My Life is a Teenage Movie

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The last week concentrated the intensity of at least two regular months of my life – although there is no such thing as a regular month in my life. As intensity and I are old road buddies, I apparently always say “It’s been the most intense week ever!!!” My friends sweetly make fun of me when I come up with that statement.

But this time, it is true.

It all began on Monday evening. I was at home writing a letter to H, sketching the portrait of a character that I want to develop for our next script. “I don’t have her name yet, but it should be a morbid and poisonous, maybe latin sounding name. She’s a thanatologist, a death expert. She studied the sciences of death.” 

At about 10pm, I put my pen down, and without knowing why, I downloaded a stupid dating app on my phone. A girl contacted me right away. I remembered liking her on another app a few days before so we started chatting. We shortly found out that we were neighbours. She lives in the block of warehouses right next to mine, but as our buildings have separate entrances we had never met each other.

She asked me what I was doing right now. It was about midnight. I traded my pyjamas for jeans and she picked me up with her car in the middle of the night. She had brought take away tea. “How many sugars?”, had she asked on the chat right before I left the house.

We drove to the woods.

She put a CD with hits of the 90s, we smoked mint cigarettes. “Who said romance is dead?”, she said with a laugh. I was feeling like a teenager. It was awesome, because I never felt like a teenager when I was a teenager. I’m discovering the butterflies of adolescence in my 30s.

Then, fate hit me. She said she was a funeral director and had studied anatomy and mortuary sciences. Her name could have matched the one I was seeking for the character of my movie. I had manifested her.

On the side of living in the same spot of earth now, we had lived or hanged out in the same spots of earth before. New York, Brighton, and she wanted to travel to Iceland. She had something to do with most of the destinations I write about on this blog.

After a couple of hours unravelling our respective life story and being amused by all the coincidences, I spitted my gum so she could kiss me. I eventually got my belt undone. Yes. We did have car sex in the middle of the night, in the middle of the woods.

All of a sudden, we saw car lights coming in our direction. They got closer to us. Really close. It was a police car. We covered ourselves as fast we could, both panicking and giggling. Thank God the windows were all steamed up. “I am providing a training at 10am tomorrow, I can’t afford to be arrested!” I said, putting back my sweater inside out. The car went past us and they lit the blue police light when reaching our level. They surely guessed what was going on inside, but chose to leave us alone.

We got back home at 4am. I slept 3 hours and went to work with a dumb smile on my face.

Since then. I saw her the day after, and the day after, and the morning after since she slept over that night, and the day after again. She crosses the yard in the middle of the night and pays me visits at indecent hours. Whatever part of her boyish tattooed body I touch, I ask her the scientific name for it. She told me: “If I opened up a body for you, I could teach you the name of every single muscle.” It killed me.

She always comes to mine since her bedroom has no walls.

My bedroom does have walls which are witnessing our sleepless deep human connection.

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Attache-moi! (Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down)

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When I returned from San Francisco, I decided to become a bondage expert. I wanted to manipulate rope and be the dominant one – the “rigger”, as they say in the jargon.

I joined a rope group for female riggers called Hitchin’ Bitches. It was taking place one Sunday afternoon per month in a dodgy pub. The rule was: men allowed but only for being bunnies (being tied up).

I showed up for my first class, positively excited. I turned my head and spotted this girl across the room. She was tall, athletic, boyish, with a short hair. I instantly sensed she was gay. I instantly sensed I liked her.

She was teaching the class. Bondage Professor. She had a boy name, and cherry on the cake, she was American (I have a fetish for American girls). The topic of the day was “pelvis harness”. I discovered she was one of the top international people in rope, which is a fairly small community. She’s so good that she even creates her own knots and name them.

After class, I went to her, and I took her contact to get private lessons. Yeah. “Private lessons”.

A couple of weeks later, I found myself in a girls only Play Party in a dodgy sauna. Dodgy is fun. I turned my head, and there she was. Bondage Professor was randomly standing in the same room as me. My heartbeat accelerated. I knew that if I was playing it well, the night would be awesome.

I slipped my way to talk to her, I slipped my way in the sauna with her, and I slipped my way to tell her that if she needed a bunny for the night, I was her woman. I scored. She said: “Shall we do that now?”

She took me to a private booth. It was the size of a fitting room, with an Amsterdam Red Light District lighting, a mattress on the floor and some kind of beam for suspension.

One of the most intense and troublante intimate experiences of my life began.

She took out ultra-sophisticated equipment, like only a surgeon of bondage would have. Ropes of every size, colour and texture, wooden sticks, clothes pins and other things that I can barely remember or describe.

We kneeled on the floor face to face and she explained the rules. I was wearing my magical silver bikini, the one in which crazy things always happen (such as this or this), with a zipper on the top as an invitation to explore.

She first checked with me if I had any body injuries. She insisted that the communication had to be clear : it is crucial not to play games in the verbal communication, like saying “no” for “yes” and vice versa, cause safety can be at stake. And it is important to express any discomfort or pain for the same reasons. And she added: “Remember. There is no “supposed to”.

I agreed and before I could finish my sentence she grabbed my wrists with authority and I found myself in seconds with rope handcuffs. She instantly took the power over me. Oh. My. God.

I discovered that night what complete surrender means. I really was her thing. I let her manipulate me like a doll, do whatever she wanted with me within complete trust. It was a new stage of my life, because I find easy to let go at… 82%, but I have a hard time letting go at 100%. I went beyond that in no time.

She was putting me in overelaborated pauses, twisting me, stretching me, suspending me, and she could go really creative because I am hyper flexible. “Go for it, I am a dancer”. When she was finishing one creation, I was finding myself in a crazy position that was yet comfortable, so we were taking a break to talk. I was chatting her up completely under restraint, and we had casual first date exchanges: what do you do, why did you move here, how did you get into bondage. Surreal.

There was a strange contrast in how shy she was in the talk and how dominant she was in bondage. It felt like she was almost autistic and rope was her only true mean of connecting with others.

She was restless. As soon as she was liberating me from a position, she was getting me into a new one. Her creativity was endlessly stunning. She even tied knots with my hair.

As hours were passing, it got more intimate. She got the call for the zipper on my bra. I was surprised that she asked me. “Can I open it?” What a question. “Yes”, I said.  

I don’t know many hours we stayed in there, probably close to 3 hours. But time was suspended, just like me. We created a very special timeless dimension in a minuscule physical space.

Close to the end, I really started wondering if she was ever going to “do” me in a “traditional” way. At some point she removed all the rope off my body and gave me a giant hug, she held me super tight and I could feel all the intense emotion that we had both put in that moment finally releasing.

The only violence that night was to go back to the outside world. Inside the bondage cocoon, everything was incredibly soft and respectful.

A question was burning my lips though, I really wanted to ask her “Why? Why didn’t you fuck me?”

But I suddenly understood that she did, in a way that no one had ever done before. Bondage Professor fucked my brain.

The title of the post is a tribute to my adored film director Pedro Almodovar

 

The Shapeshifters

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I haven’t slept since November and I am just landing from one of the most intense weeks of my life.

Where did it start?

There’s been Christmas. Brighton, seaside, friends’ house, gifts.

In Brighton, I caught up with Í, and this is where unbearable intensity begins. I have always loved him to pieces. We met 9 years ago at university. We were equally dissatisfied with the course and we rapidly clicked because we were both incarnated and hurt. And gay.

Back then, he once told me: “Your sexual energy terrifies me.” And he languorously kissed me in the middle of the pub.

We lost contact for 7 years when I dropped out of uni. He randomly reappared in my life on my birthday this year, at a 5 Rhythms dance workshop. I got in the studio, and there he was, beautiful and loveable as always.

We saw each other last week, right after Christmas, to go partying in the trashy gay bars of Brighton. Night of wildness. When we are together, the rest of the world doesn’t exist and I understand that people may find us outrageous. We encourage each other in our natural Eros: hyper dancy, hyper sexual, and hyper inappropriate. It is so liberating. We say obscene things, laugh our heads off and dance till exhaustion.

We went from one club to the other till 4 or 5am, pole danced with the bears, laughed at a woman who fell down, chatted everyone up, burned every single dance floor doing the 5 Rhythms. I even taught him some Martha Graham moves near a karaoke stage where an old Asian guy in duffle-coat was exclusively singing Christmas songs. We were doing diagonals of triplets across the space, not paying any attention to the weird looks we were triggering. That pretty much sums up our relationship.

We came back to London together the day after to do a 5 Rhythms dance workshop entitled “God, Sex & The Body“. He crashed my bed for a few nights.

The workshop was about the male and female archetypes: Father/Son/Holy Spirit and Madonna/Mother/Mistress. We explored the change of personae, we shifted from one rhythm to the other and from one archetype to the other. We embraced the shapeshifter in us. Everyone impersonates the male and female archetypes, it has nothing to do with our gender. A girl can live her life like a wild son. A man can have the intuition of a Madonna. Everyone is a shapeshifter and navigates between the archetypes. It is fascinating.

On Day 1, as a first exercice, the Master of Ceremony, Jonathan Horan, asked the 100+ people in the room to stand still. He then said: “If you are married, walk.”  Very few people – less than 10 – walked. “If you are single, walk.” Most people in the room started walking. “If you are in a relationship, walk.” Some people walked. “What situation is left?” asked Jonathan. A tall beautiful and very pale girl raised her hand and said: “Polyamourous.” And she walked alone amongst 100 people looking at her.

On Day 2, we worked on the Mistress archetype – needless to say it is my favorite. The 100 dancers gathered in a huge circle and Jonathan pumped up some Christina Aguilera and said: “Give me your stripper dance!” That was SO liberating. The group was a solid sample of the human kind – male female old young skinny obese white black gay straight – and we were all going as far as we wanted in our stripper talents with no apprehension of being judged or labeled or getting dirty looks or an unwanted hand on our bottom. 5 Rhythms is the place of extreme permission within safety.

On Day 3, a few women started getting rid of their bra in the dance. I was looking at them, dying to do the same but constrained by my big-boobed-girl self-consciousness. I mean, I have been naked in front of people in various contexts and I am not exactly modest – I just had never danced topless up to that point. When I saw that older ladies were doing it, I was like, yeah, if they do it, I’ll do it. It made me extremely happy to dare, especially knowing that my therapist was in the room (I know… it is weird. That’s the first therapist to ever see that much of me.)

So, that was my days this week. But there were the nights, too.

After the dance, Í and I were pursuing the shapeshifter exploration in the dark. In my bedroom, in my bathtub. 24 hour research.

We stand in a similar turn of our life, some kind of rejection/fascination for the opposite sex. I’ve had this growing curiosity for male energy in the last 6 months. There has been my desire for a man I’ve met which is gradually getting out of control. There has been a variety of men around me. I love men. I am a lesbian and I love men. No need to justify anything. This is just how things are.

Í has been forever gay and knows nothing about girls. He doesn’t even have a mum, cause she left when he was a kid. He’s terrified by female power.

So we worked on taming each other’s energy, body, and fears on the course of 5 nights. We didn’t even have sex. We explored. It was slow, sweet, pure, beautiful, almost innocent, like teenagers confronted to their first experience. When he was touching me, I was feeling like a whole new continent. I was 12 and he was 13, or the other way around. That was so insanely beautiful that it doesn’t translate in description. I want to be a sex beginner all my life.

My flatmates were laughing at us, because they didn’t understand my sudden male intimacy. They were calling my bedroom the “Straight School”.

We went to the New Year Eve drag ball included in the workshop. Everyone was dressed in one of the 6 archetypes. I came as a boy (but ended up as a whore) and Í was an extravagant Sacred Mistress. It was even more confusing when we were making out. The male/female boundaries were getting real captivating and playful. This lady at the ball was entirely painted in blue with a wig like Marie-Antoinette. I asked her: “Wow, are you the Smurfette?” -“No! I’m the Holy Spirit!” 

Ouch.

On the last day of the workshop, I danced in my knickers with another awesome girl in the middle of a circle. No one wanted to ever leave. I suddenly felt some arms embracing me from behind as Jonathan was doing the closing speech. It was this very pretty Middle East girl that I had been looking at since day 1. We started talking after the closing ceremony. Apparently, she had been looking at me too. I wish I remembered her exact words – the meaning was “I was looking at you and finding you beautiful on the dance floor.” She gave me her card. I want to dance with her again, I think I want to know her. I haven’t said that in a long while.

Sexual charges make the Holiday season so much more interesting.

The Slut Limbo

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# I Have No Will

I had been off sex for almost 3 months but last night, decadence called again with the outrageous Skirt Club Party. Girls only in a top floor private flat with terrace looking over the infinite possibilities of East London.

I am on an intense phase where I am paving my way to a healthy personal future with no violence or conflict. I am therefore rewiring my brain to sweeter stuff, at the emotional and physical level. (As I am writing this, a giant LOL sign is flashing in my head… not sure why). It doesn’t feel that’s too much to demand from life, right?

But last night all my good resolutions got screwed with me.

# Covered With Sugar

It all took off (the night + my bra) with the Tequila shots game, which I inaugurated. I had to lie down on a table. The bartender that I really like and do nothing to hide it covered me with ice and sugar which 2 girls had to lick off my body. When getting to my mouth, they drank a shot and were picking a strawberry from my lips. That gets a party started.

# Sweet Pea Girl

This too beautiful to be true Hollywood looking girl arrived late with her girlfriend. Literally everyone was glued to her. She actually was the Barbie doppelganger of my iconic friend H, which weirded me out a little when I got into stuff with her. But she was taking Marilyn Monroe style facial expressions and was calling everyone ‘Sweet Pea’ so I couldn’t possibly take the whole thing seriously. She was lovely though… at every level.

# Losing it

After several episodes, I lost track at some point. I found myself in bed with about 11 other girls and we all mingled. Then, all sense of time & space of who was doing what to which part of me disappeared. And reciprocally. Limbs, lips, tongues, hands, skin, hair were spinning around me at 360º.

I have to say that in occasional moments like this I get out of my head and get intensely blinded by a violent feeling of freedom. I can even say a violent feeling of happiness. Super furtive, but super strong, like a huge shot of adrenaline. Sex is empowering like nothing else.

# Lakota Girl

The bartender that I like and do nothing to hide it is fascinating. She’s a tattooed native Amerindian girl from the Lakota tribe. I made her the most peculiar first impression though. A while ago, at the inaugural party, I was all corseted and heartbroken and I ended up throwing up in my cleavage from her too strong cocktails. She had to sponge cause she was on duty, and then she gave me a speech on binge drinking as if I was 14. That was the most funny & embarrassing way ever to find out you like someone. She keeps reminding me about this episode – we laugh about it because I love making fun of myself and for others to do so – so we have this weird connection. Last night I told her how frustrated I was that I made this first impression, but she replied that I was still tiny and cute.

After her shift, she hanged out with the few girls left and told us hilarious anecdotes. She was featured in a porn movie years ago where she did no sex but had to say a silly line to a girl doing pull-ups. The line was something like: ” Oh, look at these muscles you have!” and after she said it she was hit by the stupidity of the situation and fainted. They had to do another take. She is fabulous. I am feeling all gross teenagy around her (binge drinking aside).

# Meeting the Parents

There is an after effect to any type of getting high. Most of the girls there have boyfriends. Some are even married. There were 2 steady couples of girls. Most people go back to someone who is morally responsible for them after wildness. I think I was the only single lez (as opposed to bisexual) with no affective stability. So, yes, the cooling down can be brutal. Sometimes it may be more difficult than some others. I was all happy yesterday. No affective badtrip, no hard return to reality. Only question marks in my head.

Last time I went to this particular party was in February. I threesomed all night with 2 girls who are now a happy couple. From the dynamic of the trio, I knew from the beginning that they would end up together. Sweet! They weren’t at the party yesterday because they are on an introducing-the-parents trip. Six months from threesome to meeting the parents. I am 31 and I have never been introduced to any parents. Why? Is that a subconscious choice of mine? Is that my nature? Am I condemned to wander in the Slut Limbo for the rest of my life and write about it?

# Sunday Morning

Don’t get me wrong. I love my life. I love my freedom. I am just questioning my ability for emotional 1-2-1 in bed. I was the last one to leave the party in the early hours of Sunday. I kissed Lakota Girl and the pretty organiser of the night at the door. She told me: “You were the star of the show for a moment!” Oh yeah? My peach bum was an ephemeral centre of attention. I replied in a smile that I couldn’t see anything going on, as it all took place behind me.

At the bus stop, a tipsy guy asked me what I had been up to. I told him the truth very simply. He thought that granted him the right to put his arm around my shoulders. Life is a jungle. I was feeling good, though.

I love the sexy fog of the following day.

I’m A Bad Ass

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On Sunday night, I landed in the bed of a semi-goddess born in 1993. I’m ten years older and it was my first time as a cougar. It weirded me out at the beginning, especially because she was highlighting it all the time with stuff like “You are beautiful for your age” or “What can you teach me about life?”

I eventually looked at the funny side of things and it really cracked me up.

In the middle of the night, we were chilling out in bed and her flat mate/ex-boyfriend got back home and walked in the room.

There I was, like a much cheaper version of Brigitte Bardot in ‘Le Mépris’, lying in the nude with my cheveux blonds épars in the flat of two strangers who were teenagers yesterday.

She told him: “That’s [my first name]. She applied for a job at the United Nations.”

He looked at me for a second and finally said: “Wow. That’s bad ass.”

That’s the most glamorous introduction that was ever made of me. 

Failed Day

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I reached my NYC home on Friday night at midnight, returning from New England. I hugged α² as if I hadn’t seen him in months. He had fixed me a cute Boy Scout bed on the sofa because him mum is visiting and she borrowed “my” bedroom.

I met her early the morning after and it was the most awkward parent introduction I have ever experienced. I rose from the sofa with my morning hair and she was already glowing with effortless elegance at 8am.

I was going on a day workshop at 11am called “How to fuck like a porn star” taught by Madison Young, a queer sex positive feminist porn actress whom I discovered in “Too Much Pussy” by Emilie Jouvet. I went for breakfast with α², his mum and β but I told in front of Ბs mum that I was going to a painting workshop. She was very excited about it and asked me super specific questions and α² and I struggled not to laugh, I just couldn’t look in his direction as I was trying hard to make something up.

I arrived at the workshop in an amazing 3 floor Brooklyn house with patio and hot tub only to find out that the porn star was in hospital because of food allergy, so I went back where I came from. Brooklyn was so sunny, it made the walk lazy and pleasant. I wanted to meet the family at the flea market but by the time I got there they had left. Bummer.

I went back to the Brooklyn 3 floor hot tub house in the evening for the after party – a Play Party. I got there early and hanged out awkwardly. Everyone was friend with everyone and was talking about Burning Man Festival, where I have never been. When the party really kicked in I realized that instead of queer friendly alternative and experimental as I expected, the crowd was borderline tasteless middle-class straight couple swingers. Only straight couples were walking in, 2 by 2 holding hands in ridiculous outfits (Superman, nurse, fishnet unitard with strategic holes, T-shirt with a picture of their dog) (no kidding). Some dudes were friendly and chatted me up but I told them that I was totally in the wrong party and that I’d soon be bored to death. I had a couple of cool talks but I spent most of the time pigging myself at the buffet ‘Eat as much as you like’ style, petting the cat and writing blog posts with my iPhone on the couch surrounded by bare butts. A man in latex told me off: ‘Stop texting!’

I got seriously hit on by a short old deaf guy with skinny legs who didn’t get that I wasn’t interested. Not only I didn’t feel like talking to him one bit, but I had to shout and repeat every sentence. He finally understood that I was at the wrong party cause I am exclusively into girls. He replied with a sassy face ‘No worries, I love watching women together!’ I hope he was trying to be funny. But I know he wasn’t and he had just said the worst line ever to tell a lesbian. He tried again later ‘So, you told me you are into girls, but guys must be into you cause you’re kinda cute’ with a cow-boy accent. Did it really have to be my last night in NYC? Bummer.

That was my biggest NYC failure, but it was extremely funny. I think I had a good time after all, not the good time I was aiming for but who cares, good time anyway.

I left soon after midnight and walked home. Brooklyn at night isn’t scary, there are even some gentlemen on the street. It is only piled with trash.

I slept with α on the couch, only a few hours because we wanted to catch the sunrise on Coney Island, our Sunday routine.

Failed days make the funniest stories.

 

(Lesbian) Sex (Mafia) & The City

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First Play Party in New York on Saturday night/Sunday morning.

It was called ‘Submit’, was organized by the Lesbian Sex Mafia group for women & trans and took place in a basement in Brooklyn.

It is always exciting to arrive at a Play Party, because it is entering an underworld, a secret society. It is not advertised publicly and the venues are kept hidden. There was no way anyone would guess what kind of crazy stuff was going on inside this building unless they were part of the Mafia.

The venue was just dodgy enough, dark and organized as a maze. All the private booths had holes for voyeurism, which was more than half the fun. The usual BDSM rooms with crazy equipment (which I tend to keep away from) were hosting a wide spectrum of creatures.

Girls girls girls everywhere, of every style shape size age color femininity masculinity. There is so much diversity in this world that it becomes overwhelming when you are gender-fascinated. When you see such a clear sample of the rainbow range of the sexual identities concentrated in the same space, it gets so obvious that there are way more than 2 sexes.

I was one of the first to get some action going. Why not? It was strange. She was a little Asian girl playing dominant but who was awkward and kept apologizing, which made me way more dom than her because I always stay cool and in control even though I often inadvertently end up as the sub. There are many ways to be dominant beyond bottom/top, and mine is to trust and let go. How can one pretend to be dominant if they are themselves afraid of losing control? She was into strangling. I said OK why not, strangle me. There is nothing I frankly say no to, so then I end up laughing a lot. I can’t say I liked or didn’t like it, it was “interesting” and released my nerves until next time.

Then I wandered and watched the creatures for the rest of the night. A very tall girl whom I thought was a trans caught my eye, because she looked like a drag-queen (my ultimate fantasy). But I think she wasn’t. It is fascinating to read people’s story from the history of their body or the way they dress and present themselves.

I got my usual down after a few hours. It always happens when I am alone in a crowd, especially a type of crowd which can be disturbing when you feel lonely. But altogether there is support and good spirit in those events, like a human fishnet that prevents you from falling. People are kind. More caring than in the outside world because they live up their life and have therefore less animosity inside them.

I had a moment of sorrow because I still miss her and I fight that back with everything I have, but sometimes I run out of strategies or will. The DJ chose that moment to play Björk’s “All is Full of Love” and it was a strange contrast to wander those dark corridors with that tune in the background covered up with the sound of spanking, screaming, whipping.

I believed in it more than in any other context. Yes, all is full of love and all our regular or strange practices are on the path to our giant search for love. Most of us are fighting this secret battle.

Then, I met J². I had been looking at her all night and I dived my eyes into hers a few times, but she didn’t seem responsive. Towards the end of the party, she finally talked to me. I thought she was the sexiest prettiest girl of the night, one of those boyish girls with beautiful face whose blurry gender stings my imagination.

I don’t know how one of the first questions she asked me was: “Are you heart-broken?” which took me by surprise because 1/ I didn’t bring the subject 2/ you rarely hear that in a sex party 3/I am uncertain of the answer.

I had to think. I said “No… but it’s been hard”. It stunned me that she saw beyond. She said not to worry “because you are beautiful”. I replied thanks but if beauty was solving anything or cure pain we would know. We talked for a while. The venue was closing. I wrote my Fuckbook contact on her hand as she doesn’t have a phone (I like this.) She hugged me to say bye – our lips touched but it would have ruined everything to kiss her now although she’s the only girl I’ve been drawn to kissing in a long time.

I told her not to wash her hands.

Geeking out @ Columbia University

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I attended a conference last week at Columbia University called “Geeking out about Consent”. It was held by a transsexual lawyer (female to male) and was attended by a broad spectrum of people from the queer/weird/BDSM scene.

Columbia Campus, close to Central Park,  is ridiculously beautiful and ‘Ivy League’ style. I felt in the Dead Poet Society for a minute and it was fun to imagine for a couple of hours that I was part of the elite of the nation.

The crowd was interesting – we had to introduce ourselves and specify which pronounce we like people to use best to refer to us (he, him, his/she, her, hers/they, them, theirs). I start realizing that it is a New York thing. More than anywhere else, I see a lot of people whose gender is impossible to identify (often they like being referred to as ‘they’). I wonder why New York has a higher concentration of gender-blurry people? Fascinating.

I had a short moment of loneliness when I realized that everyone identified as “geek” and started sharing anecdotes of abuse – that’s why the class was about Consent. The main focus of the class was how to express your desire and say no when you are geeky. A boy/girl named Vanessa was like: “I went to a party once and someone wanted to lick all my tattoos and I didn’t know what to reply.” I was totally the odd-one-out, cause I am not a geek and I have no stories of abuse so it was even more interesting for me to attend the conversation as a spectator and not get any of their geeky jokes.

A few really good questions were raised though, which made me think about my own approach of things : what stops us from asking someone what we really want? What are we afraid of when we want to say “no” and we don’t? Why do we go for average things just because we don’t want to miss out on any opportunity?

We ended up the class with an exercise in pair : one had to ask “Can I ….. ?” and the other had to reply “No, but…..” or “Yes, and….”.

Man. Expressing our desires is difficult.

The Underworld (Play Time)

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My last day in San Francisco was a Saturday.

I reached the town centre by my own means – which is always an adventure in California as the public transportation is fairly nebulous.

I wandered in the city alone and aimless (my usual way to travel). San Francisco is quiet, colourful and laid back, and has some Mediterranean charm in the air. Maybe the bougainvillea?

I took a coffee at the Four Barrel, another coffee in the sun, talked to a Buddhist monk, to a French artist, to a homeless saving for weed. I spied through gates to admire secret gardens. I walked up and down the hills of Hayles, tried on crazy attires in vintage shops (I save you the pic of my butt in a tiger dress.)

When the sun started going down, I went back to Oakland. The way back was scary. I got lost in dodgy areas with no living soul. But I only got told that I had a cool jacket.

I met β³ at his place. We got ready for my first ever Play Party (Sex Party). In the car, he asked me if I was anxious or if I had any questions for him. I didn’t have anything to ask but I was anxious indeed, just at the idea of soaking with the perv’ and feeling like a virgin. I couldn’t imagine one second that this could be healthy. But I had a strong call from my darker side to be set free at the time, and I am grateful that β³ stood on my energetic path at this precise moment to help me satisfy the urge. He held my hand into a world of desires and it felt like earth opened under my feet to reveal a strong part of my universe which I had been ignoring all this time. 

The party was taking place in a private 2 floor loft, warehouse type. Huge space. The theme of the night was “Games”. We were about 150 people. Upstairs was buffet, dance floor, social space, neutral room (no sex allowed in there). Downstairs was “Fucking zone” (floor covered with cushions, hot tub, bed, BDSM equipment.) The space was punctuated with Angels dressed in white. Angels are resource people you can talk to if you feel bad, confused or lost, or if something goes too far. It can be easy to feel strange or very lonely in such an environment. Better to go when you feel fulfilled and are on a strong ego phase, otherwise it can be quite damaging. It won’t fill your inner void.

Of the few parties I’ve been, this one was by far the best. The first half an hour, I was feeling like Mylène Farmer in the clip of “Que mon coeur lâche, and all of a sudden, I felt home and I spent an extraordinary night full of magical encounters.

We started with an ice breaker game, to meet people and open up. We had to go in pairs trying to explain what our expectations for the night were. For some people the answer was straight forward, and for some others, like me, it was an abyssal metaphysics research. I wasn’t clear even to myself: what urge pushed me to accept coming here? And what unknown force made me feel irrationally excited about it way more than scared?

We did some exercises in order to express to someone else a desire we could have for them ; and accept the proposal or decline it in a non offensive manner. The ABC of desire : expressing yourself/saying YES/saying NO. Such a shame this is only taught in the Underworld and not at the surface, I mean, why do you have to join the “scene” to learn the basics of human connection like that? Why don’t we learn that at school? It is fundamental. First revelation of the night.

I teamed up with this guy and when I asked him why he was there, he replied that he was going to be off sex for a while. Me: “- Why is that?” Him: “- I am going to jail for 3 years in 12 days.” Drug deal. What could I possibly reply? “Make the most of it?” Poor guy. Everyone had so unique and different paths. People were generally way more interesting and respectful than in a “normal” party or bar, because the rule of the Underworld is to always check in the other’s consent before doing anything. This is obviously not the case in the regular world.

I had fabulous conversations with a social worker guy, with a painter, with a pretty girl who had thrown her own “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” festival (one of my most cult movies). I wrestled with guys who wanted to kick my ass. I watched the most improbable couples-for-the-night fucking. I received a beautiful kiss from a questioning hippy girl. I got my first bondage lesson with β³. I tied up a woman in her 40s. When I started restraining her with rope and going dominant, something triggered in my brain. An animal signal was flashing in my head, saying “THIS IS THE TRUE NATURE OF YOUR EXISTENCE”. Second revelation of the night. I whipped too, but I didn’t like it. I can’t possibly be serious doing this. I’d be a disastrous Dominatrix, cause I laugh all the time and I make jokes that ruin the fantasy. 

At about 5am, one of the male Angels started hitting on me. He lent me his phone to do my online check-in as I was flying only a few hours later. Energy started fading away, but there was still some action going on as dawn was breaking. He & I talked for a while with moans in the background. He was a Burning Man aficionado. We had a cool talk. He gave me a lift to the station with my massive luggage. I went straight from the Underworld to LAX airport. I can’t recall any of the journey back from San Francisco to LA. I was in a secondary state for hours (maybe days?) because of what had just happened. A lot of my representations, certitudes and preconceptions had shifted in my head.

San Francisco deeply altered some aspects of my life.