These are the things that prove to me I am loved.
- She does the stupid sound the third time.
You know when your partner makes some sound that is really funny? Like a botched word, or a squeak, or something to that effect? And you want to hear it again, so you say do it again. And they do! And you want to hear it a third time. And they always say no. No one ever does the third time. My girlfriend does!
- You say you want $randomstupidthing, and she actually searches for it for you!
Examples: those really cool looking at first but really dumb in the end "flannel" jackets that the US Olympic Snowboarders were wearing. She actually searched a good half hour for those. Or, that fake hip-hop fish jingle in the latest McDonalds Filet-O-Fish commercials. She found the full :30 second version on YouTube for me. Literally dropped what she was doing. And then we found this.
- When we both can't afford to go to an event we both love, she's open to sending me stag.
Oh Frolicon, you may not happen this year. But if magic allows it, I just may appear in a puff of magical smoke.
- When you want to make yourself a pot of macroni-in-cheese, because you just can't shake those bad habits you had when you lived alone, and you need a pot that is currently in the sink because you dirtied it a few nights before, she actually washes it for you so you can have your Velveeta crap.
Really. Tonight even.
- Dude. You're Boymeat, and yet she still manages to love you.
I rest my case.
03/03/2010 |
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Imagine...
Soft flowy cushions... um, er, well, blankets...
Stacks 6 feet high of pillows everywhere... um, er, well, we have a few pillows...
Lounging in paradise with barely dressed harem girls and boys feeding us grapes and fanning us... um, er, well, we have two cats wondering what the hell is going on...
It's like our own wonderful oasis, if that meant our apartment without any seating.
Yes, I am posting this on the floor. Next to me is ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) kathryntact, on the floor. In front of us are our two cats... you guessed it... on the floor.
We have no love seat nor chair any longer. They were taken away, headed to the great place in the sky that old love seats and matching chairs go. Heralded by angels in green from the NY Sanitation Department.
On Sunday, we ordered a new couch. My first ever big furniture purchase that didn't come from Sleepy's or IKEA. To be honest, I felt like I was slightly cheating on the entire Swedish nation. But we do what we must.
Alas, today was the only day the old furniture could go away. So now we sit. On the floor. Marveling over the fact that two people that most would reasonably considered to be adults, are left sitting on the floor.
So... um... anyone want to come over for a picnic? Hee!
02/17/2010 |
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"I sincerely believe in RACK, not SSC!"
From now on, I am going to immediately assume that anyone uttering the above statement, or anything like it, is an idiot.
That is all.
02/10/2010 |
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I'm not going public. I can't.
I can't say who it is.
Because I have nothing to back it up.
See, here is the thing. This person is actually a brilliant presenter. They teach safe techniques all the way through, is approachable and well-spoken, and is friendly as they come. In public, they are a dream presenter - knows their shit, teaches and entertains, offers to help out if its needed. In the public dungeon, they do scenes that draw a crowd. Safe, hard edgy play that elicits gasps and awe, and everyone wants to play with them.
On paper, a dream presenter.
In private, that's where the problem lies. Behind closed doors, where no one sees. I've heard story after story after story of people this person has hurt. People left behind, mere shells of who they were, due to various combination's of both physical and emotional violence. Safewords blown right through, edgy technique bordering insanity, and people get hurt. I watched a rare public version of one of these scenes with my own two eyes. And it was horrible to watch.
But I have no proof. No one has ever stepped up to say this is what they did to me. No one saw, no one knows. It all gets swept under the rug time and time again.
So they keep getting invited. And I have to sit on the sidelines and bite my tongue.
Do I know people who played with this person? Yep. Some of them have enjoyed themselves even, had a good time. Walked out unscathed and happy. And I'm glad for them, glad that they had the experiences they negotiated for and received. But there are others who aren't as lucky.
People close to me know my feelings. I warn my friends when I can. Alas, as much as I want to, I can't save the world.
It sucks. It sucks that I can't stand up and scream my fucking lungs out like I want to. Because if I did, *I would be the one ostracized*. I would be the bad guy, who everyone hates.
I wish I was an asshole. I wish I didn't care. I've been brooding about this for practically a decade, and I'm sick of it. But then I think of that newbie drawn starry-eyed to them, and I think fuck, another one. There goes another one.
There goes another victim.
02/10/2010 |
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As I lie here ready to go to bed, I realized that there are a few topics that are burning in my brain that I needed to type down, if only briefly.
I have a feeling these will be inspiring one or two future posts.
I'm finding more and more that the type of play partner I attract tends to also be attracted to people who are not exactly to my liking. I usually have reasons for my distaste - suspicions about their safety (or lack of), past experiences with them that have left bitter tastes, or knowing other people whom they have mistreated and/or hurt. Other times I simply don't have a reason, just a gut feeling that leads me not to trust them.
When I'm approached for play by these potential partners, I am forced to make a choice. Put aside my feelings for their previous/current other partners and enjoy our time together, or walk away. I don't say anything about their choices - it is not my place, and it is their decision to make. So, it's a tough situation - often I am forced to swallow my misgivings, as I don't want them to get in the way of potential new friendships. Lord knows I have made bad decisions in the past - I shouldn't be judging others due to theirs, even if they don't see it the same way I do.
It's not a omni-present problem, but it's there.
The second thing burning in my mind is much, much tougher. There ARE dangerous players in our midst. I know who they are, I know them, and they know me. I know what they've done, I know who they hurt. And these people are Presenters - nationally recognized and celebrated presenters. They get asked to teach all around the country, either because program coordinators don't know the history of their behavior, or they do and choose to ignore it because they are so popular with attendees.
And these people ARE popular. Immensely so.
Lolita taught me something that I have learned to trust in a long time ago - "Sooner or later, people figure it out."
People aren't figuring it out fast enough when it comes to the people I am thinking about with this post.
So I wonder. Who will step up to the plate? Who will finally have the balls to go public and say "X" is a dangerous player and/or a liability issue, and it's time to put a stop to events endorsing their behavior by inviting them to teach?
Sometimes, I seriously feel like I have the balls to do it. I've come close to it several times before. I'm close to it now.
But the scene today is built on fame. Famous presenters all around us. To be the person who stands and tries to place a black mark on these famous people, you stand the risk of becoming shunned yourself.
I don't have the balls right now. Maybe I will tomorrow.
02/08/2010 |
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1st post of the year, and what do I have to do? Point out how Kathryn used her exalted 1st post of the year to mock my age.
Summabitch.
01/06/2010 |
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Her: "So, they both were using anal buttplugs with metronomes in them."
Me: "Did they use them through their assless chaps?"
Her: "I hate you."
PS: Would it make all the above make any more sense if we told you we were talking about a faux set of conjoined twins playing guitar together?
PPS: We have a Hanukkah bush. I just thought I should say that. With lights and garland and everything too.
PPPS: She won't let me go out and buy a mini bottle of Manichevitz to put under the bush. My mind boggles - what will Hanukkah Harry drink when he comes through the fire escape to drop wrapped up shekels under the bush?
12/10/2009 |
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FetLife is doing a holiday give-away which is pretty cool. So I'm pimping it here - go to FetLife.com and enter like I did!
12/07/2009 |
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Hey sci-fi fantasy people (which I realize is just about all of you),
I don't suppose I can possibly borrow most to all of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series from you? I've read the 1st two books (finally!), and I'm hooked.
And I'm not rich enough to buy 29 more novels.
*sheepish grin*
Please? The contents of my bookshelves are available to you for trade! Let's make our own two (or more) person bookclub! Hee!
12/02/2009 |
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Tell me, what are some of your favorite "thought leader" websites & blogs? Things that show opinion and influence your thinking.
11/30/2009 |
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Muppets. Bohemian Rhapsody. Nothing more really needs to be said.
Thank you, oh Muppet gods. Thank you.
11/24/2009 |
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I just sold my bike on craigslist, and I can't believe how freakin' easy it was. I posted my ad for the bike last night, charging $50 higher than I thought I could get.
Today I sold it for the amount I expected. Easy as pie. Guy drove by, picked it up, and suddenly I have a beautiful new corner of my apartment available for filling with other stuff!!! (read: cat litter box).
Am I sad to have sold it? Nah, not really. I wasn't using it much at all - too heavy, clunky, blah blah blah. And now I have freed up so much space.
And craigslist? I gotta admit, I'm looking around the apartment for other things to sell!
Think anyone would buy a sadly broken but still adorable Furby? Heh.
11/22/2009 |
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The 2nd NYC Apartment of Consent (there is a story there. OK, maybe just a small tale. Really, nothing more than a sentence or two. Never mind. Move along.)... anyway, Kathryn and I are now once again computer enabled at our home!
We bought a new laptop - not a netbook, but not a pricey beast either. Just right.
So, hi!
11/09/2009 |
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I know, I've been bad. I haven't posted here in so long I'm sure people have forgotten all about me. A combination of domestic bliss and harmonious happiness with my partner, kathryntact, along with the growing fabulousness that is my relationship with my slave animedarling , along with travels across the country spreading the joys of perversion have kept me from writing.
In short, I'm really really really happy right now. And when I'm happy, I tend to not write, but instead do a lot of reading. I have been keeping this happiness closer to my heart.
But I promise I will endeavor to write some more. Really.
Of course, there is sadness in my life today, and thus a post! My computer died what I'm beginning to suspect is its final death yesterday. It just won't turn on. Well, let's get more specific than that. The computer does turn on (so it's not the power box), it then goes to the initial screen showing my computer manufacturer's logo and the Intel inside logo, and then nothing. No Windows boot up, no BIOS, nothing. Which says to me it's not the hard drive either, but instead the motherboard.
Which really really really sucks. I was planning on buying a new computer, but honestly, not just yet.
Tonight we're gonna shop for a Netbook to hold us over until I can afford my new main machine. Anyone have any suggestions or favorites? Windows please... I'm just not ready for a jump to Linux.
11/09/2009 |
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I learned this morning that Mr. Marcus had passed away last night. I will miss seeing him at MAL and IML every year, always ready to flash a smile and ask me if I've been naughty.
I will post an obit as soon as I see one that best covers the breadth of this fabulous, witty, and deliciously evil man.
10/09/2009 |
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I hate diabetes. I hate it with more hatred than I have ever felt in my entire life.
Diabetes has taken a friend away from us recently. His fight against the disease was all-consuming, requiring horrible sacrifices, bending of will and dignity, and in the end requiring organ transplants to provide hope for a normal life. Unfortunately, his battle was lost, and we in turn lost an amazing man. RIP Flagg.
Diabetes almost took my father away from us. Over 3 years ago, he was sent to the hospital feverish and dizzy. We discovered that an infected diabetic tumor in his left leg had cause his system to go septic. He was given a 50% shot to live through that night, and a 10% chance to keep his leg thereafter. It was eerily similar to Flagg's battle. My father fought, suffered, and lived through a horrible 2 and a half year battle to keep his leg. 2 long stays at rehab centers filled with the invalid and those whose minds have departed. Living in places where people are sent to die, and expected to maintain his humor and his will to live. My father on several occasions seemed ready to throw it all away, to give up... but in the end he was a lucky one, and is now driving and walking on two legs, and is over a 100 pounds lighter than when we started.
Diabetes is contributing to the struggle of another friend to the community as we speak. A legend in the scene, Mr. Marcus, is lying sick in San Francisco, fighting to continue living.
I hate diabetes. I hate that this subversive disease has caused so much struggling, so much agony. I hate that we lost Flagg, I hate that it reminds me how close I was to losing my own father, I hate to think that we will lose a man like Mr. Marcus, who was so sweet to me everytime he saw me.
I am donating to the American Diabetes Foundation right now. This disease needs to end. I need to stop fighting the need to cry. Please join me.
10/07/2009 |
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I was very saddened to learn this morning of Flagg's death last night. He was one of the most intellectual, evil minds ever to grace the scene. And yet beyond that evil, he was honestly a good man who cared about his friends and the scene at large.
Having known him for more than a decade, I will miss his evil grins and our conversations.
My heart goes out to his Pack, his partners and friends.
There have been too many deaths this year. One of the things that truly sucks about growing older is that you are old enough to have friends pass away. *kicks rock*
10/06/2009 |
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It's come to my attention that I have a very strained relationship with my past. I vacillate between trying to avoid it and put it behind me, and hyper-focusing on it with wistful thoughts. It's probably not the healthiest thing in the world.
This came to light in a heavy way yesterday. Despite all my intentions to never do so, I opened a new Facebook account, under my legal name. I already have an account with the "Phillip Wolf" name. It was amusing for a second, all my kinky friends found me and friended me, and then I pretty much forgot about it due to it having next to no value for me whatsoever.
But yesterday, my mind turned once again to folks from my previous lives... college friends, acquaintances. I started poking around Facebook to see if there were any applicable groups where my old compatriots might be hanging out, and I found many. I realized that if I wanted to look at the photos that might be hidden within, I would need to join the groups, and thus either use my scene last name and come out to all the college folks as a filthy pervert, or start anew.
I decided to start anew.
So here I am with this new account, and before I can blink almost 15 old college friends and I are linked up. I'm chatting with one who I haven't spoken to since I left those frozen upstate hills back for the city post-graduation. She gives me a summary of her life, and I try to give mine. It's kind of tough when your life is filled with joys coming from SM and alternative sex, and you're talking to people whose lives are portraits of normal family sitcom life.
I realize I have some issues here.
You see, in college, most of my life was spent wondering if I was going to gain the acceptance of my peers. I was always standing just one step to the left of everyone else. Most of my friends were members of a certain fraternity or their sister sorority. A fraternity I never got an offer to pledge from due to some drunken sentence I uttered to a senior brother during my freshman year that showed my ignorance on how fraternities work. A fraternity I rushed 4 years in a row, to be rejected all 4 times. The 1st, already mentioned. I rushed the 2nd time because my closest friends, who were now brothers, convinced me that with them in I would be a shoe-in, and they would fight for me. They lost. The 3rd and 4th years? I rushed mainly to be a pain in the ass.
I harbored a lot of resentment due to those years of consecutive rejection. I could hang with my best friends and roommates... until it was time for them to do frat things, and then I was left home. I always felt like my belonging to this group of people was very limited, broken in a way. Friendship for me acknowledged, and yet, I felt almost pitied. I rebelled against the frat, wearing a set of Greek letters that were meant to mock the fraternity I was so longing to join. It was supposed to give me satisfaction... the feeling of being a rebel, the wild one. Instead I felt like shit as I walked home alone.
It leaves me wondering why I am seeking these people out again. At once I want to find all of them and friend them, see where they are with their lives, discover their marriages and their kids and their successful careers and how they've all been hanging out together since we graduated, and how their lives surround traditional pursuits like beer, football, and family get-togethers. And yet at the same time, I want to delete that Facebook account, merely one day after I created it, because I can't shake the feeling that all this reconnection will get me to the same place I was before - together, yet one step removed from everyone else.
I realize now that I have not forgotten, nor reconciled with, nor forgiven them for, my four years of consecutive rejection from their ranks. That not being able to wear that pledge pin, that not being able to call my best friend "Big Brother" like we talked about, that not being able to wear that lettered sweatshirt, that having to left home alone in the house we all shared together when they had a fraternity party to go to... that all of this STILL stings. Still hurts. And it still represents a separation in our lives that contributed to our lack of meaningful friendships post-graduation.
I wonder if that is why I jumped so hard into the pool of organized SM. Why I became "Boymeat."
In my younger leather days, I became obsessed with the idea of joining a backpatch club. I became an associate member of the DC boys of Leather, I considered joining LOBOC because my leather family were members, I thought about pledging the Renegades, or some other AMCC group. The first thing I did after joining GMSMA was slapping their big patch on the back of my leather vest. lolitasir kept asking me why I wanted to join these groups, why I felt the need. I never could appropriately answer her, but I realize now that it had nothing to do with the groups themselves. I didn't want to join these groups of men per se, no. Instead, I wanted to wear those colors. I wanted to show the world that I belonged to a group that had limited membership. I wanted to be a part of the club, instead of being the guy outside of it.
But in the end, I found acceptance. I find myself in a grouping of people that is so immediately welcoming, that hundreds if not thousands of people would look at me instantly like a brother in their group. That hundreds already do. Boymeat, and in turn me, is wanted. Is appreciated.
I'm looked up to, instead of slightly down upon.
So now I talk to these old college friends. I keep my new life hidden from them, because I don't feel like I can shed that side of me and expect understanding and fellow joy. And all the while I look at them and wonder... will they accept me now? Will I be able to put aside all those years of rejection, and just be? Can we reconnect again... and maybe start anew?
I need to bury these bones. Now if I can just figure out how.
09/23/2009 |
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I have had cat nip sprayed in my crotch, and dental floss stuck under my arm. All today. I have not the words. Funny? Yep. Insane? Completely. Posted via LiveJournal.app.
09/07/2009 |
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I'm proud to announce the unveiling of the revamped Boymeat.org website! The amazing Rita, aka kinkmogul, revamped my website to give it a bit more functionality and ease to navigate. She rocks!
Go visit! Enjoy! Let me know if you think something should be added!
08/19/2009 |
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Since the news broke about Jack McGeorge's passing yesterday, I've had people offering me condolences. I felt kind of funny accepting them... Jack and I were not especially close. We spoke to each other only at events, when our paths would cross. I still mourned his loss yesterday just like I would a close friend, though.
However, when I sat down to think about it, I realized that I mourn Jack because he was a good friend to me, even if he did not know it himself. And he influenced my life in uncountable ways.
I will never forget the first time I met him. After over a year of knowing lolitasir, and her telling me story after story about Jack, I still had not met him. It became almost comical - I would tease Lolita that I didn't think Jack really existed. That she was making him up as some sort of imaginary boyfriend. I edged her on for months about this, brushing off the resulting bruises whenever she would pound me for it.
Finally, I met him because she brought me along for a trip to DC. We entered his pretty house in a quiet Northern Virginia suburb, and there I laid eyes on Jack McGeorge for the first time. While I'm hazy about the year, I couldn't have been much older than 21 at this point. He and I shake hands... he smiles and says "Great to meet 'ya!" in that exuberant style Jack always had... and then he grabbed Lolita and dragged her into the other room.
She filled me in on the resulting conversation later. "Um, Lolita, what in the world are you doing with this kid?!"
Despite my age and suspicion that his gal was a chicken hawk, he welcomed me into his home with open arms. I met the entire family that weekend... Jack, their boy, their girl. I stayed in his son's room, and was given a tour of his amazing basement dungeon. And then soon enough, I kept returning. Almost once a month I'd accompany Lolita down to DC to stay at Jack's house. And I was greeted every time like family.
It was in Jack's dungeon that I discovered my love for handcuffs.
The ceiling of his basement had exposed wooden beams throughout. And hanging on these beams were hundreds of handcuffs. Over 300 pairs, if I remember the count correctly. All different sizes, shapes, makes and models, modern and ancient. He would tell me stories about them, like the pair he walked out of a Nigerian prison with. I was in awe. I remember once laying down on the floor for what seemed like an eternity gazing up at those cuffs... and right there in my impressionable young mind came the decision that I wanted to grow up and be like Jack.
I blamed him years later for the poverty resulting from my handcuff collecting. I think he got the joke.
Where Jack really impacted me was as a teacher and in my play. He was just so jovial about SM! So out, so proud... it was infectious. It was Jack and Lolita who inspired me to teach... they pushed me and showed me what it meant to be a good presenter. He supported me when I started to teach, encouraging me all the way, showing true excitement when we heard I was on a schedule. Jack taught me how to clearly communicate my topic, how to inject it with humor and life, and the most important thing of all - have a handout! In Jack's world, it just wasn't a class if there wasn't a handout.
He taught me that the mind was so much more important than the body. Anyone who has attended my Surving Corporal class has heard my story about Jack and his knife (ok, some of you have heard it dozens of times.) But allow me one more telling of it here.
Jack's knife class was and is the best I have ever seen. And I've seen it at least 9 times... maybe more. He used a knife that he had made for him by a blacksmith. I know this knife - I have felt it, I have played with it, and I've had it used on me. It is as blunt as a hammer. You practically couldn't cut butter with it - knock it on your neck, and all you're gonna get is a thump. Totally blunt knife. The other wonderful thing about Jack was that he was predictable. His knife play class followed the same path and structure every time. I knew that the first thing he would do every time, while talking about the psychology of the knife, the scariness of it, was that he would take his demo bottom, come up behind them, grab them by the neck, and then as hard as he could he would thrust his knife into the abdomen of the bottom, raking it hard and slowly across it as if he was gutting them.
He did this every time. And every single time I sat in on the class, he would grab me as the demo bottom for the first part. I knew what he was gonna do. I knew that the knife couldn't cut a fly. I knew all of this. I knew what was coming...
...and every single time, I would look down frantically afterwords expecting to see my intestines unraveling to the floor. Every single time.
Jack loved to fuck my brain with that. He would laugh and laugh and laugh.
These are just small bits of memory involving Jack. I feel lucky that I have many others, some that I will hold close to my heart.
For those of you who have had the chance to know him, spend time with him, sit in a class with him... treasure those memories. Because I truly feel that we will never see a man like Jack again. He was in a class all to himself.
I miss you already, Jack.
08/19/2009 |
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After a day of shock, mourning, crying, comforting others, and then capped by a nice long TES election meeting, I'm plum exhausted today.
Hmmm. Go figure.
There is a post in my head that has stories of some of my memories of Jack. I just might write that.
Yesterday was a tough day. May today be just a little better.
08/19/2009 |
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I cannot even explain the feelings that are racking through me having found out that Jack McGeorge passed away this morning. I don't think it has hit yet... I'm sitting here stunned, while tears run down my face.
Jack was one of these first really good men I met in the scene. I mean, just hands down a good man. We would all be lucky to have some of what he had inside him.
I don't have the words.
08/18/2009 |
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I was just raped.
My girlfriend... the love of my life... just completely, without consent... raped... my nostrils.
This is what it took to get me back to blogging.
Nose rape.
This is what my life has become.
Nose rape.
Aieeee.
07/31/2009 |
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Dear weather,
I understand your need to be noticed and paid attention to. We all love a little attention, and thus I didn't complain when you decided to celebrate the beginning of June with rain.
I was a little annoyed when you decided that the second week of June also merited rain.
Now we're in the third week, and I have to say, we really need to talk. I think you need to take another look at your actions in this relationship and maybe consider some other avenues to express yourself. Because by showering me with constant wetness or consistently threatening me with it, you are oppressing all the other forms of expression you could be taking.
In other words, knock it the fuck off. You've overplayed the rain card. Seriously. Pick another expression, or I just might have to break up with you.
Oh, and if you decide to rain during Leather Pride Night, or Folsom Street East, or Leather Retreat, I will scream very loudly. I'll scream so loud that you'll... you'll... well, you'll just have to exclaim "wow, that was very loud."
Really. We're done with the rain. Thanks.
Love,
Phil
PS: I could love you again. Think about it.
06/18/2009 |
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