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.

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.

Happy birthday, Diva.

It's almost hard to believe.

It's been more than 25 years since the day we met at that renaissance festival, when you mounted me on the wooden floorboards of the rustic cabin I sold art from out of, and more than 15 years since we parted on a winter's afternoon. I can't imagine how many lovers have passed through each of us since then, but I have never forgotten the paths we had tread and the amazing experiences we shared during those ribald, faerie days.

Our Us was, and in many ways remains, a foundation stone for so many things in my life now. So much has grown and developed from things that we shared, explored, initiated with one another.

I still remember when you surprised me, having driven from Boston to New York, just to see me when I was working at the BDSM club. I still remember the incoming tide as we spoke over lit candles and offerings of wine. I still remember feeling so proud, so very proud, as I watched you dance around the silver pole. The waterbed. The painted stones. The blonde boy I shared you with in Maryland. Coupling with you on the snowbank, or beside the lake, as our friends circled 'round a fire.

Often, in retrospect, I think the quality of our sex life was at least one primary thing that kept us together for as long as we were. At the time, I was completely convinced that we'd be together forever... but then, I wasn't even in my 20s when we met, and there was so much yet for me to learn.

Losing you was as much an important part of my growth as a man, a lover, a person, as was discovering you. I have, and always will, love and treasure you.

Couples of Toronto Leather Pride 2011.

The doppelganger.

It's been two years, so I guess she made an impression (he typed with a playfully sarcastic smirk).

I recently spent a day cruising throughout the city, something related to my job, when on the streetcar I saw her.

...Wait. No. But she could have been her sister.

The asymetrically cut, short blonde hair. The huge, dark sunglasses. The slightly zoftig, womanly bod. An apple butt. Her round face. The tattoos. Even the freeflowing print sundress and the way she smiled in my direction as I looked upon her.

And, as a coup de grace, the fact that she was queer. I hadn't noticed her partner, but as she left the streetcar, the sensual kiss that she gave the delightfully geeky, close-cropped brunette with horn-rimmed eyeglasses as they parted for the day.

Her entire image, her entire vibe, was Shayne.

Yeah, it's been two years. And yeah, she's in an entirely different life and world now, and I heartfelt-mean-it when I say, "Hey baby, go you."

Maybe I shouldn't miss her so much. After all, it's also true that had her moments of being utterly arrogant, condescending, closed-minded, and petty. She broke a pretty important promise and, true to form, found a way to justify it to herself to do so. I should probably be pretty pissed.

But, you know, one difference we have is that I'm not really one to amputate a limb just because I found that the ring I was wearing didn't completely work for my ensemble. Part of the intimacy that we shared was how I watched her suffer, deeply, with how she wrestled with her sense of identity, path, and voice in the world. Perhaps it was because of how she suffered and struggled, not despite of it, that I initially began to fall for her. And it would have been idyllic for me to simply remain as a friend and soundingboard for her in her life.

And all these thoughts came rushing back into me this past week when I saw that lookalike on the street, rushing back like a heavy wave that had long been back out to sea.

It makes me smile to feel the tightness in my chest still, to know that to see her virtual sister as a passerby make me stop, gaze, and remember. Like it was yesterday.

Yeah. I love and miss you, Pix. Still. And I'm ok with admitting it. Still. Yeah, yeah, I know I "shouldn't." All that get-over-it (whatever) and go-forward (I have) and giving-you-power (yeah, you wish) crap. Fine. Just call me crazy.

Congratulations, baby.

Through the magic of the Internet, I've just learned that Shayne has given birth to a boy.

I've been thinking about you lately. He's beautiful.

Despite all the unnecessary nonsense, it'd be nice if we became friends again one day. Heartfelt and genuine congratulations, Pixie. I have no doubt that your son will grow to be as creative, sensual, freespirited, and courageously happy as you have been. Blessings to you all.

Ha ha.

While we're making tea and relaxing in my kitchen, I grab Kara's camera and take a spontaneous picture of her bum.

I'm so weird sometimes.

A kiss for Kara.

It's been a year of new experiences, insight, creation, perseverance,
and the healthiest communication I've ever known.

I'm privileged to escort you into a world of pleasure, expansion, and sensuality. I'm privileged to experience such kindness, openness, awareness from someone as fabulous as you. You are hysterically funny. You are divinely compassionate. You are stronger than you know.

You are the altar whereupon I make my offerings to
love, laughter, life, and vigour.

I treasure you.


Oh yeah.
And I love your pert, spankable ass.



Happy anniversary, baby. Love you.

A little horseplay.

Kara: *slurp on your shaft*

Me: Mmmm. Exactly what I need.

Kara: Might need to do a double slurp tonight ... Me on top of you, you thrusting into my mouth ... Me dripping down your chin ...

Me: Nice... I love coaxing your clit until you cum.

Kara: Coax?? A second cum might need to be coaxed, like some shy filly... But the first one's in the gate waiting for the starter pistol ... :P

Me: Keep that up and I just might show up with my riding crop. ;)

Kara: Hmmm ... *whinny* *snort* ;)

Me: Ha! ...Tell me why you enjoy head from me so much.

Kara: I love your tongue swirling on my clit ... I especially love you sucking on me ... It sends me right over the crest and tumbling into blissful oblivion ...

Me: *lik*

Kara: But what's JUST as important is that YOU love giving head ... It means I can just relax and enjoy and not wonder how YOU are doing ... And because you are so pro-fantasy, pro-kink, I've also come to a place where I just relax into delicious fantasy ... guilt-free ... And enjoy. So, my love, why I enjoy YOU is partly what you do, but also partly who you are and how you express your sexuality ... And how you encourage me to do so as well.

Me: Meow. I totally encourage you. Safe to say you're looking forward to seeing me tonight then? ;)

Kara Um ... Yep!

Decadence and pleasure.

As you read this, my pet and me are enjoying Madagascar vanilla lobster bisque and applewood smoked chicken supreme with orange and cranberry gastrique at Biagio. We're enjoying an excellent wine. Soon, we'll decide between the chocolate creme brulee or the citrus cheesecake, and then we'll casually make our way back to my home, to my bed.

I've always enjoyed Valentine's Day, and often have used it as an excuse (as if I needed one) to spoil both my lover and myself senseless. Even in leaner times, I've learned the wonders that can be created with basic homecooked meals, a few candles, and warmed massage oil.

And Kara's definitely getting a little spoiled lately. Recently, I took her to her second playparty, for which she donned an excellent lingerie ensemble that the birthday faeries found for her. She started our evening's fun with giving me some excellent and serendipituous head, and the playparty went even better than her first. She later confessed that she had wanted to suck me again at the venue, but alas, the poor thing was just too exhausted after the submissions she had been subjected to during the evening's fun.

Later this week, she'll attend her third, and for that evening's pleasure we recently acquired a delicious corset and rubber skirt set along with some very adventurous shoes for her. "Momma Anna," our Northbound saleswoman with a rich and glowing attitude, has since become an interesting figure in our kink headspace, as her exquisite skills have left a pleasant and lasting impression on us both.



Hey, baby. I love you. It's such a pleasure to have you in my world; to spoil you rotten, and then to spank you for it. I adore your articulate senses, your vibrant spirit, your calm and open being. You're cool. Introducing you to new saucy depths and shameless living has become a joy for me, and I'm so pleased that you're embracing and celebrating with me, beside me, my hands at your waist.

I still think of the first kisses we shared in the lifeguard chair that night as we listened to the lake and the kids strumming guitar in the sand below us. I still think of the limitless laughter we shared as we cheered the bats on, watching them amid the moonlit trees around the cottage.

Being with you gives me such pleasure, and I enjoy sharing my strength and adventures with you. I enjoy you. I look forward to the necklaces we can fashion from the pearls, both white and black, that we'll take from the oysters of our future world.

This Valentine's Day, I fully intend to take complete and shameless advantage of you.

But first... enjoy your creme brulee.

Happy birthday, baby.

Living shamelessly: The year in review.

It's been an interesting year. I would have posted this for the fourth anniversary of the blog back in October, updating you on what's been happening with some of the glorious women that you've been reading about, but still being largely puterless, finding time to do some decent writing has been a challenge. But, determined as I am, I'll be in this Toronto internet cafe, surrounded by kids killing one another on World of Warcraft, until I finally put this post to bed. So to speak.

I never really intended to see this blog continue for as long as it has, but it pleases me that since the days when it first appeared on LiveJournal, many of you have become regular readers. Some online friendships with some of you have developed too, and I think that's very cool. I also value your comments, emailed questions, and the assorted hotnesses that some of you share back with me. Most excellent.

I was single again at the outset of the year, although (because of someone's consistent inconsistency) an ambiguity surrounding that kept both my head and spirit in a centrifuge. It was very annoying, but of course the solution was to take a breath and go forward.

Hannah, the control-freak clown, and me didn't really plan to stay in touch after our last date. There wasn't much of a spark then, although I enjoyed her anecdotes about threesomes with other guys, her thigh-harness dildo, and her "roadside assistance skills." We parted on friendly terms after a casual date or two, saw one another on the street on occasion, and then she dropped off the map. Months later, and very recently, Kara and me ran into her during a local cabaret night popular with the clowning, grassroots theatre, and burlesque communities here. It was surreal, but kinda pleasant; I sensed a lot of "date comparison" going on as I shook her (geeky, uncomfortable) date's hand and as she met (radiant, playful) Kara and gave (amused, slightly tipsy) me twinklyeyes. Both ladies having a clowning background, which gave them territory to share stories over. We made kiss-kisses with those vague kind of foo-foo promises to 'meet up together again sometime maybe yeah.' Hannah squirmed as she smiled, and I enjoyed it. Still, I like her, and I could see us being friends, or double-date cabaret buddies. I still smirk when I remember how she kept glancing at my crotch when she was in my car.

I ran into Redhead Carla in a coffee shop recently. We spoke cordially, warmly, but she was utterly stressed out about something at the time and didn't stay very long. She volunteers at a local community shelter and is in a relationship now. I hope it's healthy for her, because she needs the healthy.

Biting Tina pursued me relentlessly through Facebook for a long while after our last date, but her refusal to follow basic boundaries ruined any chances that might have existed. She's still single and spends a lot of time playing FarmVille. Kill me now.

Sexy, articulate Morgan and me remain friends, although we're still not in touch nearly as much as I'd like (though that's probably more because of my damned schedule than hers). She eventually left the man she was unhappy with, the husband who never satisfied her craving for a solid, oldfashioned, over-the-knee spanking, and I understand that she recently began a blog of her own. I would love to have her over my knee again, and if I ever found myself hosting spanking parties with Kara, would definitely put her on a guest list. Meow.

We talked about it once or twice, where she shared that she was happily surprised to have heard from me, but I never managed to reconnect with Stacy. I understand that she dropped out of, or at least took a break from, graduate school for family reasons. I have excellent, hot memories of her exquisite, round ass and how readily she enjoyed being fucked hard and deep there.

Little has changed for the Tomboy. She's still with the unemployed yoga instructor, and we're still friends who see one another every rare once in a while. We've talked about getting together more often, as friends, and last summer I helped her out with a landscaping project. Between shovel-loads of soil as we sweated under a hot sun, she shared with me that I had been a staple in her fantasy life for a very long time after our relationship ended.

How can you not smile when a ex-girlfriend tells you, to your face, that she jills off to memories of you?

Delightfully geeky, always lighthearted, cock-loving Molly has been in a long-term, poly, lesbian relationship with a brunette BBW partner while also dating (read: fucking) at least one dude. We haven't seen each other in forever, but I know she's happily active with the local polyamory clique. Her life seems to be going just the way she wants it, which is terrific.

Bubbly Lee and me remain friends, although we've never talked about the one little suck 'n fuck we shared as I was driving her home one night. Perhaps she got what she came for. Perhaps she didn't. It hasn't become a topic, and I'm at peace with this. The same might be said for statuesque Lauren after our tender kiss, but we were always part of slightly different social circles anyway.

"Check out my new piercing" Tari became a flight attendant. We continue to flirt casually over Facebook, and I definitely regard her as Good People. Years ago though it was, I have fond memories of her pert, small ass (deliciously similar to Kara's) from summer skinnydipping in New England and spanking parties in Maryland. Yum.

Dean is enjoying a new relationship, and apparently has been exploring more of the regional BDSM scene, making new friends, and having a grand time. This is excellent, and I'm so pleased that she's doing well.

Jez expressed interest, over textmessage, in getting together again, had invited me to Top her, and even suggested a threesome between us and her girlfriend. A dream cum true, right? You may wince in pain now when I tell you that I didn't go... and the reason was because I couldn't afford to. Not that I'm completely sure I might have. Jez, you see, had turned pro.

Despite trying and trying again, Diva simply cannot find the kind of guy she's looking for. Her landscaping business tanked because of the recession, and she's about to embark on a new career as a corrections officer.

Heidi developed breast cancer. I suspect that this severely curtailed her new career as a boxer (which, frankly, I always thought was incredibly sexy for her to be doing), but I really don't know. Now, Heidi previously had thyroid cancer, which she always surmised had to do with her retaining "a lot of unspoken anger." At the risk of sounding smarmy, and given her sexual predilection for knowingly betraying the trust of her lovers, I have to ask myself how she metaphysically rationalizes this terrible ailment for having emerged in her tits.

Yes, yes, I know: it's a reprehensible thing to even think about. But, you know, if you knew Heidi... just sayin.

Almost two years after we stopped being fuckbuddies, I ran into the Panther recently outside a market. She had completely dropped off the face of the earth, but thanks to Facebook, I knew she was engaged to a young mutual friend, the cradle-robbing MILF that she is. smirk Her boytoy is a longhaired, low-key Johnny Depp type who once amazed me with his skill at producing hashish resin with coffee grinders, and he's a fine, fun guy.

She explained that her dropping-off-the-face-of-the-earth wasn't personal, and was part of a Bigger Picture she was taking to make changes in her life. I wasn't offended, but appreciated the explanation; she looked happy, which is really everything one can hope for for a friend, no?

I haven't the faintest idea of what's happening with the Grrl, and neither do most of my friends. She's been living in a magnificent house in Pennsylvania with mutual friends, but that family is selling the place, and I don't know what her plans are. She has never written or called me to ask about her cats. Recently, I thought I saw her in Toronto, and it shocked me at how strongly I emotionally, inwardly responded when I thought I had. I suspect she's continuing to do what she does best: be artistic with what elements are around her, do Reiki, be on the road, chastise herself, suffer her fybromyalgia, and continually seek out peacefulness where and how she can. I miss her.

Bootblack Boi and me have yet to reconnect, and the momentum may sadly need to be restarted if we ever would. It's always possible that we'd run into each other during a fetnight.

Chantel got fired.

Stefany and me phoned one another casually for a short while. Once, she asked me for money. Once, I asked her if she'd be interested in a friendly fuck. Neither of us hooked up with the other for either reason. I think about her on occasion, hope she's improved her world, and sometimes enjoy the memory of her excellent blowjob skills.

Since recently moving to a new pad, the Women Upstairs are history now. During a patio barbecue last summer, the straighter of the two women was lamenting the loss of her boytoy, the very one I would enjoy listening to pounding the daylights out of her. Seems Boytoy simply couldn't handle how sexually interested Straight Woman Upstairs was for him, so he called her a "slut" and left her. Yeah, I know. Go figure. So as I flipped bison burgers over the flame, it took Lesbian Woman Upstairs, Lesbian Woman Upstairs' Partner, Kara, and me to offer condolences and assure her that having a hot sense of sexuality wasn't a bad thing. And Lesbian Woman Upstairs apparently became an aunt recently.

Not long before Kara and me connected, there was the Schoolteacher. We've not kept in touch, but that's just our lives being in different circles.



In the end, Shayne got exactly what she wanted: to be rescued.

"Thank you. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for being patient with all of my faults," she wrote to me last holiday season. "Thank you for showing me what romantic love can be and helping me to open up to more of the gifts this world offers. Thank you for supporting me so thoroughly... for your generosity which moves me to depths I didn't know I had. You fill me up in ways I never expected. You are the most amazing gift I have been given in a long, long time. From you I learn about how to keep gentle and open in the face of trials. You amaze me, even from afar."

By the summer, she had completely (and inexplicably) cut herself away from me. There was no discussion. There was no preamble. There was no closure.

There is a lot that I could write concerning Shayne, and no matter how much meditation I put into it, I'm never completely satisfied. And why be ungenerous?

I want to be able to write that we remain close friends, that she occasionally still calls me for counsel or for the phonesex that she would boast to her friends about getting from me. I want to be able to say that while we're with new partners, we still share a resonant bond. I was supposed to be able to say this.

I know that she loves me, that she worries about what I'm going to think about her, because she's told me so. But she's moved on to another man, an ex-sailor with a Neanderthal sense of gender politics and a penchant for frequenting sex workers, and seems deeply happy to be with him. She's uprooted herself from Chicago to start a new life with him in Seattle.

Now, this is fine. Really. I genuinely, honestly want her to be happy.

Shayne believes that I'm not at peace with the ending of our affair. She's mistaken. (God knows I had enough practice.) What I haven't been at peace with is the loss of our bond, our friendship. But then, Shayne has always been a little selfish, self-admittedly fickle, and quick to run away from any real observation of consequence.

Don't get me wrong: I love her. But, for her sake, I do hope she learns, grows, becomes wiser. When she's not running, she has a lot of potential.

I miss you, you fucking pain in the ass, though probably not for the reasons that you likely imagine.



And I am with Kara, and things between us are superbly good. As I finally close this post, head to the market, and make a family traditional cake for yet another holiday celebration, I breathe deeply with a heart full of memory and pleasure. It's been a challenging, surreal year, but also a year full of newness, passion, play, and laughing until the tears streak the cheeks.

I adore each and every one of these women, though in varying ways, and remain ever grateful for Aphrodite's gifts.

Love you, baby.

She fantasizes about being taken and ravished. She has the most edible nape. She has a delectable little mouth.

She enjoys being a fucktoy, her hair pulled as she's feeling my girth spread her open.

She loves being spanked, and she makes the most satisfying little gasps when she's submitting to one. No smart-assed lip from this one, baby.

She climaxes quickly, and easily, when I'm holding her against me and curling my fingers down and between her thighs, gently but rapidly circling my moist fingers around her gorgeous little button.

And she's the most together, intelligent, genuine, straightforward partner I've known in years. She's achieved her goals. She's socially conscious, spiritual, and has the courage to See and then really, actually Work Through whatever has deterred her in her past.

And she has the cutest little bubble butt.

As you read this, Kara and I are enjoying a casual dinner where we went on our first date, and she'll be opening a little gift to celebrate our first six months together. For me, this transition from summer to winter has been full of adventure, courage, adaptation, and opening. Kara's been an ideal companion throughout it all, and I'm privileged to be the man she leans her naked form close to at night for warmth and laughter.

Yum...

A demanding pet.

Date: 15 September 2009 06:11
Subject: Re: gmorning, sexy
From: Kara
To: Rogue


Something I had never thought of before: that once a moment of ours is blogged about, not only can I see your "spin" on it, but I can re-live it over and over. There are so many more things I want to share.

You know, I have to admit when we first met, when I was toodling around online, dom/sub posts definitely caught my eye. I was beginning to wonder what kind of head-space I would have to be in to TAKE that kind of a suggestion seriously, and, not finding an answer to my musings, I let the idea go as just an internal fantasy ... not to be acted upon.

But what excites me with you, and binds me TO you, is and will always be the "headspace". You wooed me in my greatest erogenous zone: my head... and continue to do so, with safety and love and excitement and expectation ... and it has ALL caught my interest and imagination and, uh, well, my libido.

At the risk of sounding like a demanding pet, winding myself around your legs, trying to trip you with my enthusiasm ... I am looking forward to playing more.

Tank girl.

For almost ten years, we were together. She was my first love, my first partner, and we met when I was a rascal in my late teens, fresh from high school, spanking new to the bdsm scene, plying my trade as a carnie at Renaissance festivals throughout the northeast coast. She was a mid-20s United States Marine and sometime-stripper who had just finished a tour of duty in Hawaii and had daydreams of flying fighter jets. She had come to the Renaissance festival with her biker friend and her daughter. With an equally rascally buddy, I was doing my job: drinking heavily and teasing the living hell out of "the mundanes."

I was dressed in skintight black Capezios, boots, and a hard, leather jerkin with a lovely blade dangling from my waist. She was ogling me from a short distance, her friend not far behind. I had a belly full of mead and spicy, flirtacious wit, so naturally when I spied her spying me, I approached her as any self-respecting rascal would.

The blade swayed from side to side, its hilt clinking against the vessel of whiskey that dangled from my belt, the outline of my package as easy to see as sinners on a Sunday, as I approached her. Slinking close, she smelled sunshine-warmed sandalwood oil in my light beard as I took in her body language, full of approval, bringing my cheek to her ear.

"Hello, m'lady," I whispered, booze on my breath and faerie dust on my perspiring brow. "Prithee... do you come to the faire to watch the men in their tights?"

She laughed a head-thrown-back, saucy, ribald laugh, the laugh of a tipsy girl from Southie who likes her man to have a nice ass, and nodded. She gave me a "kissing stone," a small rock painted with a tiny, inviting red heart. Within the next hour, she was getting friction burns on her knees as she rode my cock on the upstairs floor of my rustic merchant's booth, amid my camping equipment and collection of medieval costumes.

Not long after we were done, her biker friend had her turn, suffering my carnie friend's pair of leather wrist restraints as he bound her to a rafter and had his way with her in the same room. They never stayed in touch afterward, but what started for my new friend as a sexy, drunken Renfaire fling would become my first longterm, primary relationship.

Had I more courage at the time, I would have married her. I should have. I almost did.

Before Kara, and even before The Grrl who influenced the development of this blog, there was Diva. I keep referring to her in passing, so on the event of her birthday, it seems fitting to share a glimpse.

I so loved Diva.

She's a dirty blonde vixen who has always managed to fuse the allure of whitecollar elegance with bluecollar spirit. One moment, I'd be enjoying watching her sip champagne from Baccarat crystal over braised quail, and the next minute, she'd be belching in the car like a Plymouth longshoreman after a trip to the package store. An occasional stripper (for which she very nearly faced a "conduct unbecoming" charge while on active duty), she wasn't exactly an innocent when we met. Still, in our time together she found herself introduced to a panoply of adverturous play and shared ecstacies that, I smirkingly know, lasted within her well after our relationship ended.

I introduced her to kink. When I wasn't haggling to buy men's wives or children during my hysterically drunken Renfaire taunts ("Oi, m'lord, two pigs fer yer wife thar... my, but she's a purdy one, neh? Lesse her teeth now... oh yeh, yeh, two pigs an' a chicken then, wot say? Tis a good chicken..."), I was working at either an adult toy store in Greenwich Village or bouncing at the clubs, and it wasn't long into our relationship that she discovered exactly how much she loved receiving a good spanking on her beautiful ass.

Diva would squeal so satisfyingly when she was across my lap, and over time, she developed such a tolerance for OTK play that by session's end, her derriere would be fire-engine red and burning throughout the night. She became so enamored of having her hiney whupped that, after we broke up, I was amused to find sex-networking listings from her on various internet sites where she openly sought "the attitude adjustments I so deserve."

She drove from Boston to New York once to surprise me when I was on-duty at a club. She strolled in as I was supervising a scene between two lesbians, and by the end of that night, I had her dangling from the chainlinks suspended from the cieling as I tortured her with horsehair whips and riding crops.

Once, while visiting her, her brother accidentally walked in on us as she lay sprawled on the living room floor as I hovered above her, slowly dripping hot wax onto her pretty B-cup breasts. Oops.

At another club, after spanking, paddling, and restraining her on a St. Andrew's cross as I pinched her nipples with clamps, I took her into a blacklit booth where I pressed her hands against the wall and fucked her from behind. As I drove deeply into her, tugging her adorable ass against me hard and fast, masturbating voyeurs moaned and stroked both their cocks and pussies as they jockeyed in position for the finest view. When we were finished, Diva told me later about the streams of anonymous semen that found itself splashing along her leg while I pumped her senseless.



We had friends among T-Bears MC, a kink-positive women's motorcycle club, and with them we became part of the clique that founded the Boston chapter of the National Leather Association. It was Diva who, during a relaxed party at our pad, came up with the name for its newsletter, Scarlet Leather, which it retained long after the group redeveloped into the New England Leather Alliance.

We were social butterflies (or wasps, if you prefer) then, movers 'n shakers, the Kind Of People You Wanted To Know. I did workshops at NLA meetings about riding crop use as sex toys; Diva dropped trou to help me demonstrate. I drove our black Ford conversion van as we trekked to another private playparty; Diva knelt on the van floor as our brunette BBW friend, Jacqueline, opened her legs to receive Diva's expert tongue.

And her tongue was deliciously expert. Diva was superb at sucking cock, and knew all about that balance between a firm, wet grip of the fist while also offering a tight, sucking, pouty pair of lips. We would embrace for vast stretches of time, orally spooning as we lay on the bed on our sides, her head at my waist and my hands at her head as I vigourously pumped my cock into her willing, wanton mouth.

She would crawl on all fours, clad only in a teddy, onto the center of the Oriental rug in the playparty host's parlour. There, in the center of a circle of chairs occupied by voyeurs, men and women alike, she would bend her head to the floor and raise her lovely ass high to receive whatever spanking, paddling, cropping, waxing, icing, clamping torment my naughty imagination could muster. How she loved being tormented upon her ass.

Diva's ass. Diva loved to have my cock, deep and thrusting as she perspired under me, inside her ass. How she would hiss and growl as she felt herself get taken, how she would gasp and loudly whisper "Hot! So hot! So... hot!" as my fiercely pumping thrusts burst my cum deep into her body.

Three times I shared her with other individual men, where she was
DP'd each time until she gasped and rolled her eyes back and dropped limp with ecstatic oblivion. One man was a celebrity, of sorts, whom we knew. Another was a bodypainting artist we met at the Renfaire. The last was a mutual friend who was about to wed a woman who detested anal sex, and we gave him something to remember.

At least one orgy, four couples. More playparties. The couple who rented a 1-bedroom apartment just for their swinging trysts. The couple who wanted to simply see a demonstration of my Topping skills as the sound of Gregorian chant echoed throughout their basement dungeon. The teen couple, both redheads, also from the faire. Picking her up after a shift at the stripclub. The afternoon I fucked her on a hillside in the snow as friends nearby sought for us. The night beside the lake as I took her from behind, knees on grass, as a crowd of nude, ribald men and women danced naked around the bonfire to the thrumming of drums and song, our visage barely visible by the glow of embers under a starry sky.

I have written a great deal about my lovers in this blog, but after some thought, nothing I have written to date can come close to the quantity, the quality, of adventurous sexplay that she and I had explored during our tenure together. I've had lusty, imaginative daydreams about exploring nearly as much, being nearly as active in the kink community again, with a partner as I had enjoyed when Diva and me were the Thing we were.

But, yes, it ended. Maybe it was the 7-Year Itch, or maybe the planets simply went kerblewie out of alignment, or maybe it was just time, but we eventually drifted apart. I moved out on Christmas Day. The ripple effect among our circle of friends was vast. I pierced my right lobe (the left ear had been done when I was sixteen) to mark the monumental change in my world.

I would never have admitted it then, but losing Diva was one of the best things to ever have happened to me. For all my sexual exploration and streetwise education, I was a kid then who didn't really know shit about women, relationships, communication, the vulnerability that comes with love. Diva, in her own way, taught me those things, as she taught me certain life-affirming maxims that are tattooed to my forearms. She showed me how to appreciate women who have cajones.

After our breakup, she raced motorcycles for a time and travelled to Europe. Her landscaping business flailed in the recent recession, and she's since moving on to become a corrections officer. It's a career choice that I think she'll do fine in.

Oddly, she's single. Her last boyfriend strung her along for the longest time, never getting the message that all she really wants is a steady, committed partner with whom she can build and share. Maybe her attitude gets in her way, because she's as openmouthed as she is openminded.

We didn't talk for the longest time, but we're friends now, and call on rare occasion. Her mid20s daughter, whom I raised with her during our relationship, calls me Daddy to this day and had her second child by her good husband, a Coast Guard seaman, within the last few years.

I loved Diva very much, and I still do, in a fashion. She's clan. From time to time, like on her birthday today, I think about her and send her good vibes.

Happy birthday, beautiful.

I still have the kissing stone.

She is my woman now.

So I'm hanging out with my therapist (and, yes, I think everyone should indulge... and I do mean "indulge"... in professional therapy from time to time), and as we discuss relationship issues it hits me that I'm actually, really happy.

My astrologer (and, yes, I think everyone should indulge... and I do mean "indulge"... in professional divination from time to time) tells me that I'm just coming out of a challenging Saturn influence in my life and world that began in September 2007. How ironic that is, when I think of what began and ended within this influence.

It occurs to me that after two months of dating, travelling, wining, dining, and fucking our brains out, I have no complaints about what's going on between myself and Kara. Not a one. Not a one.

That this feels really good. That it's taking virtually no effort. That I'm completely thrilled to be nurturing, supporting, listening to her. That seeing her blossom and unfold before (and under) me is scandalously delicious. That she is so goddamned cool. That I can barely understand, much less relate to, the amount of unyielding joy that I sense is before me.

"You have privilege and responsibility," she said to me this morning, said to me as our naked bodies were entwined on her comfortable bed. We had just indulged in a sensual quickie where I held her deliciously tiny ass as I slid my cock inside her sweet depths, bursting myself on her pert cheeks as she smiled and breathed deeply.

I've not known this much relaxed and unfettered sensuality with a partner in years. As she gradually finds herself in deeper and deeper bliss as well, witnessing her discover her feral consciousnes, to see her feel safe enough and nurtured enough to do so, leaves me beaming with pleasure.

I like this.

Kara.

The truth is that I hardly know where to begin. If I've seemed silent lately, believe me when I tell you that it isn't because I've been idle.

Clarity is a healthy and good thing, and while there will remain a great deal about what was shared (such as it seemed) between my last primary partner (such as it seemed) and myself that I still enjoy the memories of, I also know that sometimes it takes a complete redirection in the world before beginning to comprehend what was amiss prior to change. In these last few weeks, and in the last week or so in particular, I feel as though I'm getting fast-tracked into some bold, healthy, sexily glorious new awarenesses and opportunity. Aphrodite is being both kind and revolutionary. I have clarity, fun, and sextastic possibilities before me. Life is good. Really, amazingly, comfortably, finally good.

Kara, the Math Teacher, is a gentle, savvy, sassy, articulate, sharp, lithe, faerie whisper of a tomboi woman with short dark hair and eyes like small jade discs. I have to remind myself that she's in her early40s, because in both looks and spirit she is a woman of half her age and could easily pass for one of her probability students. Gracefully feline, I behold art incarnate when I hear her chant in the morning, or see her in natarjasana positions.

Her petite, dryad's form belongs on canvas adored by Waterhouse. With her shorn, straight hair, the nape of her lovely neck is always edibly available for me to feast upon (which she adores), and her skin, soft as oak moss in the wood, faintly tastes of almonds and spiced vanilla. Her deliciously charming, small faerie breasts are capped like candies with alert nipples standing proudly atop tiny, sensitive, pink areolae. Despite having brought a pair of excellent, delightfully golden children into the world, yoga and biking have left her with a taut, sexy tummy. Her beautiful, sensual ass is small, heart-shaped, and as pert as a split peach. A fabulously soft triangle of short, dark curls beautifully adorns her feral pubis. When aroused, her outer cushions swell and darken like ribald, wild fruit begging to be tasted slowly, its nectars a thing to be savoured.

It pains me that, as I am told, few past lovers have given her the bodily adoration a lovely waif such as she deserves.

This I have every intention to amend.

In my life, I've languished in the company of many bodytypes of women, and I've treasured them all. But if I were ever asked of what visage would make me happiest, as a man, as a lover, would I have no other choice for a playmate for the rest of my scandalous days, what I might share would likely surprise some people: mildly dykey, just slightly geeky, educated, shorthaired, petite brunettes. And I've found her in Kara.

She is the stuff of my fantasies.

But even more important than her appearance, and this to my own surprise, is the immediate ease in which she and I seem to be drawing closer to one another. There is no angst, no sense of struggle, no discomforts of note, no worries. There is no superficial narcissism or disconnects. There is no expectation for unyielding openness while retaining battened hatches. There are no hidden agendae. There are no yo-yos. We get along as easily as if we'd known one another since grade school, and every thought shared between us reminds us of the real, resonant, giving desires we each have come to learn about ourselves because we are each smart enough to have learned about ourselves.

Not that we don't have some differences. My sense of kink is almost entirely new for her, and that to the strong contrast to where my previous partner has since gone. But, much to Kara's delightful surprise, we're embracing this difference as a delicious opportunity rather than a liability between our sexual selves. My experience in kink offers her a pirate's treasure of sensual new possibilities that no previous man (or woman) has been able to previously share, leaving only in question of how deeply, how greedily she would wish to dig in the island sand... and her combination of curiousity and innocence delights my thickening cock with every fantasy I've ever had about corrupting young beauties down a wayward path to sensual perdition.

And for the first time in years, I'm not feeling a "need" to date elsewhere, at least for the forseeable future. Whether or not this new partnership will become monogamous remains to be seen (we both agree in the view that monogamy is fundamentally alien to the human animal), but for the first time in a long time, I'm much more interested in nurturing and exploring the possibilities ahead of me, building this foundation, rather than take time and energy away from that prospect. I suspect, if and when extracurricular play might happen, that it would more likely occur with us as the team we're becoming. That's a paradigm I've known and enjoyed before, and would be thrilled to see it in my world again. After all, adventurous sexplay is just so much better when it's shared with one's best and intimate friend, I think.

Kara's presence in my world is a fun, vibrant, feral, welcome change. I'm looking forward to seeing where the faeries take me.