The Dina Chapters (part 1 of tk)

champagne

My friend Chris often used to say that the two best sounds in the world are that of a woman’s heels against the pavement and that of a champagne bottle being uncorked.

I think of that often when I walk down city streets in high heels. Click, click, click. Regardless of where I’m going, it somehow implies a purpose… I’m going somewhere… I’m moving forward. I’m walking. And I’m making a sound. I’m being heard.

This time I’m walking to meet an old friend. One of my original partners in crime. The one with whom it all began. I want to look into her eyes… I want to ask her where we went wrong. I want to ask her where we were supposed to stop. But she will probably just laugh it off.

“Don’t be silly,” I can imagine her saying. “It’s not like we killed anyone.”

And then we’ll get a drink. Maybe we’ll even open a bottle of champagne… and celebrate. Celebrate what? Celebrate life. Celebrate having survived. Celebrate our adventures; old and new; bad and good. It was all in the name of experience, right? Cheers. Here’s to experience. Clink, clink, clink.

The noise of approaching fire trucks suddenly pierces the air and interrupts my train of thought. There are always sirens in my head.

Adventures with C

fetish party, skin, adventures

Photo by Archbishop Tutu

(Part One of tk)

I wasn’t quite sure what caning entailed, so I asked.

He grinned mischievously and procured a bag of three long wooden canes, seemingly out of nowhere. And, instead of telling me, he showed me.

It hurt, but I liked it. Left some nice marks. It hurts to sit on the toilet now…

Tonight, I’m meeting the parents.

A Case of the Vronskys

Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy, Vronsky, movie

A film still from the 2012 Anna Karenina motion picture.

(Taken from a conversation with CW from some time ago, shortly after I had seen the Anna Karenina movie in theatres and it had hit a little too close to home at the time.)

For those of you that don’t know, Vronsky is the artful seducer in Leo Tolstoy’s classic novel that steals the protagonist away from her husband, only to ditch her later for his next conquest. Having been left distraught and alone, Anna decides to commit suicide by throwing herself under the train tracks. Sorry for the spoiler alert, but you should really read the book. Or, if you can’t handle 800+ pages of 19th century Russian melodrama, see the movie.

–end preamble–

Me: I saw Anna Karenina last night and now have this unshakable feeling of dread.

CW: Stay away from all trains!

Me: But I have to take trains to and from work!

CW: I wonder what Anna Karenina would’ve done if she lived in NYC now. Maybe just eaten a pint of ice cream while watching Bridget Jones’s Diary.

Me: But that would be SO anti-climactic.

CW: But sort of true…

Me: Fucking Vronsky! I’ve probably dealt with three of four Vronsky-types by now.

CW: No more Vronskys!

Me: I’ll try.

CW: The next time you meet someone, just say, “Excuse me, Sir, are you a Vronsky?” If they don’t get the reference, they probably are.

Me: We’ll call these situations “a case of the Vronskys.”

CW: YES! They’re a disease.

Phrases of the Day

Some new terms coined today that I wanted to share…

1) “Journalistic Nirvana:” a term coined by C as regards what I’m trying to do with this blog: just tell the truth in a fair and balanced way, without trying to unnecessarily demonize or praise anyone/thing.

2) “Intimate Friend,” a term coined by me, as I always thought the term “fuck buddy” was a bit trashy and dismissive and the term “friend with benefits,” is a bit tacky and old school, so I came up with “intimate friend” instead.

Then again, I’m not sure who would ever use “intimate friend” and in what context…

E.g.:

–So what are you doing today?

–Oh, I’m going to see my intimate friend.

Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty pretentious, doesn’t it?

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Pablo Picasso, fantasies, quotesMy 30th birthday recently rolled around and, I’ll admit I had a bit of a meltdown about it in the few days leading up to it, but it also made me think about my birthday party last year. It was the most decadent celebration to date (at my friend Andrew’s house, where the sex parties I used to go to are usually held), but this one was themed/curated around my aesthetic preferences (I specifically remember screaming something like, “no neon, for the love of God!!!!”) Continue reading

That Onion Date

onions

(A review of a pretty awful date I had gone on with a hipster who was sporting a most fabulous handlebar mustache … As written to a few friends at the time).

We started out by having a drink at Harefield Road, a local bar in East Williamsburg. He told me he was a (self-proclaimed, presumably) filmmaker. Lived in Brooklyn all his life (formerly from Bensonhurst). Now lives in a loft with four other guys off the Morgan stop on the L train (right above it, actually, probably a bit noisy and rattle-y, I’d imagine).

After Harefield Road, we went to a random place on the corner of Bushwick and Devoe where a friend of his was having a party for her music video release. It was one of those random DIY spaces that was packed with hipsters. He said there was going to be free drinks and food, but instead there was a $10 cover charge (and for what?), the booze wasn’t free (or rather there was a “strongly suggested donation”) and the free food consisted of deviled eggs that were kind of meh…Also, the place stunk like hell. At first I didn’t know what it was and later I realized it was onions . . . everywhere. Continue reading

An Ode to FreaKKshow

Harlequin, Picasso, painting, blue period

If you live in New York City, like theme parties and are looking for something fun to do on Friday night, I’d strongly suggest Kostume Kult’s Freakkshow. I’ve gone for most of the past 3-4 years and loved it. It’s one of my favorite burner parties of the year. There is something about that sideshow/carnival/circus/freak theme that just speaks to me. I’ve always been drawn to the darker, more macabre and absurd, themes in life. Continue reading

How to (and not to) Kiss

kiss, kissing,

Photo by Archbishop Tutu

H has complained on occasion about people he’s dated that were bad kissers, so I sent him the link below, suggesting (jokingly) that he forward it along to the exes/dates in question.

http://www.chacha.com/gallery/5704/what-are-the-sexiest-ways-to-be-kissed

He replied with:

Funny how the list didn’t include:

– the closed-lip smush: with your mouth on complete lockdown, smush your face against the other person’s and then just fucking stand there for three full awkward minutes.

– the feeding goat: seize the other person’s bottom lip and chew on it, like a goat chews on vegetation; don’t forget to rapidly move your bottom jaw from left to right. disregard the look of horror on their face when you come up for air.

– the fly-catching lizard: trick the other person into thinking you’re going in for a French kiss, but then only stick your tongue out slightly and pull back rapidly; repeat twenty times in a row, until they don’t know what the hell is going on anymore.

– the sausage vendor: launch your entire tongue into the other person’s mouth and then don’t do anything; let it sit there like a fucking sausage, and see if they figure out what to do with it.

And I added:

– the slobbery dog: lick/slobber all over the other person’s face, instead of focusing on their mouth/lips, so much so that they need to towel off afterwards.

Feel free to add to this list… I’m sure there are other horrors out there…

(A related aside: I went out with a German the other day. He was a good kisser, thankfully. I don’t think I’ve ever kissed a German before).

Beware of Rabbit Holes

Alice in Wonderland, rabbit holes, rabbits

Having spent a considerable amount of time in (what I would call) several different rabbit holes over the past few years, I now sometimes wish that they came with warning labels. Things like:

— “You’re still in la la land.”

— “The way out is this way.”

— “Don’t forget to call your mom!”

— “That article isn’t going to write itself.”

— “That beautiful sparkly unicorn you want to ride? Well don’t try riding it out of here, it’s going to disappear from right under you; you’ll fall on your ass and it’s going to hurt.”

But life doesn’t come with warning labels, so neither should rabbit holes, I suppose. Besides, rabbit holes wouldn’t be as much fun if they actually came with warning signs, so instead, I’m going to post some for you here and will add to them as I think of more…. Continue reading

Interview with the (original) Vampire

jefferson currentWhen a caravan of us sex-party-going types were en route to a day at the beach last summer, my friend Ken started talking about who brought whom into the scene and how we all got to our first party. He referred to it as “who sired whom” (I love me a good vampire reference!) When we all told our individual stories, we saw that all roads led back to Jefferson—a friend of ours in the New York kink community who had started this particular string of parties some 10 years ago, before they moved to another friend’s lavish house in Bushwick.

He was the original vampire, who (figuratively or literally) bit the necks of other curious kinksters, exhibitionists and experience junkies that were interested in exploring their sexualities. Those newly anointed kindred of kink went on to beckon others into the scene, like my friend Andrew did when he invited me to one of his parties three years ago, after I had met him at Burning Man. The parties had moved to Andrew’s house from Jefferson’s at that point.

Jefferson, 49, often describes himself as having grown up a bisexual kid, suspicious of monogamy, who later gave up his sexual proclivities for the woman he loved. After 15 years of marriage and three children, his wife filed for divorce over a spat, at which point Jefferson returned to kink and began writing about it on One Life, Take Two, a sex blog, penned under the Jefferson pseudonym, that details his experience as a parent and pervert.

Between the blog, his bisexual tendencies, orgies, sex education classes, sexy story telling nights and various other BDSM-related endeavors, he might appear quite eclectic to the average person, but if you had met him some 10-15 years ago, you would’ve encountered a regular guy with a wife and three kids, who lived and worked in the suburbs, drove a Buick and led a fairly normal life. And unlike many other people on the BDSM scene, who are often proud to say that they threw their traditional lives away to pursue kink and sex exploration, Jefferson always admits that he didn’t want to get divorced and speaks of his marriage with a certain fondness… and… sadness, even. He was glad to have had the experience of a faithful husband and doting father, and is now on to the next act of his life.

His ex-wife later discovered his blog (it became popular quickly and was reviewed in a few mainstream publications at the time) and tried to sue him for sole custody of their children. But she lost the custody battle and, in frustration, outed Jefferson to his family (traditional folk from Birmingham, Alabama) They didn’t bat an eye. Jefferson once told this tale at one of his storytelling nights and said that when his parents found out, his father just said, “Well, I’m glad he’s having fun,” and his mother added, “I always knew Jefferson was a good writer.”

Although he has completely cut ties with his ex-wife, he still sees his kids often and is very involved in their lives. They are now 13, 16 and 19, and he has another 25-year-old daughter from a previous relationship.

After getting divorced at the age of 39, he was intent on avoiding committed relationships, though he has spent the last five years seriously dating his girlfriend, Kay, who is 21 years his junior. They still see other people and the relationship occasionally gets strained by their attachments to other partners, but they’ve managed to pull through so far. Jefferson says that even though he didn’t plan on a committed relationship, this one just happened to work well day in and day out.

In the ten years after his divorce, Jefferson has become something of a vamp of all trades. In addition to his professional experience in curating museums (including the opening of the Museum of Sex in New York) and writing art criticism, he hosts story telling shows (à la NPR’s The Moth, but based on topics of sex, desire and romance), teaches sex classes and participates in a variety of kink/BDSM events around the country. He recently began taking his Bare and Spill shows on the road to other cities (Boston, D.C., etc.) and I now often jokingly call him “kinkster on wheels.” Not too shabby, following a particularly gruesome divorce and a drawn-out public custody battle.

One of his mottos is: “If the scene you want doesn’t exist, it’s incumbent upon you to create it.” And so he keeps creating and re-creating his world as he sees fit at any given time. He often talks about hosting orgies the way he talks about curating an art show: you can’t overcrowd the space, like you can’t overcrowd a museum wall; all the right elements have to be in place, and they have to jibe with one another – they have to somehow connect. I recently picked his brain about his various ventures over oysters in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Here are some tidbits from that conversation.

Continue reading