Hey Bitches, Teardrop is Back

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When Did You Know You Were Kinky?

One of the things that makes me question my own kinkiness is that I did not tie myself up when I was a toddler. And I didn't experiment with pain, although I did smack one boy over the head a few times with a shovel. A plastic shovel, people.

Many kinky people can recount their earliest kinky memory. In fact, I just started reading Gloria Brame's Different Loving, and right off the bat she announces that most people in the D/s lifestyle knew they were different from a very young age.

I did not think I was different at all. The only thing I can point to is a hankering for "non-consensual" sex scenes with my partners (yawn, right?) and the threat of orgasm denial to get off. But that wasn't until I was around 19 or 20. Years later, I also found myself very obsessed with age play and pretending to be a little girl.

I don't fantasize about the little girl thing anymore. It was basically a naughty tease schoolgirl sort of thing. You know, the gateway drug to bdsm.

But as a young kid? Nothing. Nothing that I can remember anyway. I just wasn't very sexually aware all that early on. Although there was this incident, apparently, in which I was found doing something naughty (not wink wink naughty, just naughty) and telling myself over and over: Bad girl, Teardrop. No, no. Bad girl.

Does that count?

Sleeptease

Better or worse than a striptease? Right now, sounds better to me. I'm so tired. I don't think I slept well last night. The rest of my non-sexy life is calling to me, and I suddenly can't remember last night's flirtations.

Oh. That's right. There were flirtations! No wonder I'm tired. It's hard being a tease. It is fun though.

If only I'd had this when I was in high school. I was so desperate for male attention. It's funny. Mister Man looked at some pictures of me from college and deemed me super hot.

Is he biased? Wrong? Are standards higher on the left coast? Or is it a confidence issue? Did I just not know my own hotness? I'll never know.

Back to last night's flirtations. Men drinking appletinis are just so wrong. Unless it's a boi or a boy dressed like a girl. Or a metrosexual. Oh hell. Appletinis all around.

A Secret Life...A Private Life

I'm always thinking about secrets.

This weekend I discovered Diva and her blog, and it brought back all of my memories of having a secret life. My secret life was both thrilling and shameful at the same time.

Then this morning on the radio I heard the person who runs this website, discussing what it's like to be the repository of the world's secrets.

Secrets are what brought my previous marriage down. Not just mine, of course, but secrets, nonetheless. And of course, the fact that I identify as a submissive is still a secret to many.

My close friends know that I am kinky, and a submissive.

What is the difference between secret and private? The power to decide for yourself who you tell and what you tell.


When the power of who you tell and what you tell is taken away from you, the shame comes flooding back. It's a secret all over again.

Maybe that's why I came back to my blog with renewed vigor. This is my story to tell, and I won't let him, or anyone else, tell it. I don't want to be defined by anyone else. I want power over my life and all of its gory details. It's my life. And now I'll publish this before I break into that annoyingly catchy Bon Jovi song.

Public and Private Kink

Mister Man and I have been kicking around the idea of playing at the next kink party. It got me thinking. What do I want to do? Likely percussion play. Maybe, eventually, suspension. Needle play even. I love the way needle corsets look.

Since practically my first play party, I've been intrigued by wearing a collar on the end of someone's leash. It intrigues me and makes me uncomfortable at the same time. I feel like I'm intruding on something private, whenever I see a couple in this arrangement.

I'm not objecting to those who attend a party on the end of a leash. If it works for you, good on ya! Rock out with your cock out, as Mister Man likes to say.

It just puzzles me that I do find it uncomfortable, when watching all sorts of other intimate acts does not. And it's not like I'm not an exhibitionist. There are things I enjoy doing in public. But apparently submission is not one of them. Who knew?