TABOO Edmonton

We are at Taboo this year, with ASPECC (Alberta Sex Positive Education & Community Centre), at booth 125, come check us out!
15% of all sales are going towards the gender inclusive bathrooms at the centre!  We are also raffling off a basket to raise funds for SACE.

A Story was Written on My Heart

The epilogue was filled with hints of rope, friendship and connection.

The words within called to me, and my interest was piqued,

I wanted to know more.

Those first few chapters had some minor adventures,

a great deal of intimacy building,

and my heart swelled with the love of deep friendship just as my face pinkened

with the blush of flirtation and attraction.

Some pages were easy to turn. Those parts of the story were familiar

I was comfortable as those parts unfolded; the friendship grew.

Some pages were painful. There were villians and foes.

Yet still those pages were filled with support, mutual affection, respect.

A few pages were a struggle. The story left me confused.

They challenged my idea of who I am, my labels exploded.

Leaving me uncertain. Excited, but a little scared.

Those pages included growth.

The next chapters were like most stories,

filled with day to day normalcy, challenges, joys.

Except this story was mine, and each word was felt deeply.

My heart was filled with the words of this story.

Some stories are writing only on our skin,

To be felt in the moment, but not taken into ourselves.

Some are written in our guts, held there tightly,

with small parts being released at a time,

Letting us heal slowly and safely.

Stories like this, when written on our hearts,

Those we feel forever, remember always.

They impact us profoundly, become part of us.

They leave us forever changed.

When I noticed that the story seemed to be winding down

I panicked.

I wasn't ready for this story to end.

I refused to read any new pages,

instead rereading the old, clinging.

I was so sad, so stubborn.

I clung.

I was not the only one writing the story

My stubborn refusal to move forward

It made no difference.

Words kept being written, on my heart.

I wept.

I don't know if this story has ended.

Or if this was just book one of four,

or maybe just a very dramatic chapter.

I just do not know.

All I know is that my heart holds this story,

My thoughts keep turning to it,

re-reading it like the cherished book it is.

Feeling the shock of the absence of new pages,

the pain of loss.

No villains appeared in those last pages.

No drama happened between the characters.

Yet I feel the hurt, as if there was a villain.

I feel angry, as if I was hurt.

I feel shamed, as if I am the villain.

With nothing to point at, no one to blame.

This story stopped, here.

A Letter to Me

Dear Little Me

Sometimes I am overwhelmed with rage at you. I am so fucking angry at you. You always trusted the wrong people. You always let people use you, hurt you and hurt us. You were NEVER enough. Not strong enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough, not quiet enough, not polite enough, not fast enough, not once, not ever.

I am angry because it hurts. All those memories hurt. Memories of the lies you were told (and believed for so long), memories of Mom, sleeping in a drugged stupor on the couch while you tried to be the adult, care for your sis and yourself-you at the grand age of five. And Six. And Seven and so on. Memories of his yelling voice, slurred with drink and frustration, of her yelling voice, filled with hysteria and madness. Memories of his sad smile, her vindictive one. Memories of bad people hurting us, trying to hurt sis. Memories of abandonment, of chaos, of pain and loneliness. Those memories hurt, little girl. And they are yours yet you keep on spilling them to me.

I am angry because you love your parents still. You love them, and the mean grandmother and the cliché pedophile uncle. You love them, and that pisses me off. Hate them you stupid little girl. They are not worthy of love, you do not need them. They do not love you, yet you love them.

I am angry because you still today rationalize it all away. Blah blah blah, those poor bad guys didn't mean it, they were drunk, Mom was sick, it's not her fault, uncle was raised by HER that twisted, mean woman.. Blah blah. Not their fault, huh. Whose fault is it, little girl? Cuz it sure as fuck wasn't yours. Don't kid yourself, they made a fucking choice. They made that choice over and over and over and over. They are to fucking blame for what they did, quite making it sound like anything other than what it was. It was abuse, not some fucking mistake.

I am angry because you let them hurt you. Grandma's words are stones that were flung at you. “Good girls don't let boys touch them” is a bullshit phrase and yet you can still hear her words, see her face as she sat there, sewing and lecturing you all on the craptastic rape apologia message of what good girls do. Why do you let her stupid ass words have weight? I am angry because you told. YOU TOLD, and it made it worse. You knew better, but You told, and you were weak. You told, and got us in so much fucking trouble. You told, and the punishment, to be forced to apologize to him for tattling, broke something in us, and THAT little girl is on you.

I am hurt because your pain fills me any time I give it a chance. It clings to my skin, taints me. Your pain lingers in the air around me like an invitation to all predators near and far- LOOK AT ME!!! it screams, I AM VULNERABLE!! Your pain is a lump in my throat, a heat in my chest, a lead ball in my gut. Every single time I let my guard down, there you are. Waiting to give me this pain, showing me the hurt, making me cry for you because you never could.

Fuck... you never did cry, come to think of it. You were always wide eyed, pleasant empty smile. Why didn't you cry?

I am hurt because I love you. It hurts my heart that I can't go back and protect you, this big me as your big sister, your mother, your loving aunt. The thought of you, so little, so helpless, so fucking alone hurts me, child, because you are in my heart the way no one else can ever be.

I hurt because I love you, yet the day you thought your soul died never leaves me alone, instead fills me with pain, with fear that you will feel that again.

I love you. I love the compassion you show as you struggle to forgive those who harmed you, to understand the why's and wherefores of their reasoning when they did inexplicable evil things. I love the strength of you as you stood, terrified, in front of sis, making sure she was never hurt. I love the optimism you harbour, for what seems like no reason at all. I mean, what reason did you have to believe that they would learn, change, love you? Yet you clung, filled with hope for the future. I love that you believe. You believe in yourself and the world. Every time I stumble, angry or hurt, you are there. That small smile, eyes wide with that mix of wonder and pain, reminding me that there is beauty out there, pushing me to find it.

I love you little girl. I will protect you. I hope someday you will trust me to be here, keeping you safe, the way I trust you to be there, helping me to be strong.

~It's a journey... Thank you for being with me on it.

Personal Responsibility and Consent

Personally Responsibility is a popular buzz word in this site and in society in regards to consent violations (which we will not call assault or rape because we would not want society to see our community as one that has room for predators in it). Whenever a discussion regarding community policies about banning predators arises this buzz word will be brought to the table. Whenever talking about helping newbies navigate the community this phrase will buzz around.

Personal Responsibility. It is a beautiful phrase isn't it? On the surface is seems so empowering. Take responsibility for yourself and your own choices and actions. You can CHOOSE and then you get to live with your choice. Personal responsibility is the concept that we, as humans, cause our own actions and because of this we are morally and legally accountable for our actions.

It is a beautiful idea. I even agree with it. We DO need to own our shit, to take responsibility for our journey and not expect someone to do it for us.

Unfortunately this phrase has been perverted to mean that in turn, we cannot look out for our fellow man. That because we are each personally responsible for our journey that if we see someone about to step in a pile of doggie doo we should shut up and let them learn the hard way. And that, friends, is where this empowering phrase has become a buzz word.

It's bullshit. It implies that I DO have control over everything that happens to me. It implies that where I stand today is entirely of my own making. It implies that I am empowered in situations where I sure as hell am not. Saying that we should have personal responsibility is another way of saying that what happens to Jane or John is not my problem. And that is utter bullshit.

But I can only control my own actions, not anyone else's. There is fuck all I can do to guarantee my own safety while still having a meaningful life. I can exercise my own judgment, try to be aware of potential hazards and risks, and learn from my mistakes. For the most part, this will work to my advantage. Yet, there are those not so wonderful persons who do not follow these rules. I have no control over their choices, and sometimes they choose to cause others harm, for their own gratification.

Why is it then, that when a grown up enters the BDSM community we say that they need to have personal responsibility in lieu of US having the MORAL BACKBONE to ban predators and those 'socially awkward' persons who touch people without consent? Oh, Johhny? Yes, he is a known dangerous player, but we keep him in the community because who are we to judge? That newbie he scarred? He/she should have personal responsibility. Jane? We know she likes to penetrate her subs once they are tied up without their consent, but that is the subs fault.. he/she should have vetted her better and needs to take personal responsibility for his/her kink journey. Judy? She is new and we know she doesn't have a clue but hey... she'll learn the hard way.

Don't mistake me-I firmly believe that in order to evolve, be self aware and grow as a human and as a bdsm practitioner that personal responsibility is paramount to our journey. I try to look at myself and improve. I strive to be proactive in my life rather than reactive. I own my choices and I would like those around me to do the same. I suggest to newcomers that they not assume anyone has magical authority, to vet players, and to attend munches and socialize in order to meet others. I certainly do not suggest that they are passive in their journey. Empowering ourselves and encouraging others to do the same is wonderful.

But...

When we are talking about players in our community who are KNOWN to be dangerous, to rape and harm and to touch without consent the personal responsibility gambit is victim blaming. The person who SHOULD have personal responsibility did not and does not as we can see from their continuous string of violations. When he protect these people,(and yes when we turn a blind eye and a silent mouth to these known predators we are protecting them) WE are condoning their acts.

When we are talking about how new persons should be just left to figure it out on their own ("like we did") because they have to have personal responsibility we are being utter jackasses.

Having a group that polices itself (banning those that use the group to meet newbies to abuse play with, greeting in pairs to prevent mishaps etc) and welcomes newcomers, shares information with them and answers questions does not dis-empower the newcomer. It gives them the tools they need to be able to make responsible choices (or not, as they choose).

For those of us who follow PRICK (personal responsibility informed consensual kink) please, remember that personal responsibility is YOU looking at YOUR actions and owning them-not ME pointing at where you were not responsible or you pointing at me.  

Thank you Pride

I am so glad I volunteered for the Pride Parade here in Edmonton.
This was my first Pride Parade. Up north the city refuses a parade permit, and so far no one has fought it. I admit, it never occurred to me to take a role in this and help organize one anyway.
When I volunteered for the parade, I was still seeing myself as hetero, with a dose of being comfy with women and their bodies. I have, till now, been in long term, monogamous relationships with men. I did not volunteer for my own sexuality, but because I believe that sexual autonomy is a human right, that being able to take joy in your sexuality is part of being a healthy human being. I am passionate about sexuality.

The point was to support something that celebrates sexuality.
Then, I was there. Surrounded by people of ALL TYPES of sexuality. Working with people from all backgrounds, religions, lifestyles, genders, sexualities and oh my flipping gawd.. it was amazing.

I realized ... This parade is not just for those who identify as being part of the sexualities included in "quiltbag". This parade is for everyone.

It is for the very JOY of sexuality, that we each can walk our own path and find someone to walk with us. That we can express ourselves in a way that is fundamental to who we are, not in a prescribed way.
It is a celebration for the folk who have fought tooth and nail for the right to love in ways that fulfill them. It is pride in our bodies, pride in our relationships, pride in our gender, pride in our individual ways of expressing our sexuality.
This parade was for all of us. The parade advocates for public awareness that love, sexuality, gender-these things are fluid, they are personal and they are as varied as the colours of a rainbow, with the divisions between labels being a bit blurry. The parade advocates for honest and proud sexual education for children, for challenging societal views of 'normal', for creating space that is SAFE to stand up and say, "This is me. I love me.".
I was absolutely astounded by the church floats, the religious groups that came out to publicly support Pride. I was shocked to see TD, RBC, Home Depot, Winners and other large businesses not only taking part, but singing, dancing, and PROUD to be there.
There was close to a hundred thousand people there. It was a family friendly event with loot being handed out, people singing, laughing, smiling, cheering and demonstrating that sexuality is not something to be hidden, shamed, criminalized-it is part of humanity. That from whatever part of the spectrum you are on, be it highly sexual to asexual, be it from straight to gay, your sexuality is YOURS, unique to you and that is fantastic.

Thank you to the folk who made this event happen, to those who work so hard to ensure that it continues, year after year.

the Kinky Tree

The Tale of the Kinky Tree and a Helpless Maiden                                                                                          I walked through the woods, enjoying the soft rays of sun as they streamed delicately through the overhead branches.  Needles and leaves softly crunched underfoot as I walked.  Peaceful.  I inhaled deeply, wanting to smell the musk of the forest.  I froze, puzzling over a scent on the mild breeze.   Was it?  No.. surely not... I inhaled again, and smiled evilly.  Yes, indeed, that delightful scent was one I recognized:  arousal of a maiden.                                                                                                                                                                                           Softly I crept forward, searching out the source.  I moved gently through the trees, as soundlessly as possible, the scent drawing me, until I reached a clearing where I beheld a vision that momentarily robbed me of breath.                                                                                                                                                     In the clearing there was a Kinky tree.  At it's base a maiden slept, helplessly tied, waiting.

I gazed at her, the view pleasing me greatly, for some time before approaching.  Then with care I moved closer, breathing in the air that was sweetly perfumed with her scent, listening to the small sounds of contentment she made as she rested.  She was divine.  Her skin glowed, beckoning to be touched.  Her hair held the fire of the sun and gleamed as the breeze teased it to and fro.  Her body was dusted with the magic of the forest, stray bits of bark and leaf merely adding to her allure.  

My eyes roamed her body, taking in the soft curve of her legs, the adornment of her navel, the swell of her breasts, large enough to not be hidden by her graceful arms tied in front.  Her face, so delicate, the shell of her ear that begged for nibbling, the sweep of her neck... So inviting, so stunning she was.

I moved closer still, wanting badly to touch.. but first to wake this maiden, to enjoy the widening of her eyes, that sharp little intake of breath that comes with fear and anticipation.  So I leaned forward, my hand sweeping a stray hair fro her forehead and spoke softly.

"Hello beautiful"

Her eyes opened and met mine, but rather than a maiden filled with fear and surprise the eyes that met mine were filled with mischief and longing, a need that dropped me to my knees beside her.  Those eyes twinkled knowingly, a bit of mirth and a large amount of temptation peered at me between her dark lashes. 

"Hello beautiful, yourself" she said softly, laughter hidden in her voice, seducing me much more thoroughly than I could have ever hoped to seduce her.  I stared at her, enthralled, unable to help myself even as my lack of words amused her more.

Finally I gathered what little wits I had left, and breathing in her heady scent again I reached out until my hand was but a breath away from cupping her face.

"Would you permit me to touch you, sweet maiden?" I asked.  "My hand aches to know your skin."

She giggled, a musical sound that filled my heart and made things low down tighten with lust.  "I would permit you much" she said saucily "but helpless as I am why would you ask?"

I stared at her, bemused, and spoke the truth: "I have a need for you to desire the touch of my hand as much as I desire the feel of your skin".  My hand trembled as she smiled softly, her eyes darkening, and she whsipered "oh yes..."

My hand cupped her face, fingers caressing.  Her skin was soft and so very warm from the sun.  My hand slowly trailed to her neck, fingers tracing her features, then to the centre of her chest, fingers stroking the pulse in her neck.

"You are magic" I breathed.  My body began to thrum, desire for her filling me.  

My hands lightly caressed her arms a moment when suddenly I knew what I wanted.  I wanted magic.

I dropped my pack from my shoulders and grabbed rope, my quick motion eliciting the response I had originally sought-surprise and anticipation.  

I dumped rope out and began to make art of her, the tree and I.

I untied her legs, unwinding the rope and carressing her legs, kissing and licking the marks her rope had left.  My nails trailed along her skin, fingers moving upwards to her thigh, over her hip and resting on her waist as I admired her.  Leaning forward I kissed her, innocent enough a kiss, our breath mingled a moment as my hands pulled the rope around her waist.  

I leaned back slowly, the rope tightening, as I secured her waist and thigh.  

I let my fingers dance, sometimes lightly sometimes harsh, each motion eliciting small sounds from her that I echoed.

I used rope to lift her slightly, her head fell back with glee as she felt it, her body a mere breath from the ground.  I looped another rope to her free leg and secured that too, so that this forest maiden swung gently from the branch, leaves and bark falling to dust her skin. She lay there, peaceful and incredible, swaying.  I enjoyed the sight of her, held in place as she was, the beauty of her near overwhelming.  

As if she could feel me joy her eyes opened and she smiled.   Ahh that smile held mirth the way a glass does wine.  From the pads of her dirt covered toes to the ends of her fiery hair she was magic, laughter and light.  Helpless to resist I kissed her, both of us laughing as we kissed and she swayed.  "I am flying! She giggled breathlessly"                  "You are, dear maiden.  You are flying, held by my ropes, magic and the Kinky Tree.  Helpless is what you are now!" I teased layfully.                                                                                                     "Helpless am I?" She laughed.  "Kiss me.  Let me fly!"  As she lay in the embrace of ropes, tree and laughter I kissed her, explored her skin and her laughter and in those moments I fell in love with this forrest sprite, this maiden of the woods.  Her laughter, her scent, her knowing eyes spun their magic, leaving me as helpless as I had first imagined her to be.  It was glorious.

More Pictures and Videos of my adventure with this beautiful maiden:

 More videos of this on Fetlife

Community Shadows

Let's be honest...
Our community, out of past necessity, has some rules and bylaws that are predator friendly. Our need and desire to keep things on the down low to avoid public scrutiny has created a culture of victim silencing and permissiveness in which predators like this one have been able to thrive.

We are a tight community, for all of our bickering, cliques and politics.  We tend to circle the wagons and protect what we see as part of our group. We need to face the fact that predators will and do enjoy some of the current rules in place; rules that protect the perpetrators of abuse rather than protect against them.  Some of these 'rules' are formal, some are more implied by way of silencing techniques.

Examples:

"If it didn't happen here, we don't want to know about it"
I don't blame them.  There are legal liabilities to consider if group leads have prior knowledge that personABC is a predator and they go on to abuse someone they meet at one of that group leads' venues.  I wonder if refusing to hear of such reports will stand in a court as a defense against this liability?  This stance also limits the groups ability to establish a pattern of behaviour, which otherwise would be quickly apparent.  By refusing to hear any report on violence or consent violations that do not occur at your event you are sending an invitation to abusers to feel free to shop for victims at your event, providing they do not abuse them there but instead wait until they get them alone.

"You were in a relationship, so it doesn't count"
Attention all rapists, just make sure you are in a relationship with the person you rape.  Then it is ok. (NOT actually.  In 1983 Canadian laws changed to reflect that EVEN IN MARRIAGE rape is not ok).

"It has to be reported, in writing, to person xyz"
Information that was not shared until 15 years after the gossip about this person started.  Information still not clearly being shared with the community.  What happens when that is reported?  What if the person you are supposed to report to is the problem (not saying they are, I am just being hypothetical here)? Can it be anonymous? Is there a special form?  In my case I was told to be very brief.  Yet I know he was permitted the option to defend himself at length, and I was scolded for not agreeing to send my post to my abuser to read, and for blocking my abuser.

"You cannot mention this person's name in conjunction with the club name."
This is a great way to silence victims.  In this context is that claim legal?  Can you legally tell a victim of sexual assault they cannot mention that the person who assaulted them has a formal position in that group?
This is to protect the club's reputation, I assume.  Sadly, if things are not addressed sooner or later this will hit the public in a very negative way.  I shudder to think of what the post 50 shades media will do with information that rape culture is alive and well in the local scene.

"Be a grown up ,deal with it"
This is one of the nastiest little buzz phrases ever, implying that anyone who can't deal with their rapist/abuser/harrasser/stalker is a child.

"Do not out anyone"
(Even if they rape you, their privacy is more important than your safety and well being)


Like I said, some of this is formal rules, some not so much.  Things need to change.  Preferably before we find ourselves in the middle of a media shit storm.  We need to become stronger, to support victims, cast out predators and actually stand by what we preach-that Consent Is the Foundation of Whatever It Is That We Do.