widowcentauri

Archive for June, 2009|Monthly archive page

Public Golden Showers — LA — July 1

In Adventure, bathroom, BDSM, dating, deviance, dominatrix, fetish, fun, Golden Showers, kink, Los Angeles, pissing, politics, porn, Public, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, traveling, Widow Centauri on June 30, 2009 at 10:10 pm

I love to piss on boys in public. I’ll be in LA tomorrow and I will need to pee. I drink over a gallon of water a day. My bladder holds 3 1/2 cups of piss. Don’t ask me questions that can be answered by reading my blog. Call me to get drenched!

you know you want one!

Widow Centauri

619.884.2376

The Bush is Back!

In Uncategorized on June 29, 2009 at 12:32 am

A few years ago I was on an episode of the pen and teller show.  It was an episode that dealt with body hair.  I have not seen it.
While we were filming I was asked a question that triggered my interest in social systems.  I was asked why I thought people are so obsessed with the removal of body hair.  I thought about it for a second and went on some tirade about the socialization process.  I talked for a really long time about the removal of the woman.  I talked about ideals of beauty that conform to heteronormative society.  I expatiated about my politics surrounding the sexualized woman and her lack of pubic hair.
I don’t think I have shaved since.
I get a lot of mixed messages about my bush.  Some people fetishize it, other cringe when I mention it.  This week I put in for some fury bush websites but I don’t think they will call me.  My bush and body look like they came right out of the 1970’s.  I’m pretty sure they want average porn chicks with a tuft.
I have a shoot scheduled in the desert next week.  It is nude and the photographer has specifically asked me to retain my bush.  Seems they are hard to find on nude models.
Lots of people want to shave me.  I was telling this to a couple of my nerd friends and they asked me to show them.  I dropped my pants right there in the kitchen of a cute, straight, vanilla girl.  My nerd friends stood around looking at it.  I ran my fingers through my thick dark bush, sipping zinfandel.
They stared and giggled.  They didn’t seem to think it was so bushy but they didn’t show me theirs.  I asked.
Often I hear that pubic hair is not sexy and then I hear from fetishists who say they love it.  I think it makes me look like a woman, not a little girl.  My sexuality is that of a woman.  I have little interest in perpetuating a commodified, patriarchal, unrealistic standard of beauty.  Why should I shave?
Some people swear by it, saying that it feels better and that it is cleaner.  It might be less hairy but unless you have a problem reaching your genitalia with a little soap, it is hardly cleaner.  As for the sensation it brings, I’m skeptical.  Sure if you have latex panties on it might feel better to have smooth skin, unless you like the pinching sensation of pulling pubic hair.  The typical woman who (is not wearing latex?) experiences sensations through hairlessness.  What are they?  The one I see most often is razor burn and ingrown hairs.  Itchy red bumps on a pubic area do not make me jump right in.  I see a woman with raging razor burn and I back away.  Women in the locker room bitch about it all the time.
Why should I shave?
The only real reason women shave is to amuse men.  In the last 15 years the image of nude women without pubic hair has become mainstream.  Prior to this, hairless women were thought to be pedophiliac, fetishistic, or homoerotic.  Now this image of beauty is expected from civilized western women.  I’m not sold.  I like my bush.
My bush allows me to give zero attention to the ritual of shaving.  I’m hirsute.  It’s called a bush for a reason.  I should consider renaming mine shrub.  It’s pretty big for a bush.
When I piss on boys, sometimes I let them suck the piss out of my hair.  They want to lick but I tell them only to suck my bush dry.  I love it when they get pubic hair stuck in their throat.  It’s like a cat with a hairball.  SO FUNNY.  A nice way to end the dirty eroticism.  I love to laugh.

Pissing on Corporate America!

In Adventure, bathroom, BDSM, beer, blood, corporate america, culture, dating, deviance, dominatrix, drinking, dungeon, fetish, fun, Gaslamp, Happy Hour, kink, neurosis, perverts, pissing, politics, porn, Public, Ruby Shower, San Diego, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, shoes, whores, Widow Centauri on June 20, 2009 at 9:01 pm

I met a new clients for a spanking session and then I turned my phone on and posted my availability for public ruby showers. If you are not familiar with ruby showers they are a little like golden showers but there is blood involved. I bleed really heavily for two days tops, then I have a light day and my period is gone for another 25 days. I love this relationship with my blood. I love the way blood smells, the way it thickens and darkens as it is oxidizes. Blood is sexy and every time I get to play with it I am a happy Widow. After the very sexy spanking session I was having lunch with my client and the phone started to ring. I answered it and tried to be discreet. I agreed to meet the boy wanting the ruby shower right there in the restaurant I was currently dining in. “Twenty minutes” I said and hung up on him. Seventeen minutes later I got a text from him saying that he just walked past me sitting at the bar and was near the pool table in back. I excused myself from my client and headed towards the bathroom grabbing a middle aged man in a suit with salt and pepper hair on my way to the toilet. The place was only slightly divey as places in downtown San Diego as pretty squeaky clean, white bread … you know how I feel about gentrification. Anyway, I pulled him into the women’s room behind me. I shoved him into the stall and pulled up my skirt. “Put your jacket on the back of the toilet and drop to your knees” I demanded. I pulled my black fishnets, and slightly blood stained panties, down and pushed my cunt right up to his mouth. “You might want to wear a bib” I told him. He shook his head no. “Alright, it’s your suit.” I shot my piss right in his mouth. Just a little stream. He swallowed and opened for more like a hungry porn star. I shot another little stream and this time a little dribbled down my crack and landed on his striped tie. It was tinged with the slightest amount of blood. I pulled on my tampon string a little to tease him. Blood was halfway down the string. I pissed a big guzzler into his mouth, forcing him to choke a little and spill some onto his corporate fashion. I pulled my tampon all the way out and dangled it over his face. “Bark for it doggie” I said condescendingly. “Wooof” he said in a very sad little doggie who has had his vocal cords clipped sort of way. “Wooof” he said again. I laughed and shot a whole bunch of piss all over his face. “Open your mouth wider bitch” I demanded, and as he did I squeezed the tampon right over his mouth and a stream of bright red blood dripped from my tampon directly into his mouth. “Keep it open” I said “I want to see my blood on your tongue. He did as he was told and I pushed my cunt right up to his mouth, let the better part of the three cups of piss I had in me out into his gulping mouth. He swallowed as much as he could but his shirt and tie were ruined, stained with blood, covered in piss. I squeezed the tampon into his mouth until it was mostly dry, then I shot the last little bit of piss I had onto his face. I used the tampon to rub some blood into his lips. “Now you look like a red lipped whore” I told him. I popped the tampon into his mouth, rubbed my bloody hands in his salt and pepper hair, used a little toilet paper to wipe the blood and piss from my thighs. I shoved the toilet paper into his mouth with the tampon, pulled up my fishnets, pulled down my skirt, turned on my heels and left him there in the women’s room to do what he needed to do before heading back to work. I went back to the bar and continued my conversation and my Guinness. Several minutes later I saw him leave, walking past me as thought we had never met.

Public Ruby Shower?

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, bathroom, BDSM, bitchy, bullshit, Comedy, culture, dating, deviance, dominatrix, drama, fetish, fun, Golden Showers, kink, neurosis, performance, perverts, politics, porn, Public, Rubber Chickens, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, shoes, slave, Widow Centauri on June 19, 2009 at 4:17 pm

I am on my way out the door and I start bleeding all over myself.  Sexy  thick dark blood.  It shoots down my legs and gets all over my shoes.  I have no choice I have to strip, shower and start over with my morning.  Then I realize that I have a huge chunk of time in the middle of the day, a heavy flow, and a real need to piss on someone.   Oh, happiness is looking down at a bloody pissy boy in a public toilet.  Wanna make my day?

Save me from the fascist, white bread, gentrified, bourgeois, never ending sunshine that this town offers my bitter soul.

Public Ruby Shower? — 11:30 – 8:00.  Downtown.

Don’t be a Rubber Chicken,  Call me!

Widow Centauri
http://www.widowcentauri.wordpress.com
619.884.BDSM

A New Lover and Dirty Bathroom Porn

In Adventure, bathroom, BDSM, Bikram, Bikram Yoga, bondage, dating, deviance, drinking, fetish, friends, fun, Gay, Gay Bars, gender, Gender bending, GLBT, GLBTQ, Golden Showers, kink, Lesbian, performance, perverts, Photographer, politics, porn, Public, queer, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, shoes, sweat, Widow Centauri, yoga on June 18, 2009 at 8:22 pm

The Bikram yoga post worked, sort of.  A beautiful buff black man appeared and started practicing with me.  He has these sexy dread locks.  I think he sort of fetishizes them as he calls them his crown.  He has a wicked sexy accent.  Sounds and looks like he is from Kenya but he insists he is from Florida.
I like licking sweat from his deep black skin.  He is not the best lover in the world but I’m training him.  I’m a hard-core fetishist and he seems a little vanilla.  Alright a lot vanilla.  I’m working on him, teaching him how to worship my ass properly.  He lacks a certain level of finesse. His behavior would get him kicked to the curb if he weren’t so beautiful.
Sadly he can’t get to the early AM classes so I have been bouncing from early to late and back to early.  I’m a little overwhelmed and might end up doing doubles soon.  Oy, double Bikram.  Between the sex and the yoga I’ll be luck if I can stand up at all.
This morning I woke up and realized that I have a bunch of bruises on my ass.  They look like handprints.
Here is how I remember last night:
I went to a bar to meet up with a cute gender bent butt bottom in an attempt to discuss making smut.  I had a drink and we giggled with the hot dyke ze brought along and then I took her to the bathroom.  She seemed a little timid as she snapped nudie pics of me.  I was standing there hovered over the toilet realizing that I need a kinky female photographer to shoot me pissing and getting laid in the john.  Bathroom sex is some of my favorite.
Just the same after we hogged up the bathroom with our smutty endeavor we emerged from the toilet to see a line had formed.  The chick at the front let out a long sigh, rolled her eyes, and pushed past us.  I’m sure I sprayed piss all over that bathroom.  I hope miss rolley eyes sat in it.  Would serve her right the uppity bitch.
So we headed back to the bar and grabbed the butt bottom.  I went home to discover that my hot new lover was on his way over.  He got there all sweaty from yoga.  His sweat is salty and he stinks a bit.  I like that.  The musky stink of Bikram yoga makes me wet.  He didn’t waste any time at all.  He threw me down and started kissing me all over.
Luckily I had fishnets and high heels on otherwise I would have had to stop him so I could put them on.  Something about fishnets is really doing it for me lately.  The way they squeeze my legs and yet leave them exposed.  Fishnets are like bondage to go.  Yum.
So he’s kissing me and he rolls me over and starts really getting into my ass.  He’s rubbing it and kissing it and sticking his tongue in it.  Then he slaps it.  We are really new lovers and this was the first time he slapped my ass.  I don’t know what he was expecting but I let out a loud moan and stuck my ass in the air.  He kept slapping it.  “you are a bad girl” he said with his sexy accent.  It sounded almost like a question.  I moaned.  He slapped, squeezed, and gave me one of the best spankings I have had in a long time.
Maybe he will be easier to train than I originally thought.  His hands are so nice and big.  I hope I can talk him into getting in front of the camera with me.  He is so green and nervous.  I want to corrupt him and use his dark black skin and sexy six-pack abs for my perverted public exhibitions.
Wish me luck!

My Head Spins When I’m Broke

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, bathroom, BDSM, bitch, bitchy, bondage, bullshit, censorship, cheap men, Comedy, culture, culture clash, dating, deviance, discount domination, discrimination, dominatrix, drama, dungeon, FAQ, fetish, fights, friends, friendship, fun, gender, Gender bending, kink, Model Mayhem, neurosis, one-woman show, Parties, paying for it, performance, perverts, Photographer, politics, porn, Pride, sexual politics, slave, student loans, Tour, weight loss, whores, Widow Centauri on June 17, 2009 at 8:02 pm

I have come to terms with the reality that the economic meltdown is effecting my ability to have a good time.  This is tragic and scary.  Business sucks ass.  I came out of a year of papers, reading, deadlines, presentations, and essentially reinventing myself to discover that no one has money to play.
The other day I met with a parsimonious future slave who condescendingly said, “I just don’t see what fun it is if you have to pay for it.” I almost spat on him.  Why do people think professional kink is a gig that women do just for the money?  The money is not any better than any other shit job.  It will do — I get to dress up is sexy clothes and hit boys, yea alright.  It is a pretty good choice if you are kinky and game to give the professional side of it a go.
A lot of my kink is wrapped up in the exchange of mooolah.  My social skills kind of suck.  I do not crave “real” relationships.  I would rather be alone.  So when a slave comes into my life I do not want to get to know them over hours and hours of mindless conversation about our similar perversions.  I would like to get down to it.  I want to see what makes you tick.  You say you have a scar – show it to me.  I don’t want to expatiate with bitches.  I can do that on my blog.
So I’m meeting with this douche and he can’t understand my kinks but expects me to understand his.  He can not wrap his head around the fact that if I am being paid it is better for me than if I am giving it away for free.  What am I the Village Voice? I’m a fucking Scorpio.  Sex is my business, I’m gonna get paid.   I could be doing a million other things but I am here tying up a middle aged fat man.  For Fun Eh?
Sure playing is fun.  I enjoy playing with a variety of people.  I like to see what makes libidos work.  I want to see the look on your face as my piss splatters on it.  But I don’t wan tot be your friend.  I am your Mistress, not your friend.  Got that?
So a good portion of the BDSM “community” thinks I am less than because I get paid to be kinky.  Why the confusion.  Do I judge you for liking the personal connection?  No I don’t.  I want to have clear boundaries that a paid relationship establishes for me. This is my job.  I mean, what if I actually do like someone? (it happens once in a while).  I am not the sort of person who wants that level of commitment, certainly not without compensation.
The way I see it I am working on my craft and providing a much-needed service to mostly middle aged white men.  You know, the ones with high paying careers but a soulless existence that prevents them from being pervy at home.  Yes, you.
If the question of money were taken out of the equations I would play with almost no one.  Have you ever tried to find someone who has the exact same fetishes as you?  It is nearly impossible.  Kink is a laundry list with most people.  I like this but I wont try that.  Oy vey!  With all this negotiating going on who can have any fun at all?
I like the variety of sexual encounters that working as a pro dommes give me.  I like the measured transaction.  I like the way being pervy for money feels.  There is just something about getting paid for it that does it for me.   Maybe I am a whore!  Feel like throwing stones?
The economy sucks.  Everyone knows this.  I suppose it is possible that dominatrices in DC are doing well, raking in the bailout money, but it is not likely.  Back here in Fascist City USA I have decided to spend my summer doing a little freelance work.  What a huge mistake.  I really wish I was able to get a job.  I have bizarre job skills.

Widow’s Job Skillz
I can:
Tutor kids in English and math (read minors and college age kidz, gulp.  Children scare me)
Make smut
Write
Model
Host your event
Teach college level human sexuality classes
Act
Pro Kink Services (I am taking sessions at Dungeon Servitus this summer)

and I’m pretty good at turning boys into girls!

So where the hell does this leave me? Trolling for work on craigslist, that’s where.  I have replied to everything that looks tenable and several things that look sketchy.  I have sent my ass pics to almost a hundred pervs this week.  If I were a free porn collector I would post a want ad on that site.  I have posted, and emailed, and responded, and been polite to people.  Mostly what I have received as responses includes some version of the  “I don’t pay for it” line and a pic of a nasty fat middle aged man ass.  Why do overweight white guys think I want to see their ass?  I do not.
So just when I thought I might be able to make enough cash to get though the summer the phone range.  I answered it and heard the click of an AI message.  When Verizon hit the auto dial “your phone will be disconnected if you do not pay the large bill today” button I started to cry.  I answered the phone noting the local number and hoping that it was a cash happy perv with his pockets on fire.  The recording was a stern voice that suggest that Verizon has cut their lenience policy once again.  Oh crap, my phone might get shut off.  I’m tempted to let it.  Why do I need the phone?
I sat here for a few minutes asking myself why I need to have a phone.  My sister made it clear that she does not want to talk.  I’m tired of hearing from bill collectors and my girlfriend really should get a web cam.  Hmmmm.  Do I need a phone?
Yes of course I need a phone,.  It is my one last connection to the real world.  Without my phone I really am living in a cave connected only to the internet.  I have no car, no credit cards, no friends.  I need to have a phone.  Several of my people only communicate through this medium.  But what if I severed the financial bondage to Verizon?  Would I be able to cope?  Not likely.  I would have to ask people if I could use their phone.  I would not be able to cope with anything.  I might be able to get more writing done.  Almost certainly.
But what is a stunningly beautiful woman doing holing up in a cave with limited connections to the world?  I feel like I should get a video game system, call for take out and move in with mom.  Oy, I have turned into quite the hermit.
Why do men think that asking for scat, strap on training, and sex for free is an acceptable request?  Please don’t answer that.  I don’t want justification, I want a desk chair.  This milk crate I’m sitting on is hurting my ass.
Well I might as well tell you what my life really looks like.  I’m working on a few new ideas.  I’m hoping to get some clips up on clips for sale soon, also If my phone stays on I will be available on night flirt soon.  And I’m building a members site.  It is a literary site with some still photos and the occasional clip that I can’t post on clips for sale.  I hope that you will join my site. If not well then I’ll sit here working on making porn for naught.
You see the problem with all of this is that I’m fucking broke.  Fuck, I hate that.  Stinking economy.
(I’m making cute little pouty faces, grimacing and thinking about sticking out my tongue)
I have considered everything.  I have applied for modeling work, adjunct teaching positions, I have considered getting a “real” job but the idea of what I could get vs. the madness that would ensue has prevented me from even trying this one, I have considered stripping but this town requires you to get a strippers license which I am ineligible for.
I’m a little flabbergasted.  I’m not out of options but I am out of money.  I’m out of liquidity – well I have a lot of pee.  I would love to get paid to pee on boys.  Where are the golden shower boys?  I can always piss.  I love to piss.
So I’m actually leaning towards telling Verizon that they can go fuck themselves.  Can we begin going back to a pre phone world?  Maybe I’ll install skype and get over it.  Is Verizon an unnecessary bill?  Bet it is.  Till I go on tour and need to have a cell phone then I’ll be crawling back to them calling them master.
“Oh Verizon Master, might I have my number back? Please oh please?  I promise to pay your usury.  Oh Masterful Verizon I will give you my blood, my firstborn, anything you need just as long as I might have a cellular phone. Verizon Master – I am the bitch in this relationship. I will do as I am told.  Of course you can listen in to all my calls like ATT does.  Oh Master Verizon you are the only phone company for me.  And your face boi, he is a cutie with those little glasses.  I will submit to cyber sex with him.  Of course Verizon Master.  Anything You Wish!”
I might just have to dump the oppressive overweening Master.  I am a masochist but I expect my pain to feel good and this just sucks.   Now if they promised cyber sex with the nerd I would rearrange my position on this.
But then the blind panic of being too broke to pay my phone bill kicks in…
I feel like it is the only thing keeping me stable at all.  I have a stable number and a po box.  That is it.  My parents move all the time and don’t like me enough to let me get mail there.  My family is wacky.  I’m broke.  I can’t make my money showing boys my sexy legs and ass, even as they get hotter every day.
I get broker every day.
Aggggggg — madness.  Living on student loans sucks but boi I can’t wait for school to start up.  I’m loosing so much weight I don’t fit into my clothing.  I need to shop for smaller panties but I can’t afford to.  This is some crazy shit I’m dealing with. It might be better if I had a car but it might just be a bunch of bills I don’t need.  A Car – what a joke.
I’m loosing my mind in my little room.  I could really use a vacation.  Wanna take me on one?  Feel inspired to pay my phone bill?  Wanna send me money for my student loans?  Wanna send me fetish fashion so I can sit in my cave all dressed up blogging for you?  I hope so.  I have become a very neurotic writer and I would love to feel like a pampered sex goddess again soon.
I am in the process of updating my wish list so that you might amuse me with gifts of smaller panties, and other fancy stuff.  I hope you send me something.  Christmas in July was always my favorite.

John Cleese!!!!!!!!!

In Adventure, Comedy, kink, politics, Widow Centauri on June 16, 2009 at 2:23 am

http://www.carpenterarts.org/0910cleese.html

John Cleese is coming to socal in November.  AHHHHH!

Can you remember that my birthday is right about that time and that I love John Cleese?  Presents make me happy.  Also if I can sneak back stage and talk him into something kinky (or just throw a net over him) I will blog about it.  Where is my ticket bitch?

Marriage and Family

In BDSM, bitch, bullshit, censorship, Comedy, culture, culture clash, deviance, discrimination, drama, Dykes, Family, fights, Gay, GLBT, GLBTQ, Kindness, kink, Lesbian, neurosis, politics, Pride, queer, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, violence, weight loss, Widow Centauri on June 14, 2009 at 7:30 pm

With all the fighting for basic civil liberties that have been happening around the country I thought it high time to sit down and write about marriage.  So I wrote an angry piece about gay marriage and then I opted to not publish it.  I stashed it in a folder and though I could avoid confronting these issues.  Then I got a “surprise I’m in town” call from my sister, Anastasia.
My sister is married with two children, a house in the suburbs, and a very conservative point of view.  She lives some 1200 miles away and her unexpected appearance in my apartment was, well, unexpected.  I have had a strained relationship with Anastasia since we were children.  She is my younger sister but she is so bloody serious that people often assume she is older than I.
My sister has done some things I have not been able to forgive.  She has turned her back on me over and over yet I continue to talk to her.  I would have given up on a friend that untrustworthy long ago.
I have some idealized version of family.  Some idea that the people in my blood line might like me.  If they do they don’t show it very well.  My sister has hauled me into court, destroyed giant parts of my life, stole things from me, lied, corroborated with my ex to make my life a living hell, shown up unannounced to eat all my food, smoke all my weed, drink all my beer, punch me in the nose and then leave in a fit of rage.  It is her typical MO.  She always throws a giant fit before she leaves.  I really dread seeing her.
Long ago I realized that you can trust people to be who they are, not some idealized version of “a good person.”   People are not good; people are animals.  We do not behave in ways that are consistent with the proposed moral codes of the times.  We preach them but do not practice them.  People are animals.
So when my sister rang on Friday night from a number I did not recognize I answered it.  “I’m in town” she said, obviously excited to be in this fascist strip mall.  “I took the kids to sea world today and we have free tickets to the Wild Animal Park” Oh fuck, I thought, she is gonna ask me to go with her and I’m gonna have to say no.  I don’t do theme parks – screaming kids, sunshine, no place to smoke a joint.  Oh gawd no!
“Wanna go to the beach tomorrow?” she asks.  A much more reasonable request.  I love the beach.  There will be sunshine and screaming kids but I might find a place to puff.  Besides, I love the ocean.  “Yea, that sounds great” I say, hoping my phony phone voice is disguising the dread that is my heart trying to escape through my bowls.  “I’ll call you in the morning” She says and hangs up.
I take a deep breath and think it might be alright. I haven’t seen Anastasia in at least five years.  Maybe she has changed.  Maybe this new baby of hers  has sufficiently kicked her ass.  Could that little brat be pooped?  Only one way to find out.
I get up and out to see her.  She looks good.  She dropped what must be 60 pounds or more.  Her hair has grown out of that bleached blonde frizzy stage.  We hug.  She gives me a great big bear hug.  “You hug like mom,” I tell her.  We hug again, get in the car and boogie to the beach.
Aside from the expected annoyances we have a great day.  Then we meet up with her husband to have “dinner.”  I figured we would head to an establishment were I could get a salad but she insisted on taking taco stand fare to the hotel pool.  Her bigger child ran around the pool screaming and playing with “the fart button” she purchased for him in a beach tourist shop.  I resisted the temptation to suggest that running at a pool is dangerous, and a social faux paux .  I opened my chili, cheese, bean and rice thing to discover that I had no knife.  I asked her husband (a big burly manly man with a laugh so annoying it can be heard three states away) if he would retrieve a knife from his hotel room for me.  “I’m not going anywhere” he said.  I could never put up with that sort of man.  I sat there poking at my cold and uneatable food and the oaffy husband opened his mouth and asked me “what do you think Obama is doing wrong?”.
I should have known that a conversation about politics would be the catalyst that changed the tolerable and almost fun nature of the day.  But I was just so happy to have a conversation that did not involve gossiping about the rest of the family I jumped on it.  Mr. oaf is pretty well versed in politics.  I’m always surprised by this.  Happily surprised.
My sister, who is not politically savvy, made a very poor joke about gay marriage.  I suggested that if she had made a racist joke that it would have been unacceptable and asked her to cease her homophobic attempts at being funny.  I tried to be really nice about it.  I knew I was walking on eggshells.  Anastasia actually put her hand in my face and said “were not gonna talk about it.” “Why?” I asked her.  “No” she said in an elevated pitch.  “I have a lot to say about it, maybe we could have a conversation about the issues” I suggested.  “No!” she said in the same tone she used when she was four. I dropped it, dinner wrapped itself pretty quickly and we got in the car to return me to my cave.
That’s when it happed – my sister started screaming, crying, and babbling on about what a horrible sister I am.  She made some mention of how I always belittle her and make her feel less than me.  “Oh boi” I thought, here it comes.  She was swerving and driving 60 miles an hour.  “Every time I talk to you I hang up and cry” she tells me of our conversations.  “What have I done to offend you?” I ask earnestly.  “If I know what is bothering you, I won’t do that anymore.” I explain.  I really do wan to get along with her.  “Back on Mothers Day you told me that it was just a hallmark holidays and …” Eh?
She babbles on about how my opinions of American culture offend her.  My mere existence is enough to make my sister throw a tantrum, cry and brood for months, and basically melt down.  I had no idea she was so think skinned, so fragile.  What could I do?  I told her I was sorry that my opinions of a soulless set of holidays, values, and behavior patterns were making her hysterical.  She kept sobbing, swerving and taking with her hands.  I double-checked that we both had our seatbelts on and asked her “Why did you call me?  If you don’t like me, why did you call me and ask me to spend the day with you?” “I felt obligated” she told me.
“Obligated? I spent my day with you because you felt obligated? I have a lot of reading to so – some 30 books in the next ten weeks.  Obligated?” I sat there trying not to scream at her.  I took another deep breath and in a calm tone explained to her “you don’t need to feel that way.  If you don’t like me, my ideals, my opinions, my sexuality, please stop with the obligation.  I want to have a relationship with you but not one where you always end our visits with a fit. Why do you do this?”
She realized I was right about her always ending visits like this.  The screaming started to become more of a loud voice, the swerving lessened.  I sat there trying not to cry. It did not work.  The tears started welling up in my eyes. I tried to push them back (something I am getting pretty good at lately) but it did not work. They came pouring down my cheeks and I commended myself on choosing the waterproof mascara. I guess I knew what was in store for me.
Why am I telling you all of this?  I guess cause it is related to my thoughts on marriage, equality, and being queer. My sisters marriage is quite likely very stable.  Her husband seems to love her, she likes her kids, and she is happy, very happy.  Of this she assured me of several times as we came down that long fast hill.  So why the hand in the face after the bad joke about gay marriage?
Could it be true that my opinions, values, beliefs, and sexuality actually threaten her fragile psyche? I think they might.  Where as I like to have friends with different opinions, she does not.  She seems to have no capacity for dealing with things she does not understand.  I feel so sorry for her.
Thinking is key to my life.  I doubt I would have any fun at all if I was not able to read, talk and question everything.  What joy would life posses for me if I were unable to investigate new perspectives?  I like other view points.  I love it when I can look back and have changed my mind.  I like to be challenged in my thoughts and beliefs.  I am coming to understand that this is not something most Americans enjoy.
So onto my perspectives of marriage.
The problem with the current push to legalize gay marriage strikes me as wildly offensive.  I am queer and I find marriage to be an abomination to freedom.  Why do married people get 1500 additional rights that single people do not get?  Why is marriage a prerequisite to real adult citizenship?

Marriage in and of itself is a tool used for social control.  Originally marriage was used as a way for men to sell their daughters, often to repay a debt. Today’s marriage is a business partnership disguised in a religious ceremony oozing with the ideology of heteronormativity.
Marriage gives tax breaks to wealthy people and keeps poor people trapped in marriages they don’t want to be in.  Poor people are the ones who are completely discriminated against in the eyes of the laws surrounding marriage.  Sexuality be dammed, it is what you earn that makes marriage advantageous or a bottomless pit of debt, damnation, and couldashouldawouldas.
The cost of divorce starts in the thousands of dollars.  Imagine that you want to get divorced but cannot afford to do so.  Marriage is not about love or about family marriage is about government control over our ability to determine what love looks like, what kind of sex we have, and how we and how we spend our lives.  Marriage, be is straight or gay, is an insult to my intelligence.
I know what I am saying is going to insult many of you but I find it hard to believe that marriage is advantageous for anyone who is not extremely wealthy.  I would like to move to ban all marriage, or make divorce illegal.  If it were impossible to get divorced in this country there would be a lot fewer marriages of convenience.  Marriage is not something that should be used to lower your tax liability.  The theory is that marriage says something about love.  If you’re in love you get married.  That is what we have all been socialized to believe.  The problem with this is that ‘love’ and ‘the state’ do not belong in the same discussion.
Marriage is a tool of social control.  We are trained from a young age to want marriage.  We are told that it is the only form of acceptable relationship to aim for.  I am in love folks and I do not want to get married.  Oh sure I did, until I started thinking for myself.
If I were very rich movie star I would likely marriage hop on the advice of my accountant.  I am not an ubber wealthy person who has deductions to gather.  I am an American who finds the ideal of monogamous, dual-person, relationships to be offensive to my humanity.
What if I want to love more than one person?  What if the person I live with is not the person I wish to have power of attorney.  What if I want to live alone and be in love with several people who live elsewhere? Why does the law tell us how we can express our love.  And more importantly why do we all line up and demand our rights to be told how to have our love sanctioned?
Bhaaa bhaa bhaaa.  Marriage is an institution that was originally designed to sell young daughters as a way to pay off fathers debts.  Marriage is not and has never been about love.  It is a legal contract – no more no less.  So why in the hell has the queer movement moved towards this as its central fight towards equality?
If marriage is equality and equality is freedom, this is a model of freedom I can live without.  I want to be able to live my life and make relationship choices based on my own ideals, not some dated version of a political ideology that forces us to love and sleep with one other person – or pay for an expensive divorce and do it all over again.   Marriage is not about equality.  Marriage is about wealthy people having access to more rights, including the right to pay for a divorce.
Conforming to marriage and the ideology of this mode of relationship seems antithetical to the ways in which love works.  It seems antithetical to freedom and the very diaphanous ideals that members of this nation seem to be toting as freedom and glue that hold us together as a nation (think constitutional rights). Marriage is a silly form of prison.  Let the straight people keep it. I want a queer culture that represents something greater.
I want a queer culture that is polyamorous, I want queer culture – not some watered down version of a man and a wife.  I never wanted to have a happy white picket fence reality – that shit looks as boring as poking myself in the eye with a sharp stick while living in OC and popping antidepressants all day while driving a minivan.  I am not interested in this ideology that promises happiness but ultimately ends in over 50 percent divorce rates.
A relationship model that fails more than half the time should be reexamined.  Not toted as something desirable.  But we are all to concerned with the right to do it.  Why are we not arguing for the right to commit suicide?  Something that should be our natural right – -the right to end your own life is not promised by the constitution, it is outlawed even for the very ill.  The right to conform into a heteronormative model of love is something that so many queer people are fighting for right now it almost makes me ashamed to be queer.  What fun is sexuality if all I have to look forward to is a miserable gay marriage, a divorce I can’t afford that leads me down a long brutal road towards an illegal suicide.
Fuck marriage!

Cheating

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, BDSM, bullshit, censorship, Cuckold, culture, culture clash, dating, deviance, drama, FAQ, fetish, Gay, gender, Gender bending, kink, neurosis, perverts, politics, porn, Pride, Public, queer, Sex, sexual politics, sexuality, violence, Widow Centauri on June 9, 2009 at 12:13 am

I have a married friend who has a cheating husband.  He is a real sleaze ball.  He ran her credit into the ground, mooched off her for a decade, knocked her up and now he wants a divorce so he can go play his silly games with younger women.  GRRRRR.  He should watch his back.  I know where he likes to drink.  I have tools to control boys.  I am not above getting him into a chastity device and giving her the key.
I was talking to a friend of mine who is considering becoming a professional dominatrix.  She asked me how I dealt with the moral issues surrounding playing with married men in sessions.  I was a little taken aback by this question as I never really considered my end of the equation as adultery.  I told her that I am in business to make money, not patrol Protestant morals.
In this country, this massive Christian nation, people are trained to believe that a dualist monogamist relationship is the only way to love someone.  I find this to be sad and dangerous.  Over half of marriages end in divorce.  Many of them end over trivial sex based expectations that have been formed through juvenile ideals of love and commitment.
The Protestant expectations that surround love and legally bind people to one another are unrealistic.  Heterosexuality is the expected default preference.  Monogamy is presupposed as a desired way of being.  Open relationships are thought of as deviant. When people grow up into their adult sexuality they are complete unprepared for the desires that they have.  How can someone who grew up socialized to live happily ever after come to grips with their desire for kinky sex, or even a desire to have vanilla sex with another person?
In the moral obligations we enter into we are not given the options of establishing real adult relationships.  Relationships that work for people.  Monogamy is valued as though it is a natural state of events or at least something to aim towards, despite our natural inclination to live fulfilling sexualities.
How do we negotiate new kinds of relationships when people have been trained to believe in a model of sex that is unrealistic at best, and dangerous when we are not prepared to deal with it?  People are exposed to traditional relationships over and over with few, if any, examples of loving adults who have found better ways.  I think everyone should be polyamorous.  Why would you want to deny someone the pleasure of intimacy?  It comes down to the fear that someone somewhere might be having a good time.
Getting past this crime against humanity might be an impossible task.  It sure feels that way as I sit down and write about it, Bringing Americans up to speed with the idea that they can reevaluate the way the experience sex and love is not going to be an easy task.  I cannot sit back and passively watch as married people continue to live a lie about how the nuclear, monogamous lifestyle is fulfilling.  People need diversity in their loving.  Hopefully my work in this life will bring someone somewhere a new perspective on sexuality.
Fuck monogamy!  It might be alright for pigeons but it has no place in adult human relations.  I’m tired of Christens telling the rest of us how we should love.

Bikram Buddy?

In Adventure, American Dominatrix, bathroom, BDSM, Bikram, Bikram Yoga, bondage, culture, dating, dominatrix, Dykes, FAQ, fetish, forced feminazation, friends, fun, GLBTQ, Golden Showers, kink, Lesbian, perverts, politics, porn, Public, queer, sexual politics, sexuality, slave, weight loss, Widow Centauri, yoga on June 2, 2009 at 7:46 am

The sweat drips down my skin

It gets in my yes

Sometimes I stick out my tongue and lick the sweat off my breasts, upside-down.

The deep stretch

The sensation of tightening muscles in my groin

I have come in several of the Bikram poses — camel, half locust, and eagle.

I hope to be able to put my forehead on my toes (without bending my knees) this year

Bikram stimulates my libido like nothing else

I could not be the only person who feels the tingling sensation of hot yoga in my sexy muscles.
The craving
The stretch
The heat
My mind transcends the hot room and I go to a place where I am only my body.  Standing on one foot kicking my other foot to the sky.  Sweat dripping down my thighs, off my toes, between my costume and my bush.  Sweaty hot dripping yoga.

I wear as little clothing as I can to yoga
Sometimes I wear transparent clothing
I’m sure the people behind me can see my labia when I’m in a bathing suit.  I feel my lips popping out.

I love the exhibitionistic feeling of mostly naked hot dripping sweaty yoga.

When I’m in the steam room I get my tits out and play with them.

When I’m in the  six person shower, I piss.  If I’m alone I shoot my piss across the shower.  When there are other women I pee down my leg hoping that no one will see.  Hoping that someone will notice and be turned on.

In the Bikram studio almost everyone has a perfect body.  Lean, muscular, perfect.

I have been practicing Bikram for over five years.  I practice every day.  I am looking for a play partner who can commit to a daily yoga and sex practice.  Sex in the studio when we can get away with it. Sex at the beach after yoga with coffee – licking the sweat off each other.  Yum!

Bondage on the beach after hot sweaty yoga.

I am a sizeist.  You need to be fit.  If you are not fit you will be after 90 days of yoga practice.  Maybe if you are a fat slob I will let you practice with me and I will tease you.  Stand in front of you with my transparent clothing, masturbate in the steam room and not let you touch me.  I love to tease!

I need a sexy yoga buddy now.  I practice at 6:30 AM everyday. Think you can handle it?

Yoga Triangle Downtown