Sunday, October 30, 2011

Urban Roguery: Six years of shameless decadence.


With this year's Halloween, I'm pleased to say that I've been enjoying sharing with you for six years now. Happy anniversary.

As some longterm readers know, this blog has gone through a few shifts and changes. Starting as a way for me to reconnect with my kinkself while involved with The Grrl, when that relationship ended it became a means for me to simply express and share and playfully record some of my experiences. Perhaps I was exploring some latent exhibitionism.

In time, the blog would also become a valve for me as a writer. Committing to it has enabled me to steer more attention toward my written work in general, and this in turn has led to some very nice successes in the last year. Being accepted into publication through Cleis Press was a big milestone for me, and the networking that I've been enjoying since then (hi Jon, Kendra, Meava, Rose Red and others) warms me deeply.

On these anniversaries, it's been my habit and pleasure to share a little update with you about some of the people you've been reading about. So here goes.


~ It frustrates me a little to say that while Ami and I remain excellent friends, we've hardly seen one another over the last two or so months, mostly because her work keeps her out of my area. As with several other partners, we live in different cities. She took me out to dinner for my birthday though, which was nice. Recent plans to meet over coffee didn't work out however, and part of me is concerned that we may drift apart, especially since the nature of relationship she seems to want is far closer to a friends-with-benefits thing than an affair. She doesn't respond passionately to saucy textmessages, and I try to not overthink that. Up until late this summer, I did do a lot of overthinking when it came to Ami.

But her two-year old nephew, who phones me to leave voicemail messages saying "I'm leaving you a message" totally cracks me up.


~ After more than a year since we'd last seen another, I ran into Molly at this year's Toronto Leather Pride event. She was with her new (open relationship) partner, a dapper young fellow with conservative looks despite the Satanism pendant that he wore. (Yeah.) We shared pints together and caught up on old times.

In the last year she's become quite the mover 'n shaker with one of this city's polyamory social networks, coordinating events and generally representing. Not long after seeing each other again, she literally invited herself over to my pad for dinner, and a... shall we say... very wet evening followed. The next day, we found ourselves attending an intimacy and communication workshop together that was really enjoyable.


~ The Tomboy is in a world of bliss, and she deserves every moment of it. She dropped the unemployed dude who was sucking the marrow out of her existence, traded him for a successful military history writer and consultant, and is totally gaga over her new Harley and the long roadtrips that she's been enjoying with it. She recently hosted a paintball competition for her son's birthday party, which I'm sad to say I had to miss. Similarly to Molly, she's become quite the mover 'n shaker in her region's kink community, also coordinating events and the like and making a nice name for herself.

We don't get to stay in touch as much as I would ideally like, but I think that's mostly because we're in different cities and have crazed lives. Still, I regard her as among my bestest friends now, and feel privileged to have her always-beaming, always-conspiring self in my world. She fucking rocks.


~ While Cupcakes and I reached a detente and decided that we could remain friends, to date we really haven't communicated much and have not acted on ideas to get together socially. For my part, my experience there either reminded or taught me about a few important things that I desire, and do not desire, in an affair or relationship, and I suppose that feeling is respectfully mutual. And that's ok.

Cupcakes reminded me, in a roundabout way, of the many differences between living an (honest) polyamorous life and living a (dishonest) monogamous one. She reminded me that its entirely different paradigms to, say, be open and straightforward about having or wanting multiple partners with whom love (not just sex) can be expressed freely and joyfully, and being involved monogamously with one person while having otherwise hidden partnerships from that person. She reminded me about the power of choice, and the repurcussions about choice. And she reminded me about the importance of integrity.

Still, Cupcakes desires, and deserves, happiness. My wish for her is that she can have it without someone else inadvertently being stung.


~ Diva began marketing sextoys as part of Athena's Home Novelties, and I can confidently attest that she's aptly skilled to do so. Back in the day, she did this when we were together with another company, Undercoverwear, hosting parties in our home.

She isn't single anymore, although I know nothing about her new partner. She was, however, recently in a nasty motorcycle accident that left her foot broken as the (drunk) driver who sideswiped her sped from the scene. The tough, kickass woman that she is, she managed to retain control of her bike and stop safely, despite the agony. Her bike was totaled, the driver remains uncaught, but she's alive and healing.


~ I ran into Dean at an open spiritual service, and many hugs followed. She's engaged to a mutual friend now, and I think this is awesome. She's also been increasingly more active in the northern Ontario kink community, which I also think is awesome. I'm really pleased that she's happy.


~ I'm somewhat chagrined about the way things seem to have been developing with Kara in recent months. In the last year, we had talked about the possibility of seeing one another for occasional kinkplay, but that idea would later get shot down. Talks about possibly meeting as-friends for dinner have yet to transpire into anything real, but that might just be because our schedules are so loopy. Maybe it's because she's with a new partner, maybe it's because I still owe her money from when she saved my ass during my still-too-recent year from hell, maybe it's because way back when she told me that she was the type to often end relationships quickly and firmly, but she seems to be drifting deeper and deeper into a non-communicative past. It does sting.

As a friend, I miss her. I miss her extraordinary kids. I finally, recently learned that I should stop textmessaging her to simply say that I miss her company because, well, she doesn't respond.


~ The Feline could be doing better. She continues to pursue her reiki work and animal activist interests, but she also keeps connecting with men who seem to value her only for her (admittedly, outstanding) oral skills and little more. Tragically, she lost two of her beloved cats in the last year, and that's affected her gravely. I worry about her.


~ Unexpectedly, I saw Morgan while working recently, and it was a treat. We talked about getting together "at our haunt" over a meal to catch up, though to date we haven't set up anything. I should amend this.


~ Ever true to form, my ex-wife Heidi remains a moral road accident. In the past, she worked hard to drive wedges between myself and some of our mutual friends and continues to lie to and leapfrog between the men in her life. I understand that she continues to battle her breast cancer, for which she continues to nevertheless have my support and encouragement, though I have no idea how or whether this has affected her pursuits as a boxer.

I continue to faintly hope that one day she'll wake up to the profound, lifelong damage she causes people and that we can begin again as friends with history. I'm not holding my breath though. To do that, she'd first have to find the courage to admit where she's gone wrong, own up to the nuclear fallout that that admission would bring to her, and grow the fuck up into an actual healthy human being. Meanwhile, whatthefuckever.


~ Several past partners have completely dropped off the face of the earth to me.

First and foremost: The Grrl has a whole new life, new cats, and as I understand it, a new partner whom she loves very much. She's back in an excellent and trendy part of the New Jersey/Pennsylvania region, where she continues to make art, pursue her reiki practice, connect with social justice and intentional community causes, attend hardcore concerts, and live life as best as her fibromyalgic limitations permit. She recently became an aunt. She was briefly hospitalized over the summer over a neck injury which required a brace, but she pulled through. She loves to travel, and sometimes I wonder if she ever passes through my area without my knowledge.

I miss her. I wish we could rebuild things to a better friendship, but it is what it is. It's stupid and it's sad.

Shayne, oh Shayne. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that I haven't seen her in more than two years now and how much of an impression my affair with her has left on me. Yet, despite once-upon-a-time protestations that it would never happen, she chose to burn the bridge toward just friendship. I continue to completely not comprehend, much less simply know, her reasons why.

To my knowledge, she's thoroughly happy, which I'm glad for. She and her once-new man are married now and her glorious son is about two years old by now, I think. She's developed a wonderfully beautiful Tumblr account dedicated to him, filled with supportive, nurturing, lesson-teaching messages and images for him to read and enjoy for when he's older. I suspect that she, with all of her charm and creativity and warmth and insightful spark, is an extraordinarily incredible mother. Knowing her as I do, I'd wish to have her as my mother, were I an infant again.

I miss being available to her for counsel and companionship. There was a time when I would have loved to have her and her husband as guests in my home.

I miss her. I wish we could rebuild things to a better friendship, but it is what it is. It's stupid and it's sad.


The Tornado is probably still skimming the surface of life, struggling with her issues, and I hope she gets the assistance that I truly believe she needs. I'm reminded of her when I use the French coffee press she left at my pad.

Little Ginger moved to Saskatchewan, where apparently she's found work connected with the local government. She's deleted the dating profile that I first encountered her through.

The Raven is still single and continues her work in coordinating an alternative school and is engaged in grassroots efforts to halt climate change.

The Valkyrie has been exploring some kink-related dating sites, but to my knowledge she remains single despite connecting with a Daddy Top at some point.



Some slightly-related updates:

~ In a bizarre way, Hannah has re-entered the periphery of my world after more than two years. It turns out that the number of mutual friends we have has been increasing exponentially over the last few weeks, and I saw her at a recent hot tub party hosted in the Ontario boonies over the summer.

Because there's been some unusual skittishness from her since we last saw one another (quite by happenstance on the street), I had already sent her a friendly, polite note to let her know that we might run into eachy other again, and that I intended to respect whatever boundaries she might have. (I had previously expressed my interest in possibly dating her again, you see, and she turned me down in a perfectly relaxed and cordial way.)

But throughout these past few years, I never completely understood what the problem was. For me, there remained an unexplained vacuum, something that clearly bugged her and even seemed to stand in the way of us being friends. It was just too weird for me to ignore it indefinitely, and if we were going to be rubbing elbows among mutual friends, I needed some semblance of mental closure. At a comfortable and opportune time during the party, I asked her what was what. It turns out that I apparently strongly remind her of another man who, for whatever reason I didn't dare ask, was a Bad Scene.

Ok, yeah, that disappoints me. I'm me, and as a person, I like her enough to desire friendship... but what can ya do.

We saw one another again within the last few days at a Halloween party. She was with a partner, a gentleman dressed nicely in Top fetwear. Her costume, a wood nymph, won first prize. She seemed a little more comfortable in my presence this time, actually responded favourably to a cordial Facebook friend-request, but I may continue to give her polite distance.


~ Remember how I've shared about the Women Downstairs? Serene has begun recreating herself with a hardcore weightloss regimen, and she's looking outstanding. Not too long ago, she stopped me to share that she recently enjoyed attending an all-lesbian bondage party where she was soundly fisted while hanging in a restraint swing. And all I wanted was to borrow a cup of sugar.

Lacey eventually moved from sharing space with her to another part of the house once things between her and her Airline Attendant became more serious. They married this year, they're ridiculously happy, and have begun growing tomatoes in the backyard. Replacing Lacey as Serene's housemate is the Elf, an incredibly lithe shorthaired blonde whom (I have on good authority) has a thing for big black cock.


~ And speaking of airline attendants, Tari and I briefly talked about the possibility of reconnecting if her job ever brought her to my area, but to date that hasn't occured. We remain close friends despite not having seen each other in years.


~ I never had the opportunity to date Rollergirl, and as far as I know, she eventually reconnected with Mr. Lucky, which is something she wanted all along anyway. In fact, despite the occasional correspondence through Facebook, we have yet to even actually, physically meet.


~ Life circumstances prevented me from coordinating a private spanking party event at my pad this past summer. But I'm determined.


~ I've mentioned at least two male friends on the blog.

Bodybuilder eventually forgave his wife for her unmonogamous infidelities and reconnected with her. He's been enjoying successes in his career field and seems to be happy.

Flute, mentioned in a recent post, has been dead now for perhaps three years. We had the kind of friendship that seemed to come into play whenever there was crisis in our lives concerning the women we loved, with the Fates directing us to one another when one or both of us was having a hard time. He seemed to know when I was stinging, and he'd call. I'd seem to know when he was stinging, and I'd call.

Then one day I got the sense he was stinging, and I didn't call. Life, maybe. Work, probably. I'll get around to it. In a minute.

And then I got word that he chose to end his life. It was over a woman. Again.


Halloween, called Samhain by some, is about a lot of things. For some people, it's about dressing the kids in Batman costumes and dishing out Reeses' Peanut Butter Cups. For others, it's about going to fetish balls and dressing to the nines. For still others, it's about reconnecting and remembering those we have loved who have taken a journey ahead of us.

Flute will be among those I'll be remembering this Halloween, this Samhain. He was a good, loving man and, like so many men who have trouble handling radical change in the face of lost and unrequited love, did not deserve the pain he had to work through and that led to his unfortunate choice.


Thanks for listening. And thanks for reading this blog.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Coming up for air.

I know. I know. Apart from some straightforward images (as enjoyable as they are) and public notebook quips (all conversations guaranteed overheard), I've hardly blogged at all lately.

But believe me when I tell you that that isn't because things have been quiet over here at Rogue Enterprises, International. Oh no, baby.

So I'm taking this brief moment to come up for air and share with you that these last two or three weeks have been extraordinary, and so far they're capping what became one of the most sensually outstanding summers I've enjoyed in a long time. God knows how long it's going to take me to share it all with you, but I'm going to enjoy trying.

I've already shared the most recent experiences with my amazing friend and occasional partner, the Tomboy, and when it was good over a few inspired days, with Cupcakes. I have yet the share the sordid, delicious details involving two surprises: a never-saw-it-coming re-meeting tryst with Molly again, and encountering a deliciously charming, cosmopolitan, and elegant former hippie, Rose Red, who came to me through (to my pleasant surprise) reading this blog. Glorious and extraordinary lovers, excellent people, all. Yum!

Also keeping me smiling is having encountered and begun enjoying the company of the people behind the Ontario branch of the Human Awareness Institute. Along with several other body-positive associations that you'll see listed on the "Sexual Wellbeing" column to the right, HAI has begun to deeply intrigue me. It isn't only very rarely that I choose to plug some organization or enterprise, but having begun experiencing what these people have to say has definitely raised my spirits.

Briefly, the Human Awareness Institute facilitates a series of workshops that, in my view, can be incredibly relevant for couples and singles of any preference who are looking to expand upon their relationship communication skills and individual self-awareness. I encountered them following an introductory workshop presented at a Unitarian Universalist church (not that HAI is religious in any way), and later participated in a weekend camping retreat event they've developed. As one who is drawn to sensual expression and relationships dynamics issues in general, it was a no-brainer for me to take a closer look at their platform and process, and I'm very pleased to have done so. Heartily recommended.

And then there are the more private hot tub and sauna parties that I've been enjoying lately with other new friends. Life is grand, sensually grand.

Do I sound boastful? Not trying to. Just enjoying Her gifts.

Through various people, I've been enjoying more discourse about subjects relevant to polyamory, and I suspect they'll make for excellent thought and reading here in due time. A few sexuality-related news items have been hitting the papers in my region that I also think deserve some attention.

Halloween is coming. There's a wide variety of sex-positive and fetish-related events happening here in Toronto, and I'm still deciding where I'll be. But one thing I know I'll be doing is making my 2011 blog anniversary post, where I enjoy sharing updates with you about the people you've been reading about over the last year.

But, in time, soon, there is someone else I would really enjoy introducing you to. She's a mid30s shorthaired actor who has to be among the most sensual and breathtaking creatures I have ever known, and she has me completely smitten.

And I may well be falling in real love again. Yeah.

Her name is Dorian.

Flirting for it.

The scene: She's a dusky blonde in 70s style torn jeans. She's boarding a streetcar, and she has a young mulatto boy in tow. He's a black dude who is passing by on the street. Both are in a hurry and going in opposite directions.


Blonde: Hey!

Dude: Oh, hey!

Blonde: Haven't seen you in a while!

Dude: (laughs) Uh, yeah.

Boy: Mommy, can we sit here?

Blonde: Wow, yeah, you should call me! Really... I miss it. You still have my number?

Dude: Hell yeah!

Blonde: Alright then!

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Hardware.

The scene: Another office break room. Renovations are underway in another part of the building. A female maintenance worker is seated at a table with her meal as a male carpenter walks nearby. He's carrying a cordless drill.


Maintenance Worker: (laughing) "Whoah, hey, that's a big fucking tool you got there, buddy!"

Carpenter: (stops in his tracks beside her) "Hmm... uh, yeah!"

Maintenance Worker: "I like the way you handle it."

Carpenter: (laughs) "And it goes forward and back!"

Maintenance Worker: "Ooo!"

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Panties and petroleum.

At the King Street border between the pretentious, yuppie, upstart Liberty Village and the historic, downtrodden, depressed Parkdale 'hoods of Toronto stands a high-walled, gated, ominous compound. It's the city's Road Operations and Transportation Services building, where the heavy machinery and working vehicles that maintain the city's streets are kept. Inside, boiler room dispatch offices respond to emergency calls regarding flooding, fallen trees, and other city problems.

My current work routine takes me past this building several times a day. And every single time, I'm reminded of the Grrl. It isn't just because the West Queen West pad that we shared is only a few blocks away; that happened later. It's because of the dark evening when we were inside that compound together and where I first saw her (mostly) bare body.

Flute was a friend of mine. A sometime handyman and fulltime freespirit, he played a charming First Nations flute when he wasn't helping someone put up drywall. He worked inside this compound at the time, handling dispatch calls to ferry emergency repair vehicles to Toronto homeowners who were freaking out over this thing or another. And he had access to city vehicles.

My situation was different then. I didn't own a car at the time. For reasons that escape me, I was unable to pick the Grrl up from the airport, and Flute was more than happy to offer me a ride with a van that he was using regularly. He and I had a bond about the women in our lives, and he was totally cool with helping me out when it came to Someone Important Coming To Visit.

It was the first time she had come to Canada, the first time we would be together. After our first meeting, we were touch-and-go for a while as she mediated matters with a previous partner. By the time we were planning her visit, she had left that boyfriend and I was excited to pieces about the all-clear signal.

I remember watching her stroll down the walkway at the airport. The roses I gave her. Our first, real kiss. Taking her and her luggage to That Van.

That Van was not exactly a chartered limousine. A bluecollar working vehicle, it was an awful shade of sky blue with countless scuffs and dents and marks and stains. The interior was packed with plumbing and electrical equipment, used rags, safety gear, hardhats. Flute was a smoker, so on the grimy dash was a mayhem of crushed Du Maurier boxes and snubbed filters along with the old Pepsi cans and dozens of torn road maps, fuel receipts, work orders, and the like. Both the seats and flooring were stained and worn. A side mirror was cracked. Rust bordered the double panel doors on the side. And throughout it all, the lingering, dense odor of old oil, gasoline, kerosine. It was a scent that was so deep that it almost had a texture, as if you could feel it entering into the pores on your face if you found yourself around it for too long.

Romantic, no?

I loaded the Grrl's luggage into a reasonably clean spot in the back, she found some acceptable space on the rear benchseat, and the three of us laughed as we pulled away from the airport.

She was hungry. I already planned on taking her to dinner, but as it turned out, traffic had kept Flute away from his duties longer than he had hoped. It became necessary for him to stop by the Road Operations compound for a short while. The Grrl smiled through the minor inconvenience. We decided to do dinner first, after this detour, and go back to my pad later.

It was growing dark. After we pulled into the compound, Flute secured a gate behind us and parked That Van in a small alley before he dashed into an office for almost an hour.

The Grrl and I relaxed, talked, passed the time. We kissed some more. I was feeling the first stirrings of what would become one of the deepest love affairs of my life.

Practical-minded, the Grrl asked me to fetch a few things from her luggage. Since we were doing dinner first, she decided to change clothes. Here and now. Then and there. In a dirty van that was parked in a narrow alley between two foreboding municipal buildings, on a stained and cruddy backbench. I fumbled a little in the twilight, but found and returned with some fresh pants and a very bohemian sweater.

Still seated, she smiled. Both of the van's center doors were wide open as I then watched her slowly remove the black Tshirt she was wearing to reveal a tight sportsbra. We talked, casually. She kept smiling. She removed her Doc Martens to lower the khaki camoflage pants she had on, leaning back into the seat as she reached for her belt buckle. She kept looking into my eyes, smiling as I listened to the clink of metal clasps, the zing of a lowering zipper. I smiled back as she raised her beautiful, broad ass from the dingy seat and started to wiggle the pants down her legs.

Her radiant, slate eyes. Her thighs. Black thong. Her facing me, her legs open as her knees were level to my eyes as she took the pants from my hand.

The mound between her thighs. The bulge and the faint hint of seam, barely made out in the dark.

She put on the pants. Flute would return shortly after.

Changing into dinner clothes on the stained seat of a workhorse van, and all the while beaming with a wide, toothy smile as she watched me watch her. That's the kind of woman she is, and why it became so easy for me to go crazy over her.

Later, I would learn all about that mound, that bulge, that seam. I would learn all about the way the Grrl's outer labia would flush several shades of red when she got excited, hot, wet, and how that labia would swell like two crescent-shaped pillows. I would learn all about the way the flesh of her cunt would resemble a short-stemmed tulip, as if the flower were simply laid upon her body, the petals ensconcing the tender clitoris that I would enslave myself to for the next several years.

I really miss giving her head. And how she would do me too.

The sex we shared that night was extraordinary. We simply kissed and caressed for longer than I could remember. We smoked some dope, listened to soothing yoga music, and entwined for hours upon hours. I relished in her joy to be taken in her ass, and loved how she moaned deeply as she had me, her eyes crushed tight and her teeth biting her lower lip as she felt my calves to her thighs while I slowly and deeply thrust. She would breathe deeply and groan when I would stop to lay still on top of her back. I remember the soothing, complete pleasure I felt to have my bodyweight on her, holding her, my legs snaked around hers, my fingers massaging her scalp through her short, auburn hair as her opened sphincter gripped the very root of me tightly, snugly, warmly when I filled her with my total all.

Between wine and cannabis and sensuality and beauty, we didn't simply "see God." We became God. Kali and Shiva.

And it began with that moment of seeing her bare legs, her thigh, her underwear in that most unsexy of places. That unsexiest of places that, of late, I pass every day, several times a day.

Wow. That was at least seven or eight years ago.

Yeah. I miss her. Still.