The Writings Of PerilousAngel

When tired thoughts begin to turn inward and twist upon themselves... When breath is just another movement, a sound in silence that rings... When blood is pulse and throb and ceaseless rushing beneath the skin... When darkness crowds in at the edges of vision, bringing the weight of sleep...

Sing for me.

Every whisper a new note. Every breath a crescendo. Every movement a counterpoint to every word from your lips.

Let me hear the love in your voice. Let me listen to the soul of you coming through these tired ramblings.

Let your guard down. Let me in.

I will create gardens in oasis of thought for you. I will take refuge in the strange and shining dreamings you create.

I will reach for you, hold you, bring you nearer, With the taste of poppy and asphodel on my tongue. Oils that burn through whatever they have spiked for a night of Journeying.

Valerian spiraling through rose-colored liquid. Shine of two elements that will never truly mix.

Separate, and beautiful in their separateness. Dancing with each other in harmony, though they will never truly join as one.

It is as it should be. It is as it was meant to be.

Breathe. Move. Let me hear you...

If I Dream, let me Dream. And if I wake, let me wake to sweet memories and new Knowledge and Wisdom.

If I am taken in the arms of the Gods, Let my every thought be of what Newness I will return carrying.

Thoughts turn ever inward, to a new and winding road. Breath lifts the fragile wicker of ribs under flesh... Slow and steady as the heart. Darkness rushes in, fleeing after the light; hunting as fiercely as any Grim.

I will follow into Darkness. I will follow, with Words on my lips and Song in my soul. The Oracle lies Dreaming...

TW: Blood play, dubious consent, present-tense, knifeplay, Haven Being Haven.

This is pure fantasy, and not anything that has happened to me... Enjoy, you kinky bastards.

There were hands in my hair. I remember that much... Strong fingers sliding through blonde strands, soft and warm and caring. Half asleep from gentle caressing touch; until it wasn't anymore. Fingers gripping at my skull, tugging my head back to look up into dark eyes. Whispered words that were half-growled down at me, my eyes widening in terror as they began to sink in.

Telling me in no uncertain terms what was going to happen to me. Just how much trouble I had managed to get myself into. It did not matter in that moment that I was completely safe. Did not matter that we'd been talking about this for weeks. "Safe" is a distant illusion, broken into a million pieces by a voice, a hand, and two dark eyes.

I feel the cold brush my skin before I even see the glint of metal; hear the blade snapping open. Dragging over my jaw, point running over my pulse and down to the hollow of my throat to press in against delicate skin. Nothing said now, just the sound of breathing in concert harmony. Slow and measured, played against ragged breaths. Two separate pairs of lungs working in time, as my hands claw at the sheets, willing myself still and silent.

I know as well as any how much he likes the screams. How the sound of every loud cry excites and encourages... each new reaction a counterpoint in a symphony he can create without thinking. Action after action, slide of metal, brush of skin... Breathing now, because I know soon enough I may not have that option.

When he pulls away, it's like music has stopped playing. I hear the low soft noise as the knife hits the bed, and it's like a gun going off. I resist the urge to run; to be up and off the bed and through the doorway- it's too late anyway.

When I manage to open my eyes, he's right there. A hand's breadth away from my face, staring down into my eyes like he'd like to eat me alive. That same smile teasing at his lips, eyes dark and fierce. I don't know what words are spoken in between the warning growls... But I hold still anyway.

Every word is a threat, sharp and as curved as the claws he drags over my bare skin. Leaving pale pink lines over ivory skin; drag of bronze metal over flesh that til now was smooth and perfect. Line after line, moving over and over again, until there is almost as much red and pink as there is pale snowy white.

The blade is back again before I know it. Sliding easily over my skin, before it begins to part without warning. Sharp stinging pain as blood rises to the surface. Gathering in little red droplets strung along the cut like rubies on a necklace. Slide of blade, silver serpent dancing through deep snow. Another raised line... another cut.

More blood, more pain, more anguished panting as the tears start to prick at my eyes. Eyes clench tight, turning my head so he will not see what reaction has been provoked. Letting him loose himself in the slow dance, as I succumb to the darkness. It wraps around me like a blanket, heavy and weighted. Holding me down; still and unmoving; though the blade continues to mark up my flesh.

Following the curves of my body, leaving thin red lines of blood pooling in its wake. I can feel the blood start to drip... slipping down over my ribs, wandering down my spine. Surely there is not so much as it feels?

When it stops I almost cannot believe it. But the sharp point of a claw against my back keeps me steady; grounded.

Oh, we're not done yet, boi.... not by a long shot.

Frozen, eyes wide, and beginning to fill in earnest now. Not done...? Not done, when blood has been drawn? I have not gone so far as this in so long.... I thought- I thought wrong, or I have forgotten. My mind races in a panic, trying to recall just what I'd agreed to. Fear clouds the mind, makes it impossible to know. A few more well-chosen words, tangling around with the echoes in my mind... I am lost and I know it. No way up... nothing to do but drown in it.

I can feel the sharpness again, drawn through the blood pooled in the small of my back. A soft hiss of breath, as it lifts away again. I can hear a scratching noise, soft and annoying. Like a fly buzzing around my head or the ceaseless noise of nails on wood. It goes on like that, prick of something sharp, scratching noise, and again...

Until a warm wet cloth is wiping away the blood. Cleaning my shallow wounds that will soon enough close on their own. A piece of paper is settled into my hands when he is through... On it, written some of the most beautiful words I have ever read.

If you could only see The beast you made of me I held it in but now It seems you've set it running free-

Eyes start rolling back, beast stretching in the dark shadows of the mind. Hint of gold, flash of green; different eyes staring out at you behind tints of gray and blue. Stretching arms above my head, crack of shoulders and neck as they fall into place. A low half-purring growl from my throat, blinking as my eyes begin to focus again. They don't see a damn thing but what's directly in front of them: You.

You know this song does things to me... that beautiful sharp female voice calling to my Beast as surely as if the song was written for me personally. There's no telling now who is predator and who is prey... not until your hand closes around my throat and my head goes back. Staring up at you, eyes just as dark and predatory as your own. Just as much the hunter as you...

My fingers claw your skin, Try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night For which I have to howl

Growl answering growl, not a drop of submission in these veins. You have to earn it. You WILL earn it, or this will not continue. Respect is not enough to get me to bare my throat. Liking you is not enough for me to offer a wrist. It takes a hell of a lot more than these to get me into this position, and here I am... Waiting.

This has always been a dance. It will always BE a dance. This is your move now... what will you do?

Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out

My pulse is pounding in my veins, waiting. Waiting for you to move again. Nothing but the pressure of your hand around my throat, tense and praying for the pressure that will come. Pressure to constrict my breathing; to steal it all away from me.

The saints can't help me now, The ropes have been unbound I hunt for you with bloody feet Across the hallowed ground...

Gods yes. The Beast is loose, and prowling through every line of music, pouring through every note and beat. Can you feel it? Can you feel the brush of fur against your skin? The slide of claws over your flesh though you are free, and I am bound...? I am just as free as you, just as much the hunter here. The Wildwood is my domain, no matter how in control you think you are.

Like some child possessed, The beast howls in my veins I want to find you, Tear out all of your tenderness...

You will lose yourself in the Beast. That I know for certain. In the rise and fall of your own inner creature of bone and blood and fur and claws. Let it out... I wantyou to be possessed by it. I want the black of your eyes and the racing of your blood beneath your skin.

The fabric of your flesh, Pure as a wedding dress Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest

I crave mark for mark, and howl for howl. Snarled threats and nails biting into flesh. Skin that started pale and white turning red and purple and blue under dim lighting. Breath over hair and fingertips dragged down and down... Yes, this is what it is to let loose your beast. To revel in all the darkness that humanity has claimed to forget...

A man who's pure of heart and Says his prayers by night May still become a wolf When the autumn moon is bright

No matter what god you pray to, no matter what deity you invoke or spirit you call up... you will fall to your Beast. It will tear its way through sinew and muscle and remake you in its own image. A thing of fire and fear and horror, with a low deep voice that shakes the earth. I call to it now, let it out, let it out... Let it dance, let it move, let it hunt, let it Be... Let it Be.

If you could only see The beast you've made of me I held it in but now it seems You've set it running free

Let it run... Wrap your hands in my hair, around my throat; hold me close. Let me see the look on your face, feel the terror coiling in my belly. The anxious desires of fight or flight. I will give in... we both know where this goes. But I will make you fight for every inch of ground you gain, on this you have my Oath.

The saints can't help me now, The ropes have been unbound I hunt for you with bloody feet Across the hallowed ground

Stand.

Stand, as waters rise cold and dark and all-encompassing around you. As hands go numb and fingers refuse to move. When flesh turns blue and shrivels, nothing but the smell of brine turned to stinging agony in your nostrils.

Stand.

Stand in fire and flames and heat that caresses. Bold as a lover's grasp and just as fierce. Before comforting heat turns to blazing pain in the moment between heartbeats. Rush of breath, before you exhale in a strangled scream.

Stand.

Stand against the wind that howls and tears at your skin. That wears away the rocks and beats against the trees. Stand against the force that turns solid stone to dust, and shifts the boundaries of the desert. Struggle for air as every new breath is stolen from your lungs.

Stand.

Stand as the earth moves beneath your feet. Stand as fissures open, break, and become yawning caverns seeking your death; body thrown to the ground below. When all is torn apart, your foundation shattered and nothing more than a prayer unsaid.

Stand.

Child of the deeps, of emotion running wild with the waves. Offspring of fire, of burning passion and igniting will that dances in flame. Scion of the air that moves, that moves through every body until it ends, gasping. Son of earth, of root and rock passing to the center of your world.

Stand.

Allow your body to be more than it is. Move with the tides; do not become the rock on which they break. Feel, breathe, know, accept... become.

Growth is pain. Pain that burns in your veins and cauterizes all wounds. Blaze with it, make it your own. Do not become the fuel for those flames, inhabit the fire itself.

Breath is life. Rise and fall of your chest, the movement of lungs against the cage of your ribs. Heartbeat... continuous drumbeat in your ears; the rhythm of life itself. The cadence of existence. Do not allow the wind to steal what is yours. You are more... become!

Earth is your solid ground. There will always be more, the further down you travel. Sink your roots so deep you can never be thrown from balance. Sure-footed, confident, stand tall. Take pride in who you are, in what you are becoming. The earth moves.... move with it; do not allow yourself to be shaken.

Feel. Intuit. Let will and instinct guide your movements; make them as sure as any you've ever known.

Breathe. In; the flow of all that is. Out; the continuing of all that was.

Know. Here in this moment You Are. Present, unmovable, connected and sure.

Accept. Here is your place, for it is yours and yours alone. Take it up, no one else is capable.

Become. The world is ever-changing, and our energy moves with it. If you make your energy a destination; your body a holding cell; you cut it off and it will die.

Feel the flows. Let them move you; guide you. Breathe, let it dance as it will; unfettered. Accept, there is nothing but the moment and here, You Are. Become, there is no greater goal than to grow and to be. To learn, and to understand.

teach me to hear mermaids singing...- Sirens and echoes, lost in the mist.

...

Sophomoric, She told me. Oh, youthful and vain-

Longing. Wistfulness. Homesickness for something I neither know, nor remember. A feeling of loss from the moment I first had memories...

I wrote stories from the moment I knew how... made them up and told them as I went, without fear or understanding of judgement. I shared my innermost heart and soul, in hope that someone knew what I was talking about.

Half-remembered dreams, well-loved and called up in dark moments. Dogeared volumes of high fantasy and myth recalling a high green country, filled with dark places in deep woods and caverns lost in fog. A world of overgrown paths and tangled ways. Where beasts lurk in the dark to waylay unwary travelers. Sphinxes and Sirens with riddles and traps. A world where I was always in danger, and where wits were as good a weapon as any you could be given. Music forgotten upon waking with lyrics that made me cry in my sleep. Rhythms and movements I should not have known, and knew anyway.

And then I grew up... or so I thought.

Then came horror and trauma and pain too much to be borne. What had been a hope and a tower of thought and intelligence became my prison. Words dried on the page like broken things... Useless and as dead as old poets, and made half so much sense.

And what was I without my words? What was I without a pen in my hand, and dreams in my mind? And so I stopped writing. I repressed my pain and closed the Gap behind me that had been my doorway, my gate into hidden worlds.

After the pains of childhood, of a twisted and corrupted youth... I went back again. I found the door overgrown. Shattered on rusted hinges that were so tangled up in thorns and ivy I thought it would kill me to open the way again. Words were waiting behind the door, that much I knew. Words that would make me bleed again, that would open up every old wound crusted over and forgotten.

But it was time, wasn't it...? Time to remember childhood forays into Faerie. I began to read again. I entered books that had, before now, been closed to me for one reason and another. Those old rules about where I was allowed to Travel no longer applied. I moved like one possessed, devoured and tore through new worlds, new characters. Caught them up like treasures in a dragon's horde and held them close...

They were not MINE.... but they would do for now.

And in those moments, when once I looked up again... When I saw the world changing around me again. Felt how Time moved differently when I had put some new Story aside and reached for another-

There was the Doorway again. Waiting.

It fell open without so much as a creak, decomposing into dust the moment I reached for it. And there they were again, as I had left them, and unchanged. My words. My worlds, created in the mind of a child who was no more Knowing than they should be at that age. Without fear, without doubt... with nothing but a burning Innocence and desire for Creation for its own sake. Not for glory, nor for anyone's sake but their own.

And... in the middle of it all... in dark Goblin leather and a sadistic smile. With heterochromic eyes and platinum hair... With sharp teeth and strange brows, and a wind from nowhere that moved him...

There was my King... my Muse, my Grace, my Awakening all over again.

I am tired of the performance of it all. Sex is not a performance. It should feel as natural as breathing, as being. It should require no more confidence than what is necessary to take my hand. To smile the smile that makes me want to follow you anywhere.

Sex should happen because the moment is right. Right touch, right voice, right ears to hear. Right skin on skin, right breath, right pulse thundering in our veins. Your energy floods your core, into your heart... and then to mine, electric and cracking along our skin.

Bask with me? Roll in it, play with it. Send it back and forth like it is the ball and we are the beach. The sun and the sand, the roaring surf in our ears. 'Til we are sweaty and sated and there is nothing left but to fall into each other's arms. More connected than we have been before. Here in this moment.

Forget what "women want." Forget what you know of men. Forget "how to make love to a trans person." I am here. Wanting you. Make love to ME. Fuck ME. You are here, and all I see is your face, your eyes, the way your lips part as your breathing quickens. The shake of your hands, how they steady when they grasp at my hips...

Do not worry about taking it too slow. Do not worry over being too hard, too fast- we have infinite rhythms and infinite ways. Come and dance with me, here and now, however we need without constraining ourselves. No guilt here fordoing it wrong. There is no wrong. There is only us, here in this moment.

Do not worry about whether or not I will come. I am right here. Wanting you. Waiting with wide and dark eyes seeing nothing but you. Wanting no one but you. You do not have to convince me. You will not need to ask, or to plead... I will be right there with you, falling over that edge. When we are ready. Ready to fall, again and again... As many times as we please.

I want your authentic self. I do not want a performance. I am not here for a show. Do not compare yourself to others. Do not ask me those questions. I am here, and I want you. Is this not enough? So do not say that what I like is ugly. That my attraction is wrong. My opinion is just as right as yours, my universe just as forged of my perceptions.

So I do not care if my head hits the wall. I do not care if our teeth knock against each other when we kiss; too frantic, too desperate to be close for concern. I do not care of you slip out or away from me, so long as you come back. I do want you back again!

There is no right or wrong way. There is no good in bed. You are here, in MY bed. I am here in yours. I want you there. I am glad of you being there. Forget your memories of other times. I do not want your technique. I want your instinct. I want breath and bone and blood and fire and for us to burn together.

Fear is a bladed thing- Sharp and cold, Sliding over skin Left pebbled in heated air.

Fear is a creeping thing- Slipping over spine, Sinking into bone, Racing with the blood.

Fear is a dark thing- Emerging from the shadow, Stalking from the edge of vision. Claws dragging over flesh.

Fear is a beautiful thing- A gift of Panic terror. A flight of breath Pursued by racing heart.

“anxiety is a deity that doesn’t answer prayers.”

. Anxiety is whispers, Playing to your fears.

Anxiety is the thing with claws Scratching in a corner of your mind.

Anxiety is a twisted thing, Fear and expectation combined.

Anxiety is dark Like fading hope.

Anxiety is bright, Like razor blades and rope.

Anxiety is shaking hands And stumbling over speech.

Anxiety is everything That others couldn't teach. . .

How to get out of bed How to self-care. How can you manage your life, If you can't brush your hair?

Depression's just around the corner. Anxiety's awake. PTSD is crawling closer Cue Panic... The kind that can't be faked.

Sit up and smile. A bit more effort from me... But I can fake normal. Wear a mask and Be.

Please don't promise me forever

It tastes like cold steel It feels like thorns across the skin

Forever feels like silence Ringing insistently Inescapable

Forever is salt Forever is waves of intrusive thought Forever is memories and hope

Please don't promise me forever

We are not immortal We are not all-knowing We are perfectly imperfect

Sometimes we fit Smooth and well-formed Beautiful and meant

Sometimes we don't Promises get made Promises get broken Good intentions born of emotion

Desire and longing Are not enough to fill the space Black words on white Spilling from broken heart Grasping for any kind of understanding

Promise me today. Promise me now.

One moment. One heartbeat. One more breath. One instant.

Nothing more.

There is no certainty. There is no eternity.

Broken vows smell like sulfur. They feel like ash on the skin. It takes more than water To wash it away.

More than I have to give More than you can offer.

Do not promise me forever.

Years from now... He will sit before his ex-lover.

He won't say a word. He won't need to, because heartache is a distant memory.

His hair will be longer than it's ever been. His lips will curve in smiles no one else has ever seen.

And in that moment... The ex-lover may panic. He has been lost. He will never be returned...

There is nothing to do But to watch him be in love with someone else.

And truly Perfectly Happy.

They say the best revenge Is living well. That revenge is sweet when it is cold.

He doesn't want revenge. Not really, not anymore.

Just something more than dreaming. Something more than survival and fighting.

And secret smiles taste like joy on his lips. The laughter in his veins feels like peace. Hope isn't an illusion anymore, it is a welcome friend.

And he smiles.

Reach for me, now. Take me in your arms. Whisper of skin on skin,

Audible Silence.

Flesh.

What is warm, and soft- What is willing.

Breathe.

Staggering. Aching. Expansion of air,

Exhale.

Pull me closer, Move with me. If you touch me I will fall...

Catch me.

Send me soaring. I will fly as far As wings of joy May take me.

When I fall... And I will fall- Catch me.

The body that houses the beast Is small. Narrow, slim, and pale.

The body that houses the beast, My dear, Is shy and weak, fragile.

The body that houses the beast, is lies Sweet lies to tempt your hand.

The body that houses the beast, My dear, Will take each blow and stand.

I will stand and fight, My dear. My back unbent nor bowed.

I will stand and fight, My dear. For as long as Gods allow.

The body that houses the beast, My sweet, Will stand far longer still.

For the body that houses the beast, Its heart, Is stronger far, and proud.

.

The body that houses the beast, My beast, This monster under skin?

The body that houses the beast, My beast, Has learned, and felt, and Been.

I will stand and stand, My dear. Oh, I am more than body or beast.

The body that houses this beast, My sweet, Is gentle warm dark sin.

.

The body that houses the beast, My beast? Will crack and break and wear away... The masks will fall at end of day.

My Beast will roam where I cannot. Strong and fierce when I am gone. And still, this Beast will carry on...

.

There's a question, a thought.

[Dying to be spoken aloud.] {There's a sense, there's a feeling,}

Quiet little feeling....

{Yes, lingering about.}

[I just wonder...]

Consider for a moment-

[Hm? No.] {Just a wandering amusement?}

There's a question. Little question...

[Speak it and be done.] {No...}

Well then, what do I know...?

But, nice little thought.

{Tie it up, and deliver it, watch it wiggle.} [Fun thoughts are always nice-]

Well... maybe just a little?

[What happens if you hint at it?] {Passing thought, flashing fancy-}

Tch, that's what you always say.

['least I'm honest...]

That you could say, maybe.

[But honest... what's honest?] {Bright and shining honesty.}

Honesty isn't all that shiny...

[Is it worth it...?]

There's a thought, there's a feeling-

[Heh, probably Dreaming.] {If you're dreaming, or you're Dreaming?}

Thoughts are always free, at least.

[So what's wrong with a fancy?] {With a little bit of dancing?}

If you mean it-

{If you don't mind sore feet...?}

Something red and warm.

[Something freeing...] {Something worth believing?}

That'd be a great surprise.

A surprise for a thought-

[Opportunity for feeling...?] {For one night of believing!}

Is it worth it...?

[There's a question!] {Questions don't have answers in the dark...}

Prayers don't get answered.

{Prayers will never reach a mark.}

No one to hear, no one to listen.

[One deep breath now, c'mon-] {One chance, you might miss it-}

Breathe, if you can-

[Scream if you're able!] {Tears come next...}

Blood rising, racing beneath your skin-

[That's right, go ahead and scream!] {Howl if you want, might make it better...}

If anything could be better than this-

There's a question, a thought.

[Dying to be spoken aloud.] {There's a sense, there's a feeling,}

Quiet little feeling....

[Why explain it?] {Why bother?}

Not like it matters...

{Not for one free thought.}

An estimated 2 to 5% of the population is Transgender. This includes those who are AMAB, AFAB, MtF, FtM, and anyone else who falls under the Trans umbrella. [i.e.: those who are Nonbinary, Gender Variant/Gender Divergent, Gender Queer, Genderfluid, etc.]

It stands to reason, then, that in a society as large as ours that those who fall under the Trans umbrella do not get the same courtesies that those who are Cisgender [those who identify with the sex/gender they were assigned at birth] do.

Simple things like public restrooms you won't get yelled at or assaulted for using. A job you won't lose because of how you present yourself/dress/the pronouns you use. The gender marker on your ID and other documentation matching how you see yourself. How you 'pass' in society matching the way you see yourself [identifying as a woman and being called ma'am, identifying as a man and being called 'sir.' etc]

On fetlife, the predominant dynamic is Male Dominant, Female Submissive. This is prevalent in any writing you see on Kinky & Popular with the rare Female Dominant, Male Submissive exception. This suits both the binary gender our western culture has drilled into our heads, as WELL as the gender roles society insists are "natural," "right," and "godly." [Wives, be submissive to your husbands, blah fucking BLAH.]

To you people who are of the binary, who are comfortable in our society, who profit in privilege and comfort from the binary, who don't have to think or consider these questions, I ask a simple question: What do you do when presented with someone who does not conform to your notions of "normal?"

How do you deal with someone who is neither male, nor female?

How accepting are you of their pronouns, of their presentation, of their dynamics and relationships? In your head, are you mentally wondering whether or not it's a 'phase?' Whether or not they are going to "grow out" of it? Are you mentally correcting people on the pronouns in question according to what you're seeing?

Oh, this person says they prefer male pronouns but hey... they look like a girl to me!!! ?

How do you respond to corrections in how you deal with someone who is nonbinary?

Are you uptight about your speech being policed? About being corrected on someone else's pronouns? Being reminded that someone prefers a certain pronoun set, or identifies a certain way when you simply can't wrap your head around it...?

How much do you understand about dysphoria and gender fluidity?

If one of your friends is nonbinary, how much do you understand about what it's like to have your body; which has been yours since birth; suddenly have such a sense of wrongness that you'd rather not be touched? Do you know what it is like to feel like a vital part of your body is just...gone? Missing without a sign it was ever truly there to begin with? Do you know anything of what it is to suddenly switch genders mid-sentence? To have that itching, unfixable, wrongness swing from one extreme to the other without warning?

I understand that I'm the odd one out. I understand that I, and the 2-5% of the population who is remotely like me, are not the "average." The "normal" you have been presented with all your lives.

But know this: I, and others like me, have been the punchlines to mainstream society's jokes since our beginnings. Across the world, there are cultures other than those of the West who openly embrace people like me. We have our own place in culture, in history, and society. The West's concept of Binary gender and the male/female dichotomy is LAUGHABLE in light of a broader world view. Indeed, the West had its own nonbinary and third gender roles before White Colonialism began fucking things to hell here, and in other Western countries.

My point is this: understanding of the wider culture in this country does not excuse it. I refuse to bow any more in being "understanding" when my physical self doesn't match how I see myself. I refuse to bow anymore in being "cool" with people mucking up my pronouns or my identifier.

You know me. You've known me for weeks. For months. Some few of you for years. I identify as a boi. I use male pronouns. Sometimes my gender switches, but YOU are never going to see me in outright-girl mode. [Two people have that privilege currently, and you're not them.]

Don't use female pronouns with me. That shit won't fly anymore. I'm not going to make any more apologies for you. I'm not going to admit to being a walking contradiction anymore either. I am me. I present how I feel comfortable. My body is my body. It's not a 'female' body. It's a boi's body that HAPPENS to have breasts and a vagina.

In our community, our reputations are one of the only things we truly have. How we react to situations, what our self-awareness looks like, and how we interact with other people matters more than what's in our toy bags. The quality of our interpersonal interaction means more than whatever awards or titles we've been given by our community at home, and at any conferences we might attend.

This leads me to the topic of this post: Our Profiles.

That relationship status list means a lot more than some people think. How we identify can change; sometimes quicker than we thought possible!; as new information becomes available to us. Self-awareness is a wonderful thing, and I've always been supportive of personal growth and change. However... I have noticed that some people are much too quick to add others to their journey.

(Welcome to Fetlife! Avoiding the Velcro Collar ties in here.)

It's hard to take someone seriously when every few weeks they're under consideration to, submissive to, dominant of, protecting/considering a new batch of people. Yes, relationships come and go. Yes, parting ways happens. Yes, new relationships happen. But if you're in four different relationships one day, and two days later you're listed as single, only to be "Little of" next week there's something fishy going on.

So, what can we do to mitigate this?

Make sure you know who you're talking to.

This is the internet. This is going to be difficult no matter how many pictures they have in their gallery, or what their profile looks like. No matter how open they appear to be, it's a good idea to talk somewhere OTHER than online. Call them through Gmail, get a skype account, ask for pictures other than what they've posted. (Candids are usually better than professional or staged, since it's harder to fake.) It's also a good idea to get out to some of your local munches and meet people that way. Talk to other people about the person you're interested in. Ask their opinion on them as a person, get a clearer understanding of their reputation. Vet them. Extensively.

Get to know them as a person, and not a role.

How do they react when they are angry? How do they act when they are upset? Do they play the blame game, or do they take responsibility for their part in disagreements? What are your backgrounds like? Do you share similar belief systems? If not, are you both tolerant people, who will not begin to resent each other? What is their lifestyle like? (A homebody probably isn't going to get along very well with someone who's out clubbing every night into the early hours.) It's easy to get caught up in the fantasy of being in a relationship with someone before we get to know them. Rose colored glasses, NRE, and such are real pitfalls in this stage so be careful not to idealize your potential partner[s] more than you hold to your objectivity.

Make sure you actually want a relationship with your person[s]

How well do your love languages mesh together? How well do your roles match each other/complement each other? It's unlikely for two dominant personalities to have a lasting relationship unless they are also switches. Consistently. What is their relationship to their family like? Are you both out to the same degree? Do you want the same things out of a relationship?

What are your attitudes towards relationships?

If one of you is looking for forever and the other[s] want something casual or short term, you're in for a bad time. Feelings are easy things to hurt, and backstabbing in the event of a breakup is unfortunately not an uncommon occurrence in our community. How do you view topics like 'scenes' and 'play' versus being in a lifestyle, or dynamic? How seriously do you take your kink? If one of you is intensely invested in the local community and you view your kink as a bedroom-only activity, you're probably going to be incompatible in other ways as well.

Think before you change your profile.

While it's incredibly tempting to change your relationship status to reflect your end goals, or what you hope for, it's also incredibly short-sighted. I'm of the belief that you only change your status once you are already at that place in the relationship. Don't say you're in service to someone before you actually are, if that's what you're hoping for, etc. Just like a collar is an acknowledgement of the dynamic already in place between dominant and submissive, so is a relationship status. You wouldn't collar someone and tell them that you hope one day to be their dominant, would you? Backwards as hell.

Think before you speak has been a saying for a very long time. I think in this digital age, think before you post might be a nice update.

With thanks to Master Andy, and Sue, for bringing this up 3/21/215 in Freedom in Darkness.

You know the original five: Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Receiving Gifts, Acts of Service, and Physical Touch.

These are what people are referring to when they ask “What’s your love language?” What makes you feel loved? What action taken by your partner indicates care and connection to you personally?

Usually these love languages are accompanied by suggestions on what negative action would affect that feeling of love. For someone with Affirmation as their primary language, negativity and a harsh tone may affect them more strongly than someone with Time as theirs. Some people may consider the negative parts emotional abuse if it becomes a pattern. [Someone with Words as their language being repeatedly denied affirmation in favor of negativity and undue criticism for example.]

There are, however, other ways of looking at this.

If we begin to dissect these languages in light of BDSM and a D/S or even M/s dynamic, what could we find? Do Words of Affirmation become a pre-negotiated mantra? Does Quality Time begin to mean something other than a vanilla date night or a movie? What about Acts of Service? Couldn’t that take on a whole new meaning if a Dom has Service for their love language? It could become something more than just chores done around the house and move right into personal acts like caring for the Dominant’s own appearance. It could become something very ritualized, instead of spur of the moment. On the other hand… these could also take a darker turn than only making sure you’ve made the right pairing of cigar and alcohol for your Top. Something as simple as the Affirmation “You are Mine.” Controlling and potentially abusive in a vanilla context, but what joy would that bring to a submissive heart if said by the right person?

Physical Touch could well become Pain. Comfort turning into something harsher, and beautiful by its very nature for a masochist. Gifts could become the daily choice to submit, to offer up control. Being marked by your Sadist during play, giving you a physical reminder of what has transpired between the two of you could very well be a Gift. [And a treasured one, if play does not happen often!]

If your love language is Pain, there is nothing broken about you. If Control and Dominance from your partner give you joy and peace, there is nothing wrong with you. Shame about how we respond to stimuli is given from outside forces. Our upbringing, our family, our religion, our society at large; tell us what is natural and right in the context of relationship.

Shame is not our fault, it is the result of what we have been taught; usually from a time before we experienced objective thought. “This spanking hurts me more than it hurts you. I do it because I love you.” Oh… so pain means love. Ok. There are reasons for how we respond, yes. But they are not always ones we choose for ourselves.

Guilt is different than shame. Shame arises from what we think of ourselves in relation to society at large. Guilt comes from our actions, either real or imagined. Guilt also isn’t usually a long-term thing. If you cannot overcome these feelings on your own, a professional may be able to help. You’re not broken, but there’s nothing wrong in seeking help.

In the end, there is nothing wrong with your love language being ‘darker’ than anyone else’s. If instead of words of kindness and care, you need to hear reminders of who is in charge. If others desire gentle physical touch, you need pain to be happy and content in your relationship. If instead of; or in addition to; keeping the house looking neat you also need to be allowed and expected to kneel at your Master’s feet when he returns home.