME <3

There are of course other playmates who’s identities shall remain secret because not EVERYONE lives their life for YOUR consumption. Just know they’re out there, being preyed upon by me ; )

Within this 4 month period I’ve acquired all these gems! And a new grounded sense of my identity, that thing that just kept running from me, slipping through my hungry fingers like smoke. I am your queer gender fluid/trans man- female impersonator/strip-tease artist of action… how nicely it rolls off my tongue. But you can call me LadyBoi. Just DON’T call me SHE if you want me to really pay attention to you. I may sometimes refer to myself as “woman” but it’s only in conversation where I’m referring to my female body and the experiences one has as the result of having a biological female growing up experience…. its my sex not my gender: don’t you love it?!

In these 4 months I came out to my Father. My FOX watching, Liberal hating Father. He said quote: “I’ll never go to a do-dad parade in San Francisco with you, but I’m proud of you”. SHOCKING, and wonderful, there was much crying, but no disowning, or throwing out of the house. He even made a cute joke the day after when filling out my airplane ticket information online…. when he had to bubble the F box for sex , he looked at me and said “you’re an F….. or are YOU?!” and then playfully bubbled the M box… but then switched it back. We laughed. My father and I actually shared a laugh about the fact that I am something he has been terrified of all his life. It was good. -(I will trick him into coming to a do-dad parade….one of these days!)

While the dust settled in these 4 months with regard to my RAGING QUEERNESS… I finally got to pay some much needed attention to some other important ME needs…. I really had some time to devote to understanding my fetishes. First and foremost is all the elements that go into female impersonation. Each of these elements disassembled doesn’t really inspire fetishistic fervor in me but when combined just right….. I’m getting a sherection just thinking about it. Full face makeup, styled hair, choice jewelry, quality lingerie (I like both stockings AND pantyhose), a good set of false nails, eyelash enhancements,  and of course beautiful shoes- OH and PERFUME, I can’t believe I forgot- top quality perfume without it, your just wasting my time. I may not be able to control myself. A beautiful woman in full drag is a fetish object for me. MmmmmmHhhmmm. I guess we could distill this down to: I have a fem fetish. But it goes beyond that. Perhaps a better title is drag fem fetish: I like a woman who paints on her eyebrows, does the lip liner beyond her natural lip line, and goes out at 11:00 am with full drag eye makeup. My head is swimming just thinking of such a creature. I like to play dress up as one myself: its fun to turn myself on.

I’ve written a little here and there about my knitwear fetish, I’m still learning what knits trigger it… so far as in all things only the most expensive seems to really set me ablaze. a fine cashmere knit especially in a cable like pattern, makes me need to touch myself in the changing room…..And now the one I have in closet is singing to me “come touch me…… I’ll make you feel satisfied” RAWR! Stop it sweater! I’ll deal with you later!

OMG Sheer cashmere! This MY PORN!!!!

But really the fetishes I’ve been having fun diving into are not my own. My new sturdy confidence has enabled me to embrace long hidden desires of mine…kinks. I am now proud to embrace myself a purveyor of Dominance. I realize now there really was no other path for me than this…. on stage I seek to control, and engineer peoples experiences…. why would I not in real life also? Along with this new satisfying role I’ve also discovered a pretty strong sadistic streak. Something I always suppressed because I didn’t want to be thought of as crazy…. but now with right outlet…. no one can really judge the fact that: YES I like to make people suffer. ESPECIALLY sexually. Mostly when its a means of teaching them a new attractive discipline that renders them better able to service my desires. MOSTLY.

Fun fetishes I like indulging:

Ass worship



Mind games


Public displays of submission


The last one also being a fetish of mine. Something about not having access to my slaves sex organs makes me ravenous…. which in turn leads to other fun things like cuckolding. Delicious don’t you think? I like being married I must say! And though actual sex is still not of great interest to me, with all these sex derived activities how could I not be drowning in orgasms. This is what I’ve learned in these last 4 months of bliss: Just BE. Sex defines my life. It always has. And though I may be freak, I have every right to be happy. And as a creatrix I choose to fill my life to the seductions, enslavement’s, performances, enhancements, and devotions of those who would like play, understand, and belong to me.



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Alright Cunts its BUISNESS TIME.

I’ve been dying for this moment. Finally I get to update this wonderful site with a new post. As you can see I had my “Darling” secretary boy drag all my old posts from my old site for you to peruse and enjoy. But I have been so overwhelmed with shows (not complaining) that I haven’t had a moment to sit down and let my brain try to settle into the writing groove. I am not a writer. I’m a Stripper, a Burlesque Dancer, a Domestic Dom, a Producer, a Teacher, AND a Holistic Skin/Diet Consultant. BUT writer! Not really. Though I do love to pretend. And I like to share : ) I find that through sharing our experiences we (we: the world) can find each others humanity allot more relevant, helpful,  and moving- perhaps even entertaining. Above all I’m an entertainer, and I’m here as a member of the sexy TRON that is Darling House to entertain you with stories about owning my first slave, being a perverse, kinky, voyeuristic man stuck (happily) in a young woman’s body, my spiritual philosophy around strip tease, and all the weird adventures in between….



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Setting the mood……

This post and all previous are from last year, circa Oct. 2010… Enjoy my history!

These lovely vampire-sque shots were taken by the renowned Howard Schatz at the recent Wiemar themed Dances of Vice…

This month, my favorite month, the best month in my estimation is just flying by! That might seem predictable to some of you who know that I’m getting married at the end of the month. That’s right folks MARRIED. Bastard Keith and I are tying the knot as it were on my very favorite of days….I count myself as the luckiest wo/man alive.

But just because I’m marrying a man (the greatest man of them all) doesn’t mean I’m giving up the ladies, just as I wouldn’t expect Bastard to give up his need of the whip. Part of loving each other (for us) means embracing one another apatite’s.

Until recently my strange and mostly heartbreaking dive into the world of queer/lesbian dating, has been more of a rude awakening than perfume and lipstick traces….But I seem to be blessed. I asked the cosmos to send me a woman who was woman enough to handle my cursed “intensity” and like they say “be careful what you wish for” she was already in my life, she was in fact hunting me. This amazing goddess of a woman had already written me, looked into my profiles, commented on my photos and like any true mythic goddess refused to stop until she got what she wanted. To be the focus of a such a creature is the stuff of romantic fantasy.

Now that’s what my life has become, a seemingly endless fantasy. I feel whole, whole in such a way that peace has crept into the very core of me: where it had never been before. Lucky me : )

Her name is Sovereign Syre…. The sibilance gives it a ghostly sound, or like that of a snake. She is earthy, primal, biblical. Yeah, that at least describes her effect on me…not unlike that of a blood nymph. I write that with pride : )

So in honor of the season (which MUST be honored) and in honor of the glorious love than can exist between two wo/men, I’ve put together an awesome lesbian Halloween movie list!

1. Vampyres- surprisingly graphic for the period

2. The Vampire Lovers…by Hammer Horror- very thrilling indeed

3. Suspiria

4. Walt Disney’s Snow White (the Queen was a total evil lesbo dom) (awesome) (and she was a “youth” draining vampire)

5. The Hunger (lesbians and David Bowie=total perfection, though its super 80′s)

6. The Daughters of Darkness

7. Lips of Blood

8. The Shiver of the Vampire

9. The Rape of the Vampire

10. Blood and Roses

11. Dracula’s Daughter- A CLASSIC!!!

This list might make the best adult Halloween movie marathon ever, I say take this knowledge and bring joy to those you can. There seems to be so little these days…sigh. Totally joking life is awesome. And I’m a pessimist!

I hope everyone in the world feels the deep permanent joy of wholeness. Whether its with a man, a woman, a gender ambiguous person, a trans person, both… that you can feel the affirmation of your identity and know that your desire is good. That your awareness is key. And it is a blessing : )

Yup I’m a LUCKY ladyboi!


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An Ode to the Slave….

Some of my fav Black Licorice Designs

Thank goodness I rediscovered my blogging rhythm. As I have many MANY stories to tell…..

Again this year I had the pleasure of walking the catwalk at the Montreal Fetish Weekend, where there never seems to be a shortage of fine latex artisans. Last year I walked for Collective Chaos who wowed me SO much I asked A. Chaos to design most of my wedding costume. This year I was lucky enough to walk for two designers: Skin Tight, and Black Licorice Latex. My Skin Tight dress was beautiful, and I was honored to be a last minute edition to their set. But I must say this year I fell in love with Black Licorice. The designs are so couture, so detailed, with embellishments like pearl strands and burn out patterns that each piece succeeds in tricking you as to whether or not it’s latex or in fact well draped mystery textile. Seeing these kinds of innovators in the fetish fashion world help seduce me into loving latex even though I am a pretty staunch knitwear worshiper.

The modeling world is always one that overwhelms me, the emphasis on looks does frequently threaten to revive old body/face issues I used to suffer from. But I was lucky to be rooming with two very well established, very confident/professional well knowns: Marlo Marquise and Sharon TK. I know I know, I was swimming in super hot fetish pussy, I could have auctioned my space in the bed next to Marlo off for a pretty nice sum I’m sure. But mostly I just wanted to listen and learn, they both are so beautiful and talented I would have been a FOOL not to soak up all the hair/makeup/posing/industry tips they were just giving away. I just tried to keep my wandering eyes to myself when people where changing, and tried to make friends. I endeared myself to Ms. TK by turning her name in a mantra, which became the over arching motto for the weekend. When times are great or when they’re tough just: “Sharon TK bitches, SHARON TK!” you really have to emphasize the last Sharon TK to get the experience, but if done right it really accents any happenstance well.

That said Sharon TK bitches, SHARON TK!!!!!!!

I’m lucky that I get to call Marlo one of my best friends, I never pass up getting to do anything with her. I like tagging along like a puppy with a mohawk, and on trips I make for a good traveling pharmacy…always have creams and oils to share. I’ll let you imagine me rubbing oils into Marlo’s delicate porcelain back (cause that did happen) (and yes I briefly touched her boob). Also I’ll let you imagine Sharon TK giving me lap dance (because that also happened, Marlo has it on tape).

Everybody meet Marlo <3 (she ALSO has a blog called “Confessions of a Knife”)

This is Sharon Tk (bitches)

See what I mean? Swimming in HOT FETISH ACTION like a starving barracuda. I really did try to snag some non-roomie pussy BUT my freshly broken by my dream girl heart just wasn’t in the game.

On a lighter less pervy note i must mention that I also wound up hanging out with the unforgettable Jade Vixen, since Marlo and Sharon KNOW EVERYONE. I had in fact met her last year briefly, but never got to speak with her. She’s lovely, but whats even cooler than her being nice is that she’s a genius. She asked me about a crystal I was wearing on a necklace…I told her what little I knew about it, then she proceeded to reel off a ton of scientific information telling me about formations and how they grow- then she (with her seeming boundless energy) herded us all to the best ice cream parlor in Montreal (with the exception of Sharon because she is admirably vegan). AMAZING. I love when a sex icon turns out to be a cultivated intellectual.

Aside from all the latex and boobies, I had myself a nice little growing experience. You see I have come of age reading bdsm literature and studying fetishism, but my few attempts at playing it out have left allot to be desired. All the slaves I met were too pushy and predictable, self centered without the necessary self reflection. And the few fetishists I’ve played with came along at the worst time in my life sofar as confidence and compassion were concerned. Not to mention my one very failed attempt at being a slave myself. I will note it wasn’t for lack of passion. But needless to say I have been waiting, waiting to feel in my bones what Masoch wrote about so long ago…..and I’m happy to report I felt it!

You see at these kinds of events people generally assume I’m a dom, though I don’t really like to label myself. This assumption usually is the first thing in an off-putting conversation. One where frequently a man asks me to do things to him, without first asking me if its okay to speak to me! That’s always the quick killer. I always want to shout “WHERE ARE YOUR MANNERS!”, but usually I just fill them in on my apathetic feelings towards their desire and they loose interest because I don’t live up to the brutality of my image. This year though I decided to shake things up, when a sad excuse for a slave asked to kiss my shoes, I told him to “go ahead” and when he complained that we were in too public a place (at the party) I let him know he was pathetic and he must not really want to. With that nudge he did get down on all fours and love my heels in front of the room. This year I was defiantly in the mood to discover if like mythical unicorns “really good” slaves do exist.

And sure enough I met one. I don’t know his name, all I know is he gives a mean lube massage, and he wears a spiked chastity belt well. But Mr. Zero as I’ll call him absolutely changed my life. He first made his presence known to me at the main night of fashion shows, where without being obvious he started helpfully volunteering information to me about individual models and performers. He stood back at a respectful distance and lightly explained backgrounds and talents in a way that was genuinely interesting but also decidedly un-showy/chauvinistic. He didn’t make any sexual demands or flirtatious overtures, he just sincerely wanted to share information he thought might be enjoyable, he did it quietly and timed it perfectly between bits so as not to distract me from what was actually taking place on stage. It took me about five minutes to catch onto his game, and when I was ready to leave I thanked him using my most direct eye contact and my deepest tone of voice, and he smiled the satisfied smile of a slave who has been good.

This intrigued me……

But I was distracted, and working. I didn’t make an effort to examine our exchange until I accidentally ran into him the next night when I stepped into the lube station. As I said I was fallowing Marlo and Sharon around trying to pretend like “oh yeah I wear latex all the time, and yeah I have a lube station in my house, yeah…”. When I opened the flap to the tent and was greeted by a surprising sight. There he was again, “putting his services to use” as he described it. Giving professional massage over the recipients latex costume with obscene amounts of lube. And when he asked if anyone wanted to be next, of course I barked “I DO”.

Sharon and Marlo opted for the quick and slippery massage free whilst standing lube experience but I wanted to risk disappointment in my new friend and get the lie down version. I wanted to see if this would be like many other massages I’ve had from supposedly submissive men, where though they claim to serve you they sneak their hands into places they should know better than to wander into. I was testing him in his devotion to his vocation, and he knew it. He laid me down, made me comfortable, and though I was wearing a short skirt and no panties he performed an entirely chaste job. He even stood me up and lubed each individual ruffle (front and back) on my top, because rather than use the opportunity he had to touch me intimately without permission for his own selfish satisfaction: he clearly got even greater satisfaction from earning my compliments and helping me look my best for the party. It really was the act of service that got him off, and he was going to initiate his own servitude because that was in fact his total agenda. He respected my obvious challenge of his motivations and in spite of our pretty hot chemistry remained a VERY good boy. In those moments in the tent I was proved wrong, there are honest to god slave out there….ones who desire to attract a master through demonstration of their pure and happy self discipline.

Until now I could never see myself taking on a slave, I didn’t have the hunger. I always supposed it stemmed from my personal history with low self confidence or track record with flat out sadistic men. But no, Mr. Zero made me realize I had just never encountered the kind of selfless preening, the clear and sensual demonstration of a pure desire to serve that naturally fosters others to take control command. Domination requires real and honest submission, Mr. Zero helped me find what I’d been missing….and it goes without sayin that when I got up from his massage table I made sure to give him the most intense full body hug I could, whispering in his ear what a good job he did. He smiled that same smile, and I left the tent a new ladyboi….a hungry ladyboi….

Really I learned all this just in time for the wedding ; *

Thanks Montreal, like I said in my Perv Radio interview “you have the BEST slaves”

Marlo, Sharon, and me <3


I’d like to add a post script inspired by the very eloquent Arden Leigh: when in this post I refer to the term “real slave” I’m not referring to the concept of being endowed by a role at birth. I do not think one is a born a dom or a slave, in this instance I mean to illustrate the difference between one who uses the title for a dishonest end versus the “real” slave, one who desires discipline plainly. And is not using it as a means to abuse a willing dom.

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This is just my new fav pic…

I amused myself for half of a very boring but stressful day today imagining the bitchy inner lives of some very bitchy women I see on a regular basis. Understand that this is only a positive word in my vocabulary, sometimes colored with envy, but mostly only with humor and respect. I usually LOVE bitches. There’s just something about the attitude that I find exciting and infinitely more bewitching than the mousy-ier girls. I don’t qualify lying or bitterness under this term. Just arrogance, hot, entertaining arrogance.

While I was daydreaming the inner lives of these curt thangs, it hit me that I really must embrace my inner bitch. I’ve been inching ever closer to him/her for the last six or so months. When I choose to make demands I become something better than an undecided rebel. The inner conflict between desire and fulfillment falls away because all the sudden my mouth can find words like “your going to do this for me and you’re going to like it, then you’re going to beg me for more orders”. I’ve always admired a woman (in all her forms) who intelligently but unapologetically commands her realm, one who simply accepts that her desire IS her prerogative,,,,a mantle she shoulders with confidence and relish.

It was only tonight as I exercised my bitch muscle with a consenting and hungry Bastard Keith that it hit me, not only am I better off bringing my devilish inner bitch out to terrorize the villagers but so is everyone else. Playing out such a dominant and colorful archetype fearlessly feeds the hungry tummies of boys and girls with romantic willing hearts, just the kind of playmates I want }: >

Raaawwrrrr babies!



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Gettin back that magical swing o’things…

pic by J. Millaise

My autumnal entertainments guide (so much better than summer: I don’t like summer)(that’s what I get for being allergic to the sun)

My big literary interest this fall seems to be Satan. SO I collected the three primary works of Anton LaVey, and I have to say: if you have sense of humor, especially about your own religious upbringing (if you did have one) they are a great read. Tongue always in cheek these books made me revaluate quite a few things whilst making me laugh out loud. Satan? Priceless I say.

Check out:

The Satanic Bible-The Satanic Witch- The Devil’s notebook

Now I have my eye on a book by LaVey’s lover Blanche Barton….

In between the Devil’s prose I’m also re-reading chapters of the amazing work “Female Masculinity”, Which really is one of those books that you learn something from every time you pick it up.

My WISH list: The Voluptuous Panic (great book about decadence in 20’3-30′s Berlin)

Fall Fiction picks:

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (only started it BUT I’m really liking it!)

The Stress of her Regard (amazing vampire novel, I read it last year around this time and I need to re-read it!)


anything by Hammer Horror, but I would like to press a viewing of “the Vampire Lovers” for obvious reasons. The bouncy bosoms of that movie never get old.

Rosemary’s Baby

The Omen

Angel Heart (I’m missing that Vudun flavor)

Guilty Pleasures:

Hocus Pocus

Disney’s Halloween Treat

Sleepy Hallow

Scooby Doo and the Witches Ghost

The Greatest season has begun! Now everybody dance under the full moon like wild things!



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If I keep waiting I’ll never get around to it.

So now I’m back from outer-space. But life just ain’t no disco.

I took an unannounced sabbatical from blogging, because I suffered one of the worst broken hearts of my life recently. I just felt like it would be too hard to write about stupid/silly/deep stuff here…because it would only become one long wrist slightingly awful yarn.

So I waited, and waited….annnnddd then just the other day: Sunday in fact I thought to myself “maybe I’m ready again”. I had a topic in mind and everything. I was going to write about Halloween, a topic I always fancy…..

But then I had a heart broke relapse.

You see there was this girl, nothing special. Accept that to me she was extraordinary. A total weirdo in the best sense. And she broke up with me using the same excuse most men and women have ended things with me on, which is “You’re too intense”. I can’t tell you how much I hate those words. This girl is in the end nothing special, such a small, short, seemingly insignificant part of my life. That’s what I will tell myself until I can’t feel the tremor of her shock wave anymore.

When I graduated from acting school here in the city, one of the men who gave one of the many send off speeches said something along the lines of “every hardship, every heartbreak, don’t worry its ALL money in the bank!”, my dad used to say that to me over and over again, I guess hoping to toughen me up…. but when I heard that sentence I cringed inwardly (even then). I just don’t handle heartbreak well. For me when I love someone I cut a piece of myself up to make room for them, or for them to take as a gift, I’m not sure. But I’m sure I can’t sustain many wounds, and the older I get, the weaker I get.

Even tonight I was reminded about how tenacious (perhaps crazy) I was as a kid, I would watch gory horror movies and never think twice. But now I can’t handle most sad movies, let alone gory horror films….because I can only think about how the torture in them really happens to people (just think about ANY war). My ability to cope with this world is very fragile, and rather than test its limits I just seek to protect it: so I don’t loose my mind. That’s not to say I want to live in denial, really its the opposite. I do want to throw myself into love, I want to love people. I have allot inside me and its deep and “intense” and I’m drowning in it. The love itself is self sustaining, growing out of control, even if I DON”T want to feel it anymore, I can’t run from it. I just have to let it out. So I give it away to audiences, to clients, to the trees. Its pain that I have a weak stomach for, for instance when I was a kid I used to sit in my closet and smash my head into a wall, NOW I wouldn’t do that because I love myself too much. Also I don’t fancy the pain.

With my soon to be husband I have learned what it means to be a symbiotic love machine: where I give it= he receives it….and vise verse. If he wasn’t there to receive what I need to give, I would be dead now. No joke. People like him are rare, people who understand that giving is for some, a path to complete self actualization. I’m lucky for being the generous person he is, he opens his arms and receives fearlessly.

The endless well of love in my heart meant for a man will only ever be meant for him. But there are other wells, there is “her” well…. I have hidden it, tried to redirect it, analyze it away. And yet all this energy remains with no hope of direction. Making me feel like a live wire, electric with passion. And at the same time broken in two. Like if I don’t share this with her I might become a black hole, the hurt that I feel in my chest might swallow my wonderful life up leaving me hollow and alone.

I was contemplating this tonight when I got caught in the rain. As I got colder and wetter I started to cry. And I just walked around like that in the dark, in the rain, crying…..I’m afraid I will never find what I found with her for such a brief moment. My heart just wants to stop going, to stop trudging, its tired. I have never known “feeling complete” like that, with both parts of my heart performing their true function. Loving a man so completely, and loving a woman the same but in her own special way. Now with it limping along I worry “will I get to use it the way the universe intended before it gives out?”

I don’t know. I honestly wish I didn’t care either.
Maybe now I’ll forget about it.



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