It Got Me Saying Please

I started writing erotica because I got bored. Bored with what was out there. Bored that none of the characters I encountered looked like me or my lovers. Bored with vanilla lesbionic sex stories. Bored with not getting turned on. I’m thankful Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica was not around a few years ago, if only for the fact that it cures the boredom that ailed me. I might not have felt the need to put my work out there if books such as this existed and I certainly wouldn’t have had the honor of being included in such a brilliant work.

This scintillating anthology had me jilling off more than any other book I’ve laid hands on. Or hand, as it were.

The number of times various characters utter the words “good girl” alone was nearly enough to keep me coming. But trust me, there’s more — so very much more — in this blessed book for you to revel in, even if that isn’t your thing.

You’ll find a delicious array of genders and plenty of genderfucking, such as the butch top who surprises hymself by taking home an unsurprised boi…who sucks up every second of earning the right to flag in Sassafras Lowry’s ”Black Hanky.”

With all the self-aggrandizing going on in kink communities as of late — such as attempts to be edgier-than-thou by shaming safewords or foregoing other safety measures — it was refreshing to see lines like “Aftercare was going to be a real pleasure” in Elaine Miller’s blazingly sexy “Going The Distance.” I especially appreciated how D. L. King’s domme routinely checks in with her submissive throughout their scene in “A Public Spectacle.”

The writers in Say Please aren’t afraid to get dirty. Although Dusty Horn’s narrator is referring to her unpolished boots, hot lines like “When you see me filthy, you know I mean it” are just dripping with innuendo and vulgar promises. And she makes good.

As I turned the final page, I melodramatically went into mourning. Say Please had me practically begging for more. It got me saying please. I bet it’ll get you too.

Dearest Dualistic Thinkers

My latest column for The Triangle!

Dearest Dualistic Thinkers,

I’ve been hearing and reading a lot lately about a need for separation between sex and spirituality. This seems to be backlash, or perhaps reclamation, coming from kink and queer communities especially. And I understand why that would be the case. As a proud card-carrying member of these communities, I hear their valid arguments and I choose to take a different stance – I, for one, want to remain open to the possibilities of sacred sexuality. And I believe that there is no need to think dualistically about this matter.

Why must it be one or the other? I’m a more-is-more type of gal. I often say that when faced with two or more agreeable options, my answer is “Yes, please!” Why should we have to choose one over another? I understand that terms like “spirituality” and “energy” can be quite nebulous, but I see that as a positive. Language open for interpretation can be welcoming to more people because it is malleable and, hence, can fit the individual more readily. I consider carnal lusts and deeply physical pleasures to be just as sacred as the less tangible (but no less real) energy exchanges and powerful sense of being one with the universe, especially when they intermingle.

Allow me to give a concrete example of something that can be extremely difficult to put into words. Language can be frustratingly limited, especially when trying to describe something that may spring forth from the mind, but is incredibly rooted in feeling – feeling both on a deeply physical level and on a spiritual plane.

My lover may not physically possess something between their legs with which to penetrate me, but when they’re thrusting away and my hips rise to match their rhythm, I can certainly feel them entering me, even when we’re fully clothed. The ways in which we connect spiritually open our physical bodies to even more sensations. This could never take away from all the amazing physical connections, which in and of themselves are mind-blowing, but rather, by staying open to something sacred, it helps to introduce other fun and profound experiences to which we otherwise wouldn’t gain access. This is a prime example of how the mental, physical, and spiritual can get delightfully tangled up in each other, if only we are willing. Quite the exciting threesome, if you ask me.

Given this example, the age-old question of which came first, the cock or the egg, comes to mind. There’s a possibility that it first sprang forth from the depths of my lover’s beautiful mind where issues of sex, sexuality, identity, and gender are contemplated on a regular basis. But the physical and spiritual couldn’t be far behind. And although fun to contemplate, the question may never be answered. It doesn’t have to be. Because part of the ecstasy of sacred sexuality lies in the unknown. It’s about trust and openness and believing in something beyond what we can prove.

Many folks can learn to come into and fully embrace their sexualities by approaching sex as a spiritual practice – being able to view sex as a gift to be cherished, not shamed. Many (but certainly not all!) religions have inflicted harm upon practitioners and innocents raised with sex-negative indoctrinations, but embodying spirituality can serve to free one’s self of shame around sexuality. Our communities could only flourish if we open our minds to the notion that there’s no need to choose between the two – that, in fact, sex and spirituality can be exquisite separately or can also be interwoven, each expanding the definitions of the other. Sex can take spirituality to new heights just as much as the opposite is true.

Writer Chris Hall believes any commingling of sex and spirituality is inherently sex-negative and he makes a compelling argument in his recent article “Why Sex Is Not Spiritual” in SF Weekly: “We cannot afford for sex to be sacred. Sacred things sit on altars to be worshiped from afar, not to become part of one’s everyday life. They are not to be touched, played with, fondled, mocked, examined, or questioned.” I don’t know whose brand of spirituality he’s referring to, but it’s definitely reminiscent of sex-negative mainstream religions. My sense of the sacred is just the opposite. It begs to be fondled and questioned. It yearns to be handled, examined, and reexamined. I spent years toying with different aspects of spirituality after I left mainstream religion behind, starting off as agnostic and slowly finding my way toward my own unique brand of (what I affectionately and playfully call) woo.

I greatly appreciate Hall’s point of view and I think his article is both riveting and essential to this discussion, despite the fact that I see his dualistic way of thinking problematic. My daily life is continually filled with spirituality and not only is the sacred within my reach, it’s an intrinsic part of my play. I think that spirituality ought to be woven into the everyday. I believe that we cannot afford to not (at least have the option to) view sex as sacred! Our very bodies are sacred! There is so much joy and celebration to be found in sex. Combining that with spirituality can only magnify these pleasures. The feelings of bliss and ecstasy we can experience when connecting with our own bodies (and then those of others) create such an intense exchange of energies that these connections are, in fact, otherworldly. Ethereal. Divine.

Now I’m not saying that sex has to be spiritual – to each their own – policing sex of any kind (that is safe, sane, and consensual, of course) is a slippery slope and is none of our business unless it is the sex we personally are having. I’m merely suggesting that we all keep an open mind to possibilities and step away from the black and white thinking. Being open to the idea of sacred sexuality is just one way of expanding the rainbow of opportunities in our magnificently varied lives. Dualistic thinking only boxes us in. And while there’s certainly something to be said about black and white being classic, the options of shades of grey or Technicolor are certainly exciting! Possibilities are endless when we embrace not only the mental and physical aspects of sex, but also the spiritual. Consider the possibility of staying open, of creating space inside yourself, of saying “Yes, please!”

In lust, love, and all things woo,

Kiki

Review: Best Sex Writing 2012: The State of Today’s Sexual Culture

I’m reviewing Best Sex Writing 2012: The State of Today’s Sexual Culture as part of the book’s blog tour.

What an exciting opportunity! But what exactly qualifies as sex writing? I found myself wondering this very question as I opened to the first page. Apparently (just about) anything goes. The vast variety was what struck me the greatest as I made my way through this riveting collection. It took me longer to read than I had anticipated, perhaps because it was sometimes almost jarring to jump from one piece that had me giggling aloud to another that enraged me almost to the point of tears.

Those two stories I refer to are Camille Dodero’s “Guys Who Like Fat Chicks” (I was semi-wary of the title too, but trust me, this one is brilliantly told — funny and insightful, sexy and respectful) and Roxane Gay’s “The Careless Language of Sexual Violence” (a calling out of a New York Times writer who severely mishandled the story about an 11-year-old Texan girl who was raped by 18 men). I distinctly recall how problematic much of the reporting of that atrocity was and so I appreciated how Gay broke down several points, bringing light to how poor choices in language around violence can lend themselves to more violence. Her contribution reads (at least partially) as a therapeutic confession as well — raw and vulnerable as she confides in us about the dark places she herself must go to in order to write about rape. One could argue that the subject of rape doesn’t belong in an anthology about sex because rape is not sex (reasoning that closely adheres to my own), but I am, nonetheless, glad that Gay’s story was included. I think her examination of our culture’s desensitization to rape is so very important and I appreciate her own critical self-analysis.

I was sometimes surprised by what stories grabbed my attention. Such as Chris Sweeney’s piece on premature ejaculation (I’ll be honest; as a queer woman, I’ve never given the subject much thought, but his writing got me thinking). Certainly an interesting read, despite being very hetero-centric (all the studies were based on someone with a penis entering someone’s vagina — which is also a very limited view of sex — but I’m guessing that has a lot to do with very limited studies done on PE). I found myself thinking that although it can be very frustrating for me at times because it takes a long time for me to orgasm, I would never trade that for the frustration of PE. Mine seems like quite the blessing in comparison. Who would want sex to last less than a minute when you can roll around with a sexy lover for hours? I’ve only ever been with one woman who I might say had PE (though perhaps she would have a different take on the matter). Just as the sex would get really hot and she’d start fucking me fast and I was really getting into it (and, hence, starting to get off), she’d come and the fucking would stop. It only ever happened when she fucked me with her cock and I only slept with her a couple times, so I never felt it worthwhile to broach the subject, let alone communicate my disappointment with her. I’d be curious, however, about whether she would qualify to be part of a PE study (if they were open to people without penises in the first place).

But I digress.

So many of these pieces are deserving of attention. I reveled in every word of Joan Price’s exploration of and return to her sexuality after the loss of her beloved, especially loving the fact that it was a gift to herself on Price’s 66^th birthday. Amber Dawn’s story of how sex work affected her relationships with the butches she loved through the years was beautiful and heartbreaking. I enjoyed how in Rachel Kramer Bussell’s contribution, she very explicitly explained how important consensuality is in kinky sex and, hence, defended the legitimacy (and hotness) of BDSM. I appreciated Lynn Harris’ honest portrayal of dating with an STD, in particular the challenges and double standards that women face in today’s society. And is any sex-based anthology complete without one very penis-centric addition? Adrian Colesberry made me thank my luckiest stars that I’m queer and sex can be so much more expansive and imaginative than that of some straight counterparts who solely focus on whether the penis is hard/can enter the vagina/has ejaculated – a point that was hit home for me in the endnotes section (which is hilarious and just about as long as, if not more lengthy than, the article itself).

Giving The Gift of Receiving

My latest Triangle column (http://trianglelgbt.com/pdfs/webmarch2012.pdf):

Dearest Reluctant Receivers,

I have a chronic heart condition. It’s not something I like to talk about often because I don’t find it healthy or useful to focus on illness. It also doesn’t define who I am. It may affect my everyday life, sometimes in small, other times in big, ways; but even on the worst days, it’s a minute portion of what is inside me. Being a giver, however, is a big part of who I am. And learning to live with a heart condition has dramatically expanded what that means to me.

Since moving to Durham, I’ve found myself surrounded by a community of folks who also live with ongoing health issues. All of them quite different — ranging from mental to physical and, often times, the two overlap. My health is pretty darn manageable these days (greatly opposed to times in my life where the ER and hospital were my second, or even primary, home) and so (because my body — in order to stay healthy — no longer tolerates me working traditional jobs and hours), I have more free time on my hands than ever before in my life. And so I like to help folks. I’m there to lend an ear or shoulder when needed, I take folks to doctor appointments, and I’m dedicated to helping heal loved ones and/or manifest what my friends need (through meditation or other favored forms of woo).

Sometimes these folks feel guilt (or some similarly useless emotion) around receiving my assistance. I try to explain what my mother told me shortly after I first got sick: Allowing others to give to you is the greatest gift imaginable. Giving makes us all feel good. Being able to help someone else lifts us up. But beyond that, what my friends sometimes don’t understand is that it doesn’t matter if they can’t give back to me. We’re all part of this greater cycle — the universe, really — and this is what I find challenging to put words to.

At one time, when I was my most unwell, I had to depend upon others for just about everything — from my meals to getting bathed. I received and received and just when I thought I couldn’t take it, I received some more. I’ve never been able to fully “repay” those folks who helped me so generously and selflessly at the time. But that doesn’t matter. Now is a time when I can give. And it doesn’t matter to whom I give because we’re all part of this magnificent universe together, part of something bigger. So it doesn’t matter whether I’m helping a person or a small woodland creature or even the earth in general by picking up plastic on my walk. It’s all the same, really. It’s all part of a beautiful cycle.

For many of us queers, we are blessed because we face less pressure around conforming to societal norms. Some of us experience a distancing from our families of origin. Which in and of itself can also be a gift. Because it means we get to choose new families. And (hopefully, if we select wisely) they tend to be much more accepting of who we are. It brings joy to their hearts to be able to give to us and these chosen loved ones can be better at listening to and respecting our needs. So when I ask for help, I’m able to be just as specific about what I need as I am about what I don’t want. As in, “Yes, please, to soup and snuggles, but I’d rather you not organize a get well party.”

Throughout my years of adapting to life with a heart condition, I’ve learned to receive graciously. In doing this, I come to expect that miracles will occur, that everything will be taken care of, that it’s all part of the abundant flow of the Universe. By receiving with grace and gratitude, I’m giving a gift in return. So the next time you find yourself in the position of needing to depend upon others, try to adjust how you see it. Consider the possibility that you are enriching their lives, making them happier, and being generous in allowing them to give. Give the gift of receiving (with as much grace and gratitude as possible).

Two of my favorite words: Thank you.

Thank you.

In lust, love, and all things woo,

Kiki

Review: Best Lesbian Romance 2012

Best Lesbian Romance 2012 published by Cleis Press opens with Anna Meadows’ story and gives a glimpse of what I found to be an overarching theme — that of patience. Radclyffe’s decision to put this tantalizing tale of “Vanilla, Sugar, Butter, Salt” first was an excellent one as it sets the pace. Meadows eloquently describes a slow bloom set over seasons of how eventual lovers become sweet on one another.

As I’ve come to expect, Anna Watson delivers, this time with a tender love story in “A Time and Materials Job.” An observant (some might go as far as to say overly curious or even voyeuristic) electrician enchanted by a beautiful, sad-eyed mother of two. A few months after the job is finished is when they get their chance to spark.

The ending of Sheree L. Greer’s piece is truly captivating: “It rushed over me in great oceanic waves, lifting me up, higher and higher and higher, carrying me away into the seductive expanse of the mysterious, the magical, and the unknown.” Greer’s words swept me up in that familiar, almost indescribable feeling — the beginnings of lust and love.

Theda Hudson’s contribution starts off promising to be hot and dirty. I thought it was going to a quick and kinky (just how I like it), but Hudson delighted me (and the protagonist) with something else entirely. Unexpected twists and turns. This is romance, after all.

Many tales in this collection required patience from the reader. Interesting to note was that I found those with a slower pace were the ones I favored most. Quite the compliment coming from this self-identified instant gratification whore. And, yes, there was even a story or two that might appeal to the instant gratification whore in all of us; such as Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Parisian seduction of a tourist whose mouthfuls are pure sex or the somewhat melancholic blaze between the couple in Angela Vitale’s scorching tale of “Leaving.”

One of the greatest critiques I face in my writing is that often times I don’t paint much of a picture of my characters. This is purposeful on my part — I want readers to be able to see themselves in my stories, to place themselves in the characters’ shoes. I fear that if I describe who they are in too great of detail, that might prove distancing in some ways. Despite not being able to exactly identify with some of the characters in this anthology, I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know each of them bit by bit. Seeing more of who they are through a clever line or a telling move.

Like in Evan Mora’s “A Love Story” — the last in this collection — the characters so believable (and lovable), I could’ve sworn I had dated Mora’s Kate. The protagonist whispering a fictional saga of how they first met. Radclyffe closes the book with a story within a story. Storytelling: One of the oldest great romantic gestures. One of my favorites. One in which Best Lesbian Romance 2012 really delivers.

Dearest Femmes Who Occasionally Feel Like Carrying Around a Neon Sign That Flashes “QUEER”

My latest column for The Triangle:

Dearest Femmes Who Occasionally Feel Like Carrying Around a Neon Sign That Flashes “QUEER,”

Ivan Coyote, a favorite storyteller of mine, wrote an article recently (“Butches of Belfast, and then some” on xtra.ca) about how she sees her fellow butches whether she’s traveling or sticking close to home. Coyote wrote of her long-time friend, “Lately we get to talking about life. She told me that she never thought she would be single at this point in her life. Wasn’t in the plan. ‘All I ever wanted is to be a good provider, and a good husband, and a daddy. Is that too much to ask? Am I too old-fashioned?’ she asked, and my heart broke some. So many things a guy can’t fix.”

The immediate idea that flashed in my head when I read that was — But a femme can! The right femme for her will come along and….

Then I kept reading and saw that this story was about something else. Coyote said, “But you can try. You can keep your eyes open and be on the lookout for your people. Your brothers, and your sisters. Some of them won’t recognize you right away, or speak to you, but still. […] I see you. All of you butches. I see you and I know myself.”

I love that type of butch solidarity. That is how I feel about femmes. I see my fellow femmes and it helps me to better know myself. That is how I feel about community. I feel for my communities, believe that we definitely need to look out for each other, to see one another.

Another favorite writer of mine, Sinclair Sexsmith, recently wrote a post on their blog (entitled “Femme Invisibility and Beyond” on sugarbutch.net) that particularly struck me. (Please go read it — that entry contains way too much brilliance for me to begin to quote. They touch on sexism in our culture, privilege in our communities, and other political intersections with femme visibility — all of which I find essential to the larger discussion, but am going to steer clear of in this column.) Sexsmith’s post got me thinking in a different way about the subject of femme visibility that I’ve pondered so many times. It got me thinking that we femmes could be more proactive about this dilemma.

Instead of manifesting ostracization, let’s move beyond the notion of being invisible. Because we aren’t! And for every queer who doesn’t see us, doesn’t give us the nod or the time of day, I guarantee you there are dozens of others who do, who will. Instead of wallowing in woes, let’s make ourselves impossible to not notice. Make ‘em sit up and perhaps even think damn as we walk by or open our mouths because our senses of style and ideas are that good. That queer.

Let’s talk fashion. Why not be a little risky, a little risqué, over-the-top even? (By the very definition of femme, we are inherently fierce; we can get away with it. Trust me on this one.) Strap on those fuchsia fishnets and garters, step into that lavender crinoline, tug on the red cowgirl boots! (Maybe not all at once…or why not?) Toy with accessories! Think feathery fascinators, gobs of fake pearls, flagging hanky flowers (look it up on etsy.com!), or heels so hot they make the blisters worthwhile. Let’s branch outside of traditional femininity and play with our appearances in ways that signal our queerness to each other, others, and ourselves. Personally, I rarely leave the house (or even lounge about it) without black mascara and my signature crimson lipstick. Lip gloss at the very least. But that’s definitely not for everyone. Whether it’s an air or an accoutrement you wear, whatever it is for you, make it yours.

Let’s show that femme isn’t just skin deep. Speak up, speak out, for yourself and others! I’m most at home with the written word and so I make my opinions known via my published stories, online venues such as my blog, and now this column. And even though it’s far outside of my comfort zone, I voice my views aloud as well, especially when disrespect is in the air. Our minds are spectacular parts of our identities to be valued and celebrated.

An idea for folks in our communities who are not femme (especially those who are easily read as queer): How about y’all try a little harder to start seeing us? Not only in affirmation of the fact that we belong in queer spaces, but also in celebration. Give us the nod. A smile. Hell, be bold! Give us a wink! Yes, occasionally you may wind up offending (or flattering!) a straight woman. There are worse things in life. Take the risk (if you’re in a safe environment). Try harder to recognize and acknowledge us, no matter whether you’re attracted to femmes or not. I admit it happens to me too (see my post script below); I don’t always see my fellow femmes, particularly when their femme markers adhere to more traditional brands of femininity. We all need to try harder on this one.

Femme is individual. It’s an attitude. It’s a way of seeing the world and moving through it. It’s an energy we give off. It means different things to each of us. That is something to be celebrated. I’ve heard from some who are hesitant to adopt the label because they feel like they’re “not femme enough.” I don’t know what that means. I mean, I can imagine, but in my mind that concept doesn’t exist. I’d wager that those are simply of the (beautiful and praise-worthy) tomboy femme variety. (For lack of a better term — I attempt to veer from descriptors like “low femme” or “high femme” for fear of it being perceived as some sort of hierarchy. It’s not. No single way of being femme is better than any other. And we need more language for this.) I’ve heard the term “out femmed” thrown around. Again, ridiculous. This isn’t a competition; this each femme’s gorgeously unique identity. And we’re in it together.

As I told a dear friend in my very first letter of adoration to her: You are my femme of a feather. We flock together.

In lust, love, & all things woo,

Kiki

PS — As I was editing this piece in a café, there were two separate tables of women I wouldn’t have necessarily guessed were queer until I overheard the words “hetero-normative” and “lesbian.” Thank goodness for their out-spoken ways…so I could give them the nod.

Femme Conference 2012 in Baltimore — I’ll be there. Will you?

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS: PLEASE POST WIDELY

Femme2012: Pulling the Pieces Together is a multi-threaded conference and forum for those who think about, talk about, and create Femme as a queer gender and identity.

Following our Femme2006, 2008, and 2010 conferences in San Francisco, Chicago, and Oakland, where hundreds of femmes and allies gathered for workshops, panels, films, visual art galleries, and performances, we again invite femmes of all kinds and their allies to continue the conversation by participating in Femme 2012 as presenters and participants. Links to our online submission forms are here.

We are invested in having Femme2012 continue to reflect the diversity and complexity of femme gender, identity, and contributions. We hope for this conference to be a community-building event, as well as an exploration and celebration of what it means to build and live queer femme identities…

Submissions of all kinds are welcome, particularly submissions by femmes. We are committed to having our presenters reflect as many different voices from within our Femme community(ies) as possible. We aim to prioritize and centralize the experiences of historically marginalized groups, including but not limited to people of color, working-class people, fat folks, trans and gender-non-conforming people, elders, youth, previously incarcerated individuals, people without documentation, and people with dis/abilities. Femme2012 will continue the community dialogues from Femme2006, Femme2008, and Femme2010. In particular, we hope that the intersections of femme with race, region, class, access, dis/ability, privilege, oppression, and marginalization will be talked about, given space, meditated upon, constructed, and deconstructed.

In addition, we encourage submissions based on this year’s theme: Pulling the Pieces Together.

We began this conference in 2006 out of a desire to see femme explored and discussed from a variety of perspectives. We wanted a conference that held the complexities of Queer Femme as its central focus, while building community. Building on the dialogue and momentum of past conferences, in 2012 we hope to explore how femmes pull the pieces together. Through discussion and performance, we hope to explore both our individual and shared journeys to femme and how we honor femme in ourselves and others. How do we arrive at our femme/inine identities? How do we celebrate the joys and challenges along those journeys? Please join us in 2012 as we share our stories of pulling the pieces together.

We hope to draw participants from across disciplinary, medium, and social boundaries. We encourage submissions from anyone interested, regardless of gender or sexual identity. We are interested in solo submissions, as well as groups, panels, and collaborations. We are looking for well-thought-out, well-planned submissions that recognize and respect the array of Queer Femme experience, and we are interested in work that challenges systems of oppression.

We are soliciting contributions from anyone interested, including (but not limited to):
> workshops
> panel presentations
> performances
> research presentations
> skill shares
> activist & organizational topics
> visual art
> video or film (please see below for the film call for submissions)

The submission deadline is April 15, 2012. For information about specific submissions requirements and to submit your proposal, please visit www.femme2012.com.

2012 FEMME FILM FESTIVAL at FEMME2012

In addition, this year the Femme Collective encourages all femmes (regardless of experience) to consider making and submitting a short film to the 2012 Femme Film Festival that will be taking place at Femme2012. We want to challenge you tell your story from *your* eyes. All you need is a camera (even an iPhone is good enough!) and we’ll even help mentor you along the way! It could be narrative-based, documentary, animated or some kind of in-between. How you choose to make it is yours – but the film must be made by a femme (or group of femmes) and about being femme. In order to help you get started, please include one or more of the following prompts in planning your femme-tastic short film:
- What does Femme mean to you?
- How did you come to / learn you were Femme?
- Misconceptions of Femme and how to change them
- Femme Invisibility
- Being Femme because *we* are Femme (and not because our body looks a certain way)

Submissions for the Femme Film Festival must be under 12 minutes in length. The shorter, the better — so we can fit more films into our final program! All film submissions are due July 15, 2012, to give you ample time to finish your film. Do not let your lack of experience stop you from making a film! We will not be judging films based on fancy equipment – we’re looking for honest, brave and real stories about *your* experience of being femme. So break out that iPhone or Flip Camera and start shooting! If you have any questions, feel free to e-mail Ellie (our film chair) at ellieheartbeth@gmail.com.