Solo Pleasure With M
I am very lucky to have crafted a life centering my sexuality as a core force. Perhaps I was always destined for it.
I grew up as the kid of immigrants, but strangely to a pair of sex-positive, hippie parents. My father kept his Playboys stacked on the back of every toilet in our house, perhaps fueling a lifetime of embracing my sexuality.
Now in my early 30s, I have since landed in Brooklyn, where I am a creative and writer. To no one’s (and yet, everyone’s) surprise, I am also a long-term lifestyle dominatrix of over 8 years. Kink remains a big part of my life – both in and out of the bedroom.
I am not special at all in Bushwick, in the sense that I am a bisexual switch. I have a weakness for high femmes (to be submissive to) and thick-thighed himbos (to dominate). I also love (good) vanilla, contrary to popular belief. The kind that doesn’t feel like avoidance or distraction, the kind that feels like your whole world stops, the kind that shoots you right back into your body.
Regardless of where it falls on the power spectrum, I mostly just crave connection and intensity in my intimacy.
My sexual awakening came at around 11 or 12 years old. We had just watched 1994’s The Mask, and I remember furiously lusting after Cameron Diaz in the red dress, sauntering through the bank. I did not understand then what feelings were occurring, but I chased them through clandestine dial-up Internet searches and cheeky all-girls sleepovers in middle school where we gathered in the dark around computers, giggling while searching “sex” on the world wide web.
As I stumbled through puberty, I began to develop a more clear relationship with my fledgling femme body. I now sit at an E cup, but was already a hefty C by the time I was 13. I grew fascinated by the way these fleshy handfuls warped the interactions I had—the ways the boys in my class tittered nervously about my breasts, and simultaneously the way my school teachers rushed to cover them up for “decency.”
Thus began a relationship with my body that felt, at times, curious and proud and at others, like a weapon for me to use to get what I wanted.
By my early 20s, that relationship to my body morphed into a larger desire to understand my erotic life force. The feverish masturbation of my early teenage years evolved alongside my exploration of BDSM – I started to see it as something that could be a compass to my desires, rooted in intentionality.
I have long noticed how many of us engage with our sexuality during masturbation. The horniness grows and grows, until it’s nearly barking at us. We take it out, in the darkness of our private spaces – and, blinded by the desire, we furiously and mindlessly indulge in it.
We cum quickly, and then we crash – shamefully X’ing out of all the tabs (whether onscreen or in our brains). Now sated, we stuff that sexuality back into the box and shove it under our bed, waiting for it to inevitably bark at us again.
I saw myself going down that path and by my late 20s, committed to trying to be as thoughtful as possible with my masturbation.
In practice, that meant:
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