Fire & Ice

I didn't kink last night.  Despite two of my favorite presenters and a topic I'm still curious to explore, I looked at the NYC skyline, the cramped streets, and the endless rain, and I chose the uptown track to carry my home. I didn't kink tonight.  Too leary of wacky icky energy of strange ones, couples with their own focused agenda, and Times Square on a hot sticky night, I avoided another preferred event.  I just didn't have it in me to sift through chaos to find positive crumbs, so I met a friend and talked 1:1 kink for two hours. My choices weren't born of a need to preserve my strength.  I'm almost vibrating with the need to move, an echo of my pacing lioness. My choices were about a need to shield myself from unnecessary aggravation, and if you've never hit Times Square between 5 and 6 pm or spent a rainy evening on New York City streets, at best it can be one hassle after another as everyone fights to avoid the misery of a wet, humid, icky rush

It's been an odd few weeks...outing myself to a distance acquaintance against my better judgement, my slave self making a spontaneous appearance in an unhealthy situation, a heartbreaking confession, a confrontation with a bully who escalated dumb shit to put his hands on me and ended up on the floor for it, a non-consenting witness to group therapy.  I've racked up a fair share of negative encounters in a short amount of time.  None of them earth shattering or world-changing by any means.  I'm just not at my best.  All of it has left my energy in a funk that I'm not sure how to dissipate. My Lioness is wide awake after having been in a coma for much of the last year, and it wasn't passion and sexiness that woke her.  She definitely rolled off the wrong side of the bed from all the pokes and prods.  She's not angry, but she is annoyed and watchful.  Her claws are unsheathed.  She paces. I know I am well equipped to handle almost anything that comes my way.  

I fucked up a few weeks ago.  Did something stupid.  REALLY STUPID. At the enthusiastic prompting/encouragement of a half-outed kinkster, I fully outed myself to a friend of his (who he swore was kinky) and invited them to join me for a local class I was about to attend. Commence the fucking TRAINWRECK. In under 120 seconds... She revealed missing KEY pieces to their previous interactions that caught me completely off guard.  No...owning my shit here...I felt like an absolute fool. Yes, she had her own alternative lifestyle interest (poly) and seemed openmind to hearing about my own BDSM interests.  She was decently knowledgeable on basic terminology and agreed to join us, but she acted WAY cooler than she was. He got weird and started a bit of a shock-and-awe act as I answered her questions, which amplified my feeling used and more a fool. I without really thinking in this rushed conversation that was quickly picking up speed and tension outed Him another significant deg

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A portion of Henri Rousseau's The Dream 1910 hanging at MoMA. To have an Owner is to have a Home.  Maybe not a literal domicile/location/permanent residence, but a mental and emotional Home— a base of safety from the harsh struggles of the day.   That warm strong body of protection to rest under...for even just a moment.  A solid anchor where at least a small bit of life is grounded and firm. Even a Lioness needs to rest once and awhile from life's hunts.   Even a Lioness needs a sanctuary from unexpected storms.  A protector as she heals from the cut of an unseen spear. I haven't had a Home in many, many years now, and 99.9% of the time I'm ambivalent even appreciative of my gypsy status as I fearlessly prowl for experiences which will feed my soul.  But not tonight. While I've found a general base in my community, I'm still just a stray Kat.  Tonight I wish I had a sanctuary.  No words are needed.  I can't find them.  No leading required.  

It's the second week of July, and if you're dragging a bit or just a little down (ESPECIALLY you TES Fest attendees), you aren't alone.  You're not crazy.  July's event drop feeling is a THING! This is my third year actively in the local scene, and I've finally put it together.  Even if you didn't do any of the HUGE events (Folsom Street East, the Balls/Special Parties/etc, Pride Parade, TES Fest) in the last five weeks or aren't LGBTQA, the month of June naturally just is amped up for Pride Month.  Almost every class, meeting, group is at a minimum adds just a little bit more, and there were likely a ton of special events cramming your calendar to celebrate with friends. The very energy of NYC shifts!  June is essentially kinky holiday month like December is in the vanilla world.  There's more love in the streets, the subways, the billboards, the air!!!  The city is literally painted with rainbows.  It is truly beautiful and energizing. Now th

I wrapped up my ONYX Pearls' interview with the itch to write scratching my scalp.  The simplest of questions yet sadly I had had no immediate or definitive answer.  "What does Sisterhood mean to you?" For many reasons—some situational, some ugly—I've never engaged with groups of women.  To be transparent, it's only been since I entered the local scene that I've even aligned myself with any formal groups.  Despite my current active involvement with various pieces of the NYC Kink Community, I'm actually more of a loner.  My interests have always been too varied, my style too straightforward or unique, my tolerance for drama and betrayal waaaaay too low.  I tend to float between a diverse cross-section of activities, people, and interests.  This allowed for an eclectic assembly of experiences and continually fueled my independence. The root of it all is...I've never sought group approval or status.  That phenomena is all just...sort of lost on