Hi, Dan Savage

Dear Dan,

I've been an admirer of yours since I discovered that the AV Club carried your column, back, let's say, early aughts. I was younger and more of a newbie into what I desired back then, and while I was titillated by the questions you answered, I equally appreciated the safe and sane and OPEN answers you gave to so many questions.

I bought your books. I recommended them to others, in the hope that more people would recognize what I saw in you, that there is value to every person, despite his kink, her desire, their compatibility. You opened my eyes and I wanted all eyes open.

(Can you imagine the conversations I had to have with my Reagan-era-Republican mother about gay marriage and adoption - you probably can - and more recently, the long conversations I've had to have with an aunt who truly didn't understand why straight men find two women kissing hot?) I carried you on my sword and your published resources as a guide, and I tried to listen, be open, and in turn, perhaps ask others to consider a more forgiving existence.

But I saw you introduce Hump in 2010, and things started to change. I heard your jokes about waist/body size. And now I see the cracks in your armor a bit more, as evidenced by this. I know that it's easier to make fun of the rounder people. It's an obvious flaw, out in the open, causing everyone else to move just a bit more aside for the benefit of another. It's a sigh, a look, a comment - hell, it's the energy on which YouTube feeds itself!

Has it occurred to you, though, that maybe, just maybe (and this is my theory) that excess weight is pain carried on the outside? I would certainly think so, as I think you to be an intelligent, well-read man. So would you read a little more, please, for people who hurt in ways that don't yet have words, for those trying to reform but for whom the gaping maw still hungers? Would you consider that maybe the fat joke is the equivalent joke to slurs from the past?

Maybe just consider that being overweight isn't a character flaw. Y'know, like finding your own path isn't.

An Email From Beyond

You know that myHim and I have known each other for over twenty years, right? Well, thanks to the glory of Yahoo mail, I recently found an email exchange between us from 2000. Here's how we sound when we speak (as we both write the way we speak):

Bonus points if you can rapidly figure out who's who:

From: me
To: myHim
Sent: Sunday, June 25, 2000 4:21 PM
Subject: (Not really) rocking the casbah


> You know, you surely could have picked a month ago to decide that you needed my attention. I searched high and low for you for the 4 days o'decadence I had there. Figured you might show up at some of the hot spots, but apparently I've no idea what they are now. Damn! Ah, well, que sera, sera.

How was the trip? There are a few cool places to go. East [location redacted] is
the hepcat new spot in town. It's kind of like L5P, but not so commercial
and, I hate to say it, Generation Y. Lots of cool food and drink, and a
couple of music halls.

> So, leaving us, eh? But the question remains, will you still call me when your heart's broken? I'd miss those random calls if they stopped coming. I am sorry to hear about you and [name redacted], but it seems you're handling it well (or you're a heck of a liar).

I've always taken pride in my innate lying skills. I have good days and
bad days. Remember, if only she hadn't been 15 years older, it might have
been wildly different. Of course, that wasn't the only reason. She has a
house and kids here, I wanted to move, I also want my own chilluns
someday...I'll probably stick to emailing you when my heart's broken; if
(when) I get this job out west it's going to be super-expensive.

> Why SanFran? It's expensive there and so many damn people that I'll be surprised if you resist the Uzi urge. Of course, I'm always invited, right? You'll need the alibi.

You are welcome anytime. Why SF? I know two people there (my Los
Angeles connection bombed out), earthquakes, and freaks, freaks, freaks. You
would be surprised how dot-com conservative [location redacted] is. And yeah, that's my term. Feel free to use it everywhere you see Dockers and Martha Stewart. Don't get me wrong, I love the old Nazi decorator, but her fans-yeesh!!

> So, are you victor now, or has mp3.com not updated info on the band? I'm listening to it now as I write. You don't mind the "She's only 17" giggle, do you? I'm afraid I can't resist. Who's [part of terrible band name redacted], anyway? Am I ill-read? Probably. All I read now are emails from irate customers. I love my job. Jealous?

Victor is gone, and they just don't update. [Name redacted] is the lead singer's
wife (yowp!) Ill-read? I'm not sure. I've been getting dumber lately, and am
just now trying to turn it around...

> So what are these interviews for? I mean, aside from CEO, of course. I'm sure you've got many takers for your ingenious creativity. I mean, they've got your resume, right? So they know you're a master of word games.

Mostly just layout and design stuff using Illustrator, Freehand, and
Photoshop. I would rather be a rock star (think Peter Gabriel meets Butthole
Surfers or Janes Addiction), but the computer pays the bills. All hail King
Computer!! As an aside, you know, I really wanted the whole Y2K bug to hit
fairly hard. Or at least, have all the power go out for about five seconds.
Think of the dry cleaning bill!

> I can't resist--tragical? Please tell me there's a drug-induced tale behind that one. At least it's an excuse to whip out the old buckled creepers and mousse that you've been hiding for years. (Yes, that was me, peeking through the window that night.)

It was SUPPOSED to be a play on the Beatles' "Magical Mystery Tour"; try the "Tragical Misery Tour" on for size! But instead, I sound like I'm in high school. And the last pair of boots I bought have buckles to the knees, thank you very much!

> So I suppose I ought to fill you in on me. Since I haven't seen you in a year......{Name redacted] and I split up in December and are now on the slow, incredibly painful route to getting back together. I've never done well playing by someone else's rules, but I'm doing my best now. I've got to if I want him. Hopefully this won't be an eternal thing and I'll end up some fat housewife in a muumuu picking up dust bunnies so I don't get beat again.

Beat by love? Beat by [name redacted]? Kinky beatings or abusive? There is a
world of difference, let me tell you.

> Work's good, I guess. There's a lot going on there so I'm pretty lame now. I've got a conference to put together, with pretty much no help. Still, if it works, I smell a raise! And, dream of dreams, my own place. [My college roommate] still wants me to live with her but I so badly want something of my own.

Do I know [my college roommate]? Is that the girl [name redacted] used to date? Have I slept with her??? Just kidding (I think).

> Well, o ye of the steady beat, I shall wander off now and try to find another way to debase myself for his pleasure.

MMMmmmm...debasement. Actually one of the issues that [name redacted] and I had
trouble with. I'll fill you in sometime when you're feeling filthy.

> Fight the power!

I'd rather usurp and BECOME the power!
Luv and shit-
myHim
p.s. Write back; there are a few [location redacted] I would rather not lose touch
with...

Fantasies

Here are things I've been using as source material for stories, games for myHim and me to play, and masturbation:

- Me as a pleasure goddess, chained to a ceiling and worshiped by followers, all who lavish attention on my breasts and nipples, and fight over who can use their fingers on my clitoris first. For as the giver of the pleasure, I must be the first to experience it so the others can as well.

- An interrogation room, where I am unaware of the two-way mirror, being beaten into confessing something, anything, yet the goal of the questioning is not to provide answers, but to demonstration the limits of my body to those watching the encounter.

- A gang bang, where I am of use solely for the holes I can provide. I am nothing to these people, yet painfully abused, because myHim likes me that way.

I miss writing.

New Limits

There have been so many things I've asked for, and so few that we've actually done, because he knows me better than I know me.

Until this weekend.

Now that the medications have left myHim's system, he's back to being the lively, alive, dirty, dirty man that I remember and have wanted.

One day, I might tell you about the months of tears, arguments, and sadness that accompany sex drives that are not on the same page. That being said, I'm sure that many of the advice columnists out there have answered questions regarding the problem. That being said, no offense to those columnists, but were it so easy when love (and finances) are involved.

I've always said that I gave up my ability to say, "No", with myHim, and that still stands. He's more careful about such things in general because the repercussions are so much harsher for him, and I can only imagine the recriminations I've receive.

So.

The other night I openly begged to be slapped, because I love the feeling, and generally he does it with one hand cradling my jaw and the other applying the pressure. Something must have come over him that night because he slapped me so hard, numerous times, that my jaw hurt the next day. I now have hand prints on my left cheek and have been fortunate that I can stay home while I heal. It's strange to see myself with marks so visible. The prints on my lower cheek. The bruise along the bottom of my lip. The mark above my eye. I loved every minute of the pain, and I do love wearing his marks.

Still...I'm reminded of a past relationship where there was much unconsentual violence, and I wonder if I am one of those who tries to work through trauma by re-creating it with some control. I don't think so, intellectually speaking. This was years ago; I had it out with this partner, and I've worked in DV shelters which helped me really understand the psychology and cyclical nature of that kind of control. But how can I not wonder? Will more of experimenting with the kinds of love that I crave quiet that voice?

Cheating

Let's have a chat, shall we? I have such a way of ignoring you, of not deciding to share...true. Yet I hope you'll lend an ear/eye to this.

Today is my general lazy, self-indulgent day. If you don't have such a day, I highly recommend that you find you one. You deserve it, and fuck the world, it'll be there another day, just like every single Monday finds a way to raise its sun and your eyes.

Regardless.

Wandering through TV, I found something on the OWN network about cheating. OK, fine, whatever, until it turned into an episode featuring people with whom I went to college.

Now shit's real.

I watched, tried not to judge, failed, and landed solely on the side of the wife. Yes, I knew her and not her husband; yes, it's Oprah's channel so who do you think is going to pay; and yes, it's a thirty-minute once-over featuring inappropriate shots of husband and mistress over a sound board.

Charming to see, I'm sure, for the wife.

Surrender

MyHim hurts me. You know that, right? He's rarely emotionally violent, and only physically violent when I ask for it and when he feels it's a good time.

He's actually more grown up than I about such things. I expect punishment for a myriad of my actions, but when I ask, he tells me that he will never hurt me because he's upset. Only because of the situation.

You know that I have scars from myHim? That he's run a Wartenburg wheel over me until I bled? That I have teeth marks on my ribcage from a bite? This last time, he did soft tissue damage to my shoulder. Once he was done, he asked me how I handle the pain.

Here's how I handle the pain: It hurts like fire, like I don't know what, until the endorphins kick in, and then I can relax and let it go. Even when the pain continues, the body protects itself. And I relax. And I surrender, because that's the moment I've waited for. I can breathe through the pain (and ohgod it hurts) because the surrender is there. Peace.

All my life I fight. In those moments, I don't.

My Name is Inapprop

If you look at this site at all, you might have noticed that I've taken a hiatus from writing. Even longer than the last hiatus. I hope you'll indulge me for a few minutes and let me explain.

Just about everything I've written on this site is autobiographical. Not everything (but I'm hoping those posts were prophesy and not fantasy) is true, but most is. After a while, I began to run out of things to say. You may know that myHim lives far from me (for now), so there really is a limit on what I have to say. Also, it took me years to realize what I really wanted in a satisfying sex life, so older stories wouldn't have the same type of appeal. There's a reason why erotica gets extreme, right? Otherwise, we'd all spend our lives reading bodice-rippers and wondering if that's all there is.

To add to this, myHim and I have been struggling with how much of our life I keep private and how much I tell the world. Admittedly, I have a limited audience, but he is exceedingly private and isn't entirely comfortable with any sort of social media or web publishing. I want to respect his wishes as much as I want to share, so sometimes I stay quiet.

You should probably know about this exchange:
In the middle of a perfectly normal conversation one Friday night a few months ago, apropos of nothing, he yells, "ARE YOU FUCKING ANYONE ELSE?" "No," I answer. "Are you?"

That was pretty much the end of what is generally considered an open relationship. Now all games and others are confined within us, although we're always looking for willing partners.

So I plan to move this site in a slightly different direction. I will tell you the prurient details of some really fun, mind-expanding, and certainly painful sexual encounters, but I will also write of my life with myHim and separately, my own life. There are many changes coming, pretty rapidly, and I've got a lot to figure out.

I hope you'll join me.