Pardon me as I go wash the sheets.

There's a wide variety of tea in the kitchen, and I just brought in some croissants from this excellent patisserie on Queen Street. Please, by all means, help yourself. And don't let the cats bother you... neither of them bite. Relax, make yourself at home.

But I'm going to take a little hiatus now, and this may be just as well since posts have been irregular at best. Other writing projects are demanding my attention and I may be rethinking the entire approach to this naughty blog as well.

I enjoy hearing from you. Feel free to email me to share your thoughts, let me know how you're doing, what you've been enjoying in your visits here. But it's time for this blog to take a breather until at least into the new year.

Kisses.

Thanks, Mac.

Hey. Remember me?

Yeah, I've been wondering where I've been too.

Truth is, it's been tough to keep the blog updated lately, partially because I have yet to replace my home puter. But here's just a little heads-up to share that that may be amended very soon now.

Stay tuned!

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.

Just a friendly note to the spammers.

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.

Talkin' dirty.

Lately, I've been thoroughly enjoying actually meeting some of you who read this blog. It's been a delicious, surreal treat.

Why delicious? Well, at least one of you makes these awesome breakfast treats out of your trendy bakery.

Why surreal? Well, it's an interesting experience to be shaking hands with someone, just meeting for the first time, and knowing that this other person's head may be swimming about everything you've written about, oh, you know, getting your cock sucked.

And the thought that maybe, just maybe, they got off on it as they relaxed at their computer. Or that it inspired something scandalous with their partner that same evening. Mmm.

But attending last evening's first gathering of the Toronto Erotica Writers/Readers Meetup broke new ground for me. In addition to schmoozing with accomplished local eroticists like Myna Wallin and D.C. McMillen, it felt like coming home again when I read some recent work before the microphone. In another life, I used to produce a radio broadcast and did some professional storytelling, so felt like all the planets were nicely aligned again.

Part of the purpose behind this blog was to keep my writing machine oiled. It's time to move forward and to expand into other modes of publishing and expression.

Thank you, Kara for pushing me toward Cleis last year. I owe you. Thank you, Ami, for just occasionally asking me 'how all the writing is going.' Thank you, Cupcakes, as a matter of fact, for, in a bizarre way, teaching me more about the difference between writing from the heart and simply "airing dirty laundry." And thank you, Rose Red and Kerdra and Maeva for becoming the supportive and intelligent new friends that you are.

Enjoying the blog?

Then nominate Urban Roguery
as among the Sexiest Blogs of 2011!

Tabletalk.

Hey. Good to see you. Come on in.

I'm just out on the deck here, at the barbecue. Gorgeous night, huh?

There's beer in the fridge, but help yourself to the bottle on the counter. Glasses are in the cabinet there. It's a really robust 2009 Tilia Malbec. Argentina. The new girlfriend picked it out for dinner last night, and I'm turned on by it.

You want cheese on your burger? Cheddar or provolone?

The new girlfriend?

Yeah. No, I haven't written about her yet, but she's fucking cool. And the really ironic part? She's mulâtresse. Actually, she dislikes that word and identifies as black, although I have to admit that the biracial thing is hot for me. And it blows my mind since it was just a short while ago that I was yearning at the stars, Aphrodite, for a black lover again. It's been since Pamela.

Those smell good. ...Hey, about your last post. Can I ask you something?

Go for it. Yeah, they do.

Alright, like, I know it's just a blog and all, but really, what were you thinking? I mean, you were pretty harsh there.

Mm. I love it when the flame embraces the meat like that, you know? Won't be long now. Yeah, I've been thinking about that, actually. Over the last day or two, I've had some interesting responses to it on the blog, in my personal email box, and even on FetLife. They run the spectrum.

Not everyone who reads the blog might be in the know as far as kink ideas are concerned. You said before that most of your readers seem to be women, and if someone found your blog for the first time and read that post, dude, you'd probably come off... well...

As an arrogant, misogynistic jerk airing personal dirty laundry in a public forum?

Well, kinda, yeah. They look done. You gonna toast the buns?

Already did. Yeah, that occured to me. But I'm hoping the context comes through.

Context?

Here you go. More wine? Just nudge her off of your seat there, she won't bite. Whoah, these look awesome.

Hell yeah.

So, yeah. I realize that that post was pretty volatile, but I was trying to make some important points. Normally, no, I wouldn't use the blog as a platform to target someone on some nasty personal level. I mean, sure, I've made the occasional snippy remark about my ex-wife, but even that's extremely rare and brief, and always, I hope, reflecting a bigger picture. And I've earned it. But to cite someone broadly like that? Not something I'd normally do.

So why do it to Little Ginger?

Well, for one thing, she kinda walked right into it. I mean, I was already wanting to draft some posts with my thoughts about the power dynamics behind topping anyway, but when she started targeting me with this weird nonsense, it just seemed like the perfect springboard to make an example with. I can be a little snarky anyway, but the writer in me just saw this delicious opportunity to use her actions as backdrop to illustrate that, for one thing, respecting Tops and Dominants is a pretty paramount feature to power exchange play. At least in my view. For me, the post really had less to do with her than it had to do with making that point. She became the perfect example of what not to do, and I ran with it. And it's not like she's going to be hurt by the post anyway, since, duh, her moniker is a pseudonym.

But don't you think a certain amount of detachment would have made a stronger point? Could I have the steak sauce? Christ, these burgers are great.

A friend actually suggested that very thing to me, and yeah, after more thought, I think maybe that's true. Being more objective does add to a strong argument, I agree. But, you know, at the same time... well, it's not like she didn't deserve some kind of punishment too, you know? It wasn't the main intent, no, but it's not like it was entirely accidental, either. Just not as much as perhaps some readers might have thought. Especially those who emailed me to say that I'm an ass.

Maybe some of those people were offended because they're SAMs too.

Sure, maybe. And SAMs generally dislike it when the jig is up for them and they've been called on their shit.

So, do you think then that any bratty sub is a SAM?

Oh, hell no. SAMs aren't just brats: they actively ruin a playsession or a scene because they're deliberately manipulative and personally hurtful. A bratty sub might totally enjoy whimpering and refusing to comply with instructions or do other things to play up the role, and I can easily see how a Top in that playspace could have scads of fun with it. But even in that kind of scene, it's still about the bratty sub's submission, eventually anyway, to the Top's playful "wrath." Being naughty to acquire "punishment" can be awesome fun. But SAMs are much more destructive: they say and do things that deliberately, consciously attempt to incite a Dominant into stronger and stronger retributive responses, and they'll do it with chiding, shaming, disrespectful remarks and taunts. That's just hurtful and sexually impolite. It would be like a man saying something shaming to his BBW partner about her bodytype when in the very middle of deep lovemaking, or a woman making a rude comment about her man's cock size in the same situation. It's just not something good, healthy, caring lovers would do. SAMs deflect their own inner demons by playing this you-can't-catch-me mindgame which is inherently unwinnable by a reactionary Dominant.

Why so?

Because it ruins the sense of power exchange. There is no power exchange: it becomes a battle of wills. A reactionary Dominant feels the need to stand ground, and so the matter just gets bigger and bigger. And most importantly, it becomes unfun.

At least for the Top. Is that like "topping from the bottom"?

Can be, I think.

So, what "context" was that last post written from? Or are you really an arrogant, misogynistic jerk?

I think the blog demonstrates pretty clearly that I'm anything but. Then again, that post...

Oh, c'mon. "Cuntswipe?"

Ha! Yeah, I have no idea where that came from. Not a word I've ever used before. Although, the new girlfriend I mentioned did tell me that she thought that was hysterical. But remember: that post was written in the context of a pissed-off Top actively in scene mode. I tried to indicate that by noting how my approach to Ginger changed when I figured her SAMmishness, and when I included the now-we're-in-scene warning label. I think I may write a post or two to help clarify things as well. Oh, hell, we're almost out of wine.

And the real violence you mentioned? You said your past BDSM mentors would wipe the walls with her, and that physical assaults could have happened.

I like to believe that the vasy majority of kinksters in the world are safe, sane, consensual-minded people, and I certainly count myself as among them. No, I certainly don't condone something like genuine physical assault. But, the fact of the matter is, SAMs push buttons on some people and sometimes, unfortunately, unpleasant results can and could happen. Now, that doesn't mean it's right or healthy or advisable or good, but it's one reason why fetish educator Laura Goodwin has even suggested that mortal injury can be a risk factor in those circumstances. Tops protect their territory; it's part of the whole point.

Have I witnessed genuine violence in such a situation? Yes. I've seen people slapped, backhanded, when something Really Ugly happened during a playparty or in a fetish club. People can be dramatic sometimes. People don't always think clearly.

I think it's important to remember that power exchange play, dominance and submission play, is about roles. Masks. It's supposed to be a game, like a grown-up version of "Cowboys And Indians" or "Cops And Robbers" or some sexually kinkified version of "House." Oh, it can get deeply serious, but there's something to be said, I think, relating those childhood roleplay scenarios to the naughty adult potentials.

So that also means that the game can, and often has, definite start and endpoints. Me, I'm a big stickler for ritual and protocol and symbols, so I use real and concrete ways to illustrate the parameters of a scene. It might be the gear I'm wearing: if that leather band is still on my left wrist, I'm still in Top mode, and if that collar is still around your pretty neck, we're still Playing. It might be a handsome candle that's burning: as long as it hasn't been blown out, the game continues. That sort of imagery allows players to sink deeply, and safely, into the skewed-but-scandalously-fun role dynamics happening during the scene. It also means that when the scene is over, we're equal partners again.

But it's all about roles, personas, roleplay. And people choose their roles, and how deeply or consistently they want to take them, based on their fantasies and experiences and what they want to achieve and/or release through the process. It's kind of like ancient ritual theater in that way; it's cthonic.

And that's also why there's a sense, at least a subtle one, of violence to Topping. In life, certainly no, I'd never dream of laying a hand on anyone. Well, not usually anyway. But to some extent, can't it be argued that a fundamental part of the mythology behind this whole Topping thing is the image, the hint, the whisper of a chance that he or she could fuck you up? Isn't that part of the playful element of danger to it all? And, for that matter, wouldn't any self-respecting Top possess some amount of arrogance? Now, that doesn't mean that I really believe that women can or should be threatened or treated with sexist disrespect... but it might mean that, during a pre-negotiated, limited, consensual, limits-respecting scene between trusting partners who know what they are doing is a game, a roleplay, yeah, I just might call you some nasty name when you've "transgressed" and "require punishment."

So, are you saying that taking on any role means you're basically faking it?

No, I don't think so. It depends and what you want out of it, no? Sometimes people wear one role because their daily lives are so entrenched with its opposite: the submissive male who, during the day, is a barking corporate CEO for example, and who seeks release from the stress of responsibility. Or, the other way around, someone with real authority in the daily lives who enjoys that authority so much that they carry it into their sexplay. And then, there are people for whom the roles are entirely and happily fluid, and can wield a riding crop just as quickly and easily as receive the strokes of one. Those sorts of kinksters, it seems to me, are more interested in the shared physical sensations of the toys than in delving into the theatric psychodrama of the power exchanging. But that's just me. In any event, it's all good.

What about 24/7 kinksters? And Ginger's remark about "true Doms"?

For me, trying to be in Topspace 24/7 would be a huge amount of work. Besides, I adore knowing that my intimate partners are, in daily life, my equals: I expect her to have her own pursuits, goals, and interests outside of me. I think doing extended play over a few days would be a blast, but then there are times when I don't feel like making all the decisions too. And, again, that's me.

And this whole "true Dom" stuff is, as far as I'm concerned, hurtful, splitting nonsense. I'm certain that even the haughtiest, slickest, most deliciously ominous professional dominatrix with a walk-in closet full of PVC and leatherwear has her days when she just wants to kick back and catch Sex In The City reruns over a tub of ice cream.

Ooo ice cream. Have any for dessert?

Wanna fuck, eh?

Very nice of the people at SexLife Canada to do a feature profile of yours truly on a recent edition of their site. SLC is an excellent resource for sex-positive news, reviews, information, entertainment and the like that I'm sure you'd enjoy slipping under the covers with.

Love letters from Hell.

Where do I begin?

I've been ruminating on how to proceed with this post for some weeks now. I've asked myself if it was worth writing about This at all, whether or not I just wanted to Let It Slide and Leave It Be and pick up the reins of this blog from the here, the now, the this moment. After all, This isn't entirely hot 'n sexy reading material, so is it counterproductive to include This in the blog?

No, I've reasoned. Because it's sexual elements are present, they've affected me some, and more to the point, it's truthful. In addition to everything else, this blog has been and is about the truthful. And, very probably, I want this off my chest before I keep going with whatever future post I choose to share here. The earth sign in me, the writer in me, just won't let all This get ignored.

Fine, then.

My world fell apart around this time last year, and longtime readers of the blog would certainly have noticed how things around here became really inconsistent. Preplanned photo essays keep some momentum going (I hope), but beyond that, all of my energies had to be devoted elsewhere for a time. I remarked on it all recently, but even that hasn't satisfied the need in my chest to expunge all this by writing about it. So consider this post an act of exorcism, if you will.

I have never discussed the nature of my real-life employment on this blog. Suffice to say that the work I do is very intense, and often can be an unhealthy psychological environment. This time last year, and for various reasons that are entirely off-topic for a sexblog, I found myself taking my employer to court. I did recently win my case, but in the interim between late spring 2010 and late spring 2011, all of my foundations were, shall we say, compromised.

As one might imagine, being suddenly without as-secure work and dealing with its major impact on finances and stability can have a pretty debilitating effect on one's dating life. I did try to stay optimistic. Fortunately for me, I'm a stubbornly adapt-and-overcome kind of guy, and I did find new and creative ways to keep my personal infrastructure going, but that doesn't mean that the radical change in economics didn't cause it's own fallout.

Kara simply couldn't handle it, and it contributed to that breakup. We've remained friends, and while she did confess to me over a just-friends dinner at my place that she missed my own sexual vibe and potentially wanted to be occasional kinkplay partners, as time progresses that looks less and less likely. I'm disappointed, sure, but I'm at peace with this, and completely support the fact that she's with another partner now who (so far) seems to be making her very happy. Kara deserves happy. But from a blog-worthy perspective, that break seemed to mark a weird downward spiral in my dating world between last spring and this one.

Yes, I've already shared with you how I reconnected twice with the Tomboy during this interim, and how awesome its first time was. (Nothing happened during her second visit.) We also continue to remain friends, and while we only rarely get to see one another and she too is with a new partner (fucking goodbye, Mr. Unemployed Yoga Instructor), it seems pretty clear that maintaining a fuckbuddyship is something she's definitely into. I like that.

But there were two other partners whom the Fates decided to steer in my direction during this hellacious time between this spring and last, and now I've resigned myself to share their stories. But don't expect to be getting off on this, because in their own unusual ways, both also seemed to contribute to, rather than alleviate much of, the Issues of last year.



The Tornado


It was some months or so after Kara's departure before I had the desire (or finances) to enjoy a date again. But when it came, it came in the incarnation of an elusive, blonde early30s artist who, in the ridiculously short span of perhaps three weeks, completely shook my foundations. Not entirely in the best of ways.

That she got completely hammered during our first date should have been my warning. But did I listen? Nah. No, I was just happy to be fucking out again and to be introduced to what I thought was a joyful bohemian's world. She had trekked through France, tented throughout Canada (where her last partner dumped her), worked occasionally for art galleries, had owned (and tanked) her own studio. She introduced me to superb cheeses I had never heard of before. She entered my brain, and in the spiraling nonsense of my then-situation, she began to seduce me with visions of life as a blissful, neo-Communist poverty with spirit catchers and roadside guitars and plenty of wine to be had.

I went down on her. I fucked her. For a teeny, short moment as I continued to endure my righteous fight against my evil employer and made ends meet by returning to backbreaking construction work, I almost very seriously started to consider selling the last of my possessions and taking off with her to Europe. After all, as Chuck Palahniuk once wrote, "it's not until you've lost everything that you're free to do anything."

Dates always ended at my pad. Sure, fine, that's great. But my second warning should have come when, for one reason or another, she never seemed to want to have dinner in her area of town, or meet up at her place. Hrm. And then she lost that place.

Sure, ok, come on over, you can stay here for awhile, no problem. You say you have a new job at another local art gallery? Hey, that's great. You want to offer what per month, you say? Sure, yeah, right now that little extra cash would be very welcome, yes.

And then, dear reader, all it took was one night. One night. One night before I realized that depth of the mistake I had been making. One night before it became clear that I was being hoodwinked. I had already been asking myself if her constantly-changing stories about her past, her family, her sources of income, her goals, her plans were all as on-the-level as I expected/assumed/trusted (and why wouldn't I?) them to be. But no. As it turned out, whom I thought was the epitome of freespiritedness turned out to be an lying, alcoholic manipulator. (That became evident when she was caught trying to open a bottle of wine that I've kept in storage to age and had already asked her to not drink. All of the other bottles of tastiness had been sucked back by then, you see, and she wanted more.)

Yes. I threw her out. No. It wasn't easy. Yes. I made sure she had somewhere to go to. She was fine. Me, I was embarrassed at myself and learned something valuable.

If I've chosen you, I'll support you, I'll help you out, and sometimes I'll tolerate a lot of nonsense before I speak up. But don't fucking lie to me.

Ever.

Our lives have since moved on. We are not in touch now. I bear no maliciousness toward her, wish her all the safety and tasty cheese in the world, but I'm enjoying not being in touch.


The Feline


Time passed. The Tornado and I did email a little before the ebbs and flows of things eroded the last echoes of contact we had. Eventually, I went back to the drawing board and, despite my continuing legal fight and its impacts, tried to find ways to reserve a few bucks to at least attempt to be social.

At first, I couldn't take the Feline at all seriously. I'm not saying that she sounded too-good-to-be-true, but unlike so many single men who use dating sites, I like to think that I'm sophisticated enough to know that, dude, no, women are not going to toss themselves at you right after a few emails.

Right?

(In writing this, I should make this caveat to the other single dudes out there: really, man, don't expect this to happen. You'll just look like an ass if you assume otherwise.)

Yeah. The Feline tossed herself at me right after a few emails. And phone calls. And textmessages. And our first "date" was me going to her bachelor (that a "studio" to you Americans) apartment. So she could suck my cock.

Yeah.

Reckless, crazy, unsafe, unwise. I know it, you dudes know it, every woman reading this really knows it. And yes, I'm a trustworthy person (I hope), so I'm sure that contributed to her complete sense of ease, and I'm respectful of it and glad for it... but, you know, still.

She's a petite, tattooed, mid30s holistic health practitioner with an even bigger penchant for cats than I have. We talked, laughed, realized that we share a lot of the same spiritual common ground. She found herself asking my counsel on a few topics, and we discussed. From the cluttered coffeetable, she produced a handful of pre-rolled joints, and soon I was basking in a very welcome haze of numbness and blissful misjudgment.

She quickly confessed to having a blowjob fetish, and it wasn't long at all before she was at my pants and moaning quietly as her wet mouth slurped and milked my cock. I was not unhappy. No. Not at all.

Nor was I turned off when she shared how she regularly blew at least one black partner who dropped by from time to time. And works at the same place I was taking to court.

(Yeah. I had visions of her mouth on black cock. And I liked it.)

But, dammit. Call it my own nerves at the time. Call it the weed. Call it the fact that, despite it being absolutely true that petite women are my first preference in a partner's bodytype (yup, miss ya, Kara), the Feline's petiteness was extreme enough that I was actually getting frightened for her. Does she eat? Holy Ravensbruck, Batman. But, in the end, despite her intensity and zeal and the deliciously serendipitous moment of getting blown like this, my body simply wasn't going to let me cum.

And we did hook up one other time afterward. I think I was giving it another shot to see if I was as wierded out as I was afraid I was. And, yeah.

You see, I can't really "use" a partner. As a bdsm fantasy play, totally yes... but then, we both know we're enjoying the element of use&abuse in a safe, sane, consensual setting. But there was just something about the Feline's condition, both physically and the relative squalidness of her space, that just made me want to stop giving her cock and start giving her vitamins and emotional support for... who knows what.

(Yeah, I can hear some of you guys. Shuttup.)

And that's where we are now: friends. And I like it that way.

(But, ok, sure, if she gains some healthy muscle and healthy opportunities and healthy wellbeing and then still wants some healthy cockage, we'll see...)

I need it to feel healthy, yo. That's just me.




Happily to say, my own circumstances has since vastly improved. As I noted, I won my case against my employer, and in the last month or so I strongly feel back on track with my own goals and the power to have them. This is good.

And now that I've written all This, I feel as though I can progress with this blog without having unspoken truths weighing on me. Yay.

Toward the latter several weeks of my 2010-2011 hell, I met Ami. We don't exactly have what I would call a complete "partnership," but what we do have is a really aware, occasionally-sexual growing friendship. Despite being in her mid30s, she constantly has me thinking that she's ten years younger, and that's both in her energy and in her sexual experience.

But all that is another topic.

I swear.

Yes, I will be upgrading the blog soon. It's just been that busy, and it's still challenging to be a reasonably responsible blogger without having consistent puter access.

Can you tell what's on my summer shopping agenda?

Stuff that's happening:
> I'm still reconstructing my world after the past year of ridiculous economic nonsense.
> But in the last year, I've discovered Tumblr, and have had scandalous fun exploring its voyeuristic possibilities.
> Ami, a delightfully cheerful grad student with whom I can't quite figure out if we're just-dating or FWBs or what, is living with me for the summer.
> I'm still completely thrilled to have been published by Cleis and meditating on where to Take It next.
> For me, Pride was relaxing and quiet. I tipsily strolled through Church Street and got hit on a lot by gay bears. Ran into some friends from the local kink scene. No sex shows, no late nights out; just a fine day in the sun.
> I'm still networking to develop a spanking party group in my area.
> I still think about Shayne, and The Grrl, too much. I always seem to do that with The Ones That Got Away. What the fuck is up with that?
> I could use a strong, frosty dacquiri and a strong, thorough blowjob.

That is all. More when the Fates permit.

Sweet.

Last year, I teased you-all with some naughty foreshadowing about some erotica I had submitted for print publication. I'm really pleased to share now that the resulting book, Sweet Confessions, edited by none other than Violet Blue through Cleis Press, is now available through Amazon, Cleis, and very probably your local erotica shoppe.





My piece, a short story entitled "Bad Influences," shares space with the work of other exquisite eroticists like Heidi Champa, Andrea Dale, K.D. Grace, the extraordinary Rachel Kramer Bussel and more.

I'd seriously enjoy receiving feedback from blog readers who have read this exquisite anthology, which is ideally suited for loving couples looking to enjoy some hot reads together.

A word from the management of UrbanRoguery, Ltd.

I know. I know. It's been a while.

To longterm, avid readers of the blog, I do apologize.

I write to you from an internet cafe at the intersection of Dufferin and Bloor in the heart of Toronto. I've been tinkering on my alter ego's Facebook, OkCupid, and catching up on other email as I drain my cup from the Tim Horton's around the corner. It's quiet in here. I'm one of seven people, all tapping quietly as they do whatever it is they're doing. The blonde wearing headphones and holding her chin in her fist as she scrolls on some Tumblr. The longhaired brunette, bent over the keyboard in a way that would make a chiropractor wince, working on some paper for some class at whatever university she's attending.

For some time now, the blog has been nothing but themed nudes, and as much as I (and you, let's face it) enjoy such things, I really hadn't intended for this to just become about a series of nekkid pics. They were all pre-programmed, you see, in case I had long stints of silence on the blog for whatever reason.

And, uh, there's been a really long stint.

Add to the fact that I've had consistent problems with puters for way too long now, but my Real Life world went into utter chaos for over a year. Long story, and no, I'm not going to trouble you with details. Let's just say that the recession kicked my ass for a while, and after a legal battle with some people who thought they could pull one over on me, I'm just beginning to claw my way out of the bog I found myself in.

This is good.

But it also played hell on my dating life. Hard to show someone a good time when you're worried about making the rent. Not that I suddently became a Benedictine monk or anything; there were still some interesting experiences and delicious (and not so delicious) trysts... and I'm sure I'll get to all that in time.

But I wanted you guys to know that I'm still alive and hope to contributing more to the blog soon now. And hopefully with some snazzy new computer that I may actually be able to afford to get now that my world seems to be returning to some semblance of normal.

Hi again. I've missed you too.

And now for something completely different.

with thanx to Boots

Happy New Year from Urban Roguery.

We got mail.

Just a quick word to say a strong and pleased thank you! to Urban Roguery readers who have been emailing, Facebooking, and Tweeting me to share your thoughts and questions. Rest assured that those of you who have been writing with questions (such as advice on how to be an effective Top or how to get your squeamish boyfriend to suck your beautiful pussy) will see responses in the near future. I have a crack team of internationally acclaimed scientists at work as we speak.

Really.

Meanwhile, this postal carrier has some very pretty tits, don't you agree?

Favourite blog images of 2010.

Deliciously displayed, a perfectly tender playtoy in Finding Tribe

Tasting her core in Fireworks

Celebrating Bacchus' gifts in In Vino Veritas

A sensual sister shows her sublime submissiveness (g'head... say that ten times fast) in Kinksters Helping Kinksters

Straighforward, au naturale, coed brazenness from Women Of The Dorm

Sensual, skyclad, and unashamed from Women Of The Summer Vacation

Happy holidays from Urban Roguery.

Graduation Day.

Where to begin.

My puter complications continue, and that's one big reason why I haven't been posting that often lately. But it's also true that my head has been in bizarre space.

It's been about a month since I've gone into post-Kara living, and it's somewhat surreal. Finding her brand-spanking new profile on one of my favourite dating sites was interesting to be sure, but it didn't stop me from sending her real compliments. As friends, we haven't been getting together nearly as frequently as I think we've intended, but that's very probably more about our mutually crazy schedules too.

But one thing I've learned about myself in the past, and am living in again, is this seeming reluctance to share my path right after a relationship break. It's odd (and hardly conducive to decent blogging) but I think I do it out of some strange sense of respect for my previous partner. What's weird is that I don't seem to do this when I'm the primary one to end a relationship, but when I'm the recipient of that axe, and one might otherwise think that I'd be eager and gung-ho about posting about whom I've Been With since, as if I were subconsciously (or not) thumbing a nose to The (Insert Expletive) Who Left Me.

I guess I'm just not that petty.

I think I can live with that.

Is it weird for me to not blog about what I've been up to this month out of some latent desire to not, somehow, make Kara uncomfortable? She's a reader of the blog, after all. (Hi, hon.) Am I, in restricting myself, being a gentleman after some fashion, or am I holding out a candle for her? The mental gymnastics I go through.

Perhaps I'll feel better if I make some kind of caveat. Like this:

Kara? Hi, it's me.
You know, the guy who took you to your first playparties, you spanked your delightful little bum in public, and who gave you delicious head.
I'm sorry that we didn't play nearly as much as we wanted to.
I felt as though we were still just getting started,
and I'd been eager to tie you up more, see you in the corset we bought,
and do so much with you.
But, you know, for your own reasons, it ended. Yeah, I miss your company.
But, you know, you were dating a guy who writes a sex blog.
While our ending isn't the only reason it's been quiet here, it's true that I've been ambivalent about writing much because I like you, respect you,
and because I haven't wanted to sting you.
After all, for the year-plus we were together,
we were essentially monogamous.
You can safely say that you are the first person to have returned me to that zone for more than ten years. And I was actually starting to like it.
But, you know, maybe it wouldn't have stung.
I don't know, and I chose to err on the side of caution.
And, either way, it's been long enough now that I think I'm ready to be writing again. I still don't want it to sting you.
In the end, it's entirely up to you if you want to continue reading.
We're both adults here.
I'm going to move forward in my writing, my sharing, now.
Just know, and I hope you'll enjoy knowing, that I miss you,
your laugh,
and gripping your beautiful little ass as I take you hard from behind.
A lot.
Love you.

sigh
There.

Please pardon our (temporarily less frequent) appearance.

This is a heads-up to you loyal and fun-loving readers that posts to the blog may become a little infrequent for a while.

Time for us here at Rogue Enterprises International to get our sorry ass a new computer. That could take a little bit of time. More posts are forthcoming, but it could be a bit before things are back up to speed. Stay tuned.