If the world is going to end I’m going out in a fit of hedonism. As the buildings burn around me I want to be surrounded by my favorite naked bodies, rope, wine, chocolate, and after care provided by the finest puppy bellies available. I’ve always known this about myself.
Which is why I spent 9/11 having an orgy and drinking too much sake. The evening of the Bush/Kerry election hooking up with random dudes from the internet. The weeks leading up to Obama’s first win finalizing my plans to get my tubes tied so I could still have sex even if birth control was somehow outlawed by Republicans. And last Tuesday smoking pot, drinking great whiskey and having delightful consensual sex with Mr Right.
He wanted to watch the results roll in and get sadder and sadder. I explained that though I sympathized with this notion, I didn’t share his desire to be depressed. I wanted to be distracted, especially if this was going to be the last evening we could feel joy without guilt for a good long while. Besides the tiny part of me that believes sex is magic and perhaps we could fuck some love and hope into the world, wanted to have the greatest sex we’d ever had to send good energy into the universe.
So we fucked one another silly, took one more sip of single malt scotch, hid our phones from one another and passed out in an orgasmic haze, not knowing the results of the election. I now know this was the only sane thing to do. We got to live in an unfucked world for one more night.
In the morning we tip toed around as if we were trying to not wake up the 3 million pound orange gorilla in the room. Mr Right looked at the news first and I knew it wasn’t good. I read the news next and was glad he’d refused to say the words out loud to me.
The tears started almost instantly and I was so glad to be somewhere safe, where I could be held and honored. And I was so glad to have a permanent birth control method and to live in a very progressive city. And I cried for all the women, queers, and people of color who aren’t as privileged. And I knew instantly that the violence was going to start that day, the supporters of that evil man wouldn’t even wait a day to celebrate this new society he’d created where it’s okay to hurt people who are different or to rape and assault women.
With this as the new normal, my first instinct was that the things I do—erotica, rope teaching, nude modeling—were frivolous and worthless. But then I realized that at the most basic level everything I do is about consent and pleasure and connection and beauty. And all those things are even more important now. That I need to continue not shutting up, using my white and straight passing privilege to speak where others cannot.
So I’m going to continue to create space for consensual pleasure, especially for us kinky, queer weirdos. I’m going to revel in talking about and sharing my body with those that honor it. I’m not going to be quiet or wear frumpy clothes or hide. I’m here and I’m everything the country just decided to hate. I will find a way to keep myself and anyone who needs me safe. So unfuck the horrible narcissist that will soon be in power, you don’t get to win!
By the same token I likely won't be here blogging as much in the coming months and possibly years. Publishing political essays and doing activist work seems more important right now. But I'll always be around being a rope slut, me writing about it here will just be less frequent. As always, follow me on Instagram or buy my book if you need a dose of my rope shenanigans in the meantime!
Thank you dear readers for your support and stay safe.