The Date Mar 7, 2005 12:29 pm Mood: optimistic, 1633 Views The date I finally settled on a nice form-fitting pink & black striped sweater, swing skirt and a pair of cute-but-sensible Mary Jane pumps. My date called upon arriving in my neighborhood, and so I hopped on downstairs. My knee has been going back and forth between constantly uncomfortable to intermittently irritating, so I had to relinquish the purely cute aspect of the outfit and take my cane along too. J. called again to advise he had arrived, was downstairs, thought he was in the driveway of my neighbor’s house, and told me to look for the Caddillac. (ahem.) At the bottom of my stairs, I looked beyond the gate to see a pearlescent white Caddillac lounging with the plump insolence only a Caddy can muster. He'd gotten the right driveway after all, it seemed. My first thought was “OK, he’s cuter than his photo.” Which is always a nice surprise. We were mulling over dinner choices, and decided to go to the Market / Castro area. My eyes started bugging me almost immediately the pollen count must be bad, I thought, just as J. sneezed, rubbed his eyes and complained about his contacts “I should have worn my glasses ” he sighed, “but, you know.” Yeah, I know I laughed and told him I’d had the same thought. I guess I had better get used to that kind of mental overlapping, since we chare the exact same birthday. I was aware that I was feeling a bit warm, and I wondered if I was having some sort of allergic reaction, or something was going terribly wrong and I have some sort of new type of hot flash?!?! What the hell . “Um .does your car have seat warmers?” I asked tentatively “You know it, sweetheart the only way to fly.” He laughed. I was relieved “Well, thank goodness, because it was either that or I was having some sort of ass attach, and I wasn’t sure how I could bow out gracefully with that as an excuse!” We wound up going to Chow for dinner. It was hopping, but the service was alert. We chatted along the usual “Getting to know you” front, and I blathered about rehearsals and how the were kicking my butt. J. manages a bar in SF, so we swapped stories about working in bars, crazy customers, and the like. I worked in a few bars back in NY and in LA, so I was familiar with some of the crazy politics therein. The conversation was comfortable, relaxed and despite my initial nervous impulses, I felt pretty good. One of the best indicators of how well I’ll get along with someone is how they handle conversational lulls. It makes some people wiggly, and they feel the need to fill in those spaces with fluttery chatter. This was not the case, and it was a relief to be able to pause over the meal, breathe for a moment, and relax. The first big Moment Of Truth in the evening came when the check arrived. Now, I don’t make any assumptions any more, and call me old fashioned, but I do appreciate a gentleman buying dinner. Believe me, I have run into a far lot of men who either balk or make a Big fucking deal about how it is a double standard, blah dee blah. I had one guy who’d asked me out actually say to me that he doesn’t go out on dates with women any more, he will only jump right to negotiating play. It wasn’t’ worth it, he explained, because he was taking all of these women out, spending all of this money, and not getting anything in return. !!! If that is your position, that you ought to be “getting something” in return, you probably have just solved the riddle of WHY you weren’t getting anything in the first place. Geeze. But I digress. J. broke out the plastic the moment the check hit the table, and shooed me away when I moved for my purse. So, that was A Good Sign. H asked if I wanted to wander over to a little cozy neighborhood bar nearby for a drink, and I was up for that. To my surprise, this was one of these maverick smoking bars, and I know I wouldn’t last too long. J. suggested, after a round, that we go over to one of his favorite dive bars over in North Beach, and though I thought parking would be impossible, he assured me he had the serious parking karma. When you drive a big Caddy, I guess you’d better! I had to laugh when we got over to this place it was on the edge of Chinatown more than North Beach, a tiny place populated entirely by middle aged Chinese guys, and one woman, all chatting it up and watching some incredibly racist 1940’s era “Cowboy & Injun” flick. I teased him about his choice of bars he laughed and said “Hey, when you just want to chill and be guaranteed that no stupid tourist or dumb drunk frat boys are going to interrupt your night, this is the way to go!” A casual arm draped around my shoulders when we got back in to his car, coupled with his fingers curling around the nape of my neck were pretty solid signs that the evening was going well, if the previous relaxed time hadn’t been a sufficient indicator. There was the whole shy flirty “My place or yours” dance, and I steadfastly refused to make it my place, since it looks as though someone took my rooms, turned them upside down, shook it, and replaced it before anyone knew what was happening. He assured me that he didn’t care about such things, but I assured him that I did, and so I decided to hop upstairs, grab a few things, and we’d go over to his digs in the East Bay. My roommate was in the process of taking the trash out when I got back. “Where are you off to, Miss Thang?” he of course wanted to know “Date waiting downstairs we’re going to his place, most likely to fool around and such.” My roomie of course needed to check this out, so he scrambled downstairs with the garbage before I could cut him off. “Ooo, you got the pimpin’ white boy in the big ass Caddy in the driveway you go girl!!” “I giggled like an idiot, and shooed my roomie away as he took his sweet time loading the trash into the curbside cans. “He is cute!!” Enrique opined. J. waved at us from his window, I smacked my roomie and hobbled back over to the car. “My roommate thinks you’re cute.” I advised J. he said he was flattered. We got back to his house and were greeted by one of his cats. I had a moment of guilt, and then I remembered that I had remembered to feed my guys before I left that evening, so it should be OK. He, like me, has 2 cats who are littermate brothers. Yet another coincidental commonality very interesting!! We cruised on past his roommate who was watching TV, and went to his room to relax. After engaging in a few um attitude-adjusting treats, there was some kissing. It has been a while since I’d had a nice leisurely make out session, and I much appreciated the sensuousness of it, the feeling of someone’s fingers on your neck, murmured compliments on the texture of my skin, and other things The kissing lead, as it often toed to a more intimate and naked sort of wriggling amongst the pillows and blankets on the bed, and J. leaned down to whisper in my ear and ask if I was going to be a good girl for Daddy And, of course, what little girl can say no when Daddy asks so nicely? Daddy seemed to very much like it when I pulled his cock as far into my mouth as I could he said my breasts were gorgeous, and made me shiver all the way inside when he nibbled and sucked on them. That was good .really, really good then he bit down, harder and harder on them, and ooo, Daddy that hurt and then his hand was around my neck and I couldn’t breathe, I gasped for air and his fingers got tighter until I couldn’t take it anymore and the pain exploded in my pussy I an came, really hard. Daddy wanted to come too now his cock was down my throat and then I don’t know how much longer but he was coming, hot and sticky and sweet in my mouth lips throat and I licked until he stopped coming, and sank back down on to the bed, breathing really hard. There was more kissing, then there was sleeping. This morning J. drove me in to work, and as we were kissing goodbye, one of my friends from the office walked by the front of the car. I waved, and as I was saying bye and agreeing to chat this week about getting together again, she pause don the sidewalk. I wanted juice, so we walked across the street as J. drove off. “So, who was that?!” she asked. “My new friend J.” “He’s cute!” she said, thought on first glance she’d thought he was one of the guys from the PR department, and she was about to bust out laughing when she saw us kissing right in front of the office. “So, when did this get started?” she queried. “Um last night.” I said slyly. She laughed out loud, gave me the high five and wanted all of the gory details. And so, here I sit, wondering what happens next will he call? Will I break down and call if he doesn’t call in a reasonable time frame? I am pretty confident that we are compatible on many levels and I think he’d be someone who would make a Very Good Friend. And that is a Very Good Start. xoxo ~Mollena 11 Comments

Fewer things engender more anxiety.... Mar 6, 2005 7:22 pm Mood: rushed, 1573 Views ....than trying to decide what to wear on a %$#@ date. I have 3 skirts, 2 pairs of pants, and a shitload of blouses, not to mention 5 pairs of shoes in a pile in my office, glaring malevolently at me, then snickering as the minutes pass. I took a break, to hopefully gain some perspective and focus. And, of course, I’ll probably wind up wearing all black 5 Comments

OMG.... Mar 5, 2005 2:51 am Mood: optimistic, 1681 Views ....I have a date for Sunday afternoon...an alt person, to boot. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek. Wish me luck. xoxo ~Mollena 9 Comments

Smart people, stupid grammar. Mar 5, 2005 2:30 am Mood: smart, 1644 Views I took the IQ test that ALT has on the site. Then I forgot about it until I was looking at my profile page, and clicked on a little thingy that said: I.Q. Test Results for DarkGoddess Your Score: 31 Your I.Q. score is 137 (Exceptional). The average score on ALTcom is 112. Click here to retake the quiz or here to refer this quiz to a friend. OK, so yeah, this I knew. I had to have an IQ of at least 120 to even be CONSIDERED for the school I attended. (I was a Special Needs Kid. You know the kids who would have gotten the shit kicked out of them had they been in the New York City public school system? I went to Geek Skool. Hunter, if you must know. In NY. We rock.) But I digress. If the average I.Q. on this site is 112, why are there so many people who don’t understand how to use the words “Dominant” and “Dominate” ?!?! Let me ‘splain. DOMINANT: dom·i·nant [Pronunciation Key] (d m -n nt)adj. 1.Exercising the most influence or control. 2.Most prominent, as in position; ascendant. 3.Genetics. Of, relating to, or being an allele that produces the same phenotypic effect whether inherited with a homozygous or heterozygous allele. 4.Ecology. Of, relating to, or being a species that is most characteristic of an ecological community and usually determines the presence, abundance, and type of other species. 5.Music. Relating to or based on the fifth tone of a diatonic scale. THIS IS NOT INTERCHANGABLE WITH dom·i·nate Pronunciation Key(d m -n t ) v. dom·i·nat·ed, dom·i·nat·ing, dom·i·nates v. tr. 1.To control, govern, or rule by superior authority or power: Successful leaders dominate events rather than react to them. 2.To exert a supreme, guiding influence on or over: Ambition dominated their lives. 3.To enjoy a commanding, controlling position in: a drug company that dominates the tranquilizer market. 4.To overlook from a height: a view from the cliffside chalet that dominates the valley. v. intr. 1.To have or exert strong authority or mastery. 2.To be situated in or occupy a position that is more elevated or decidedly superior to others. [Latin domin r , domin t-, to rule, from dominus, lord. See dem- in Indo-European Roots.] dom i·na tive adj. dom i·na tor n. Really. Dag, Yo. I swear I shall conduct a tri-state killing spree if I see one more "DOMINATE MASTER". ~Mollena 9 Comments

PLAYING WITH RACE (an article) Mar 4, 2005 11:42 pm Mood: courageous, 1950 Views Last year Ms. Daisy Hernandez, a writer for ColorLines magazine, interviewed me. (you can google 'em: I would post the link but I think the blog-bot eviscerates 'em....even links that point to alt pages. Go figure!) She’d been conducting research for an issue of her magazine that would discuss alternative sexuality among people of color. She was referred to me by several people who were familiar with the seminars I’d conducted and demos I’d done involving race play, and they basically said “Well, she is impossible to shut up, so you are sure to get a few good quotes ” What was supposed to be a brief chat over lunch became a full ditching of work, hanging out, chatting gossiping, swapping stories, and having a grand old time. I feel she treated a truly complex subject with respect: everyone can posit the reasons why playing with a racial overtone can be difficult, and even lead to ostracization. The reverse position is where the rubber hits the road. One big flame war of several years back resulted in my being edged off of 2 mailing lists and removed from the invitation list for a Women Of Color group. Believe me, the “No”s almost ALWAYS have it. Whomever believes that the BDSM Community is ALL about respecting other’s play styles and being accepting of that which is different has never been attacked by people you’d considered friends because your choices are not the choices that they make. Having a fair view of those of us who DO engage in such play is a rare honor. I'm going to post it here...maybe in the articles section too. People’s reactions around play that involves race is so polarized, and I find the subject very rich. ************************************************************************************************** Hot & Bothered: Sex, Race, Gender ColorLines - vol. 7, no. 4 Playing with Race by Daisy Hernández On the edge of edgy sex, racial BDSM excites some and reviles others. Mollena Williams is gregarious, the kind of woman who makes a point of saying, “How are you today?” to the Walgreens cashier. She has a short afro and laughs easily. She works as an administrative assistant and at night, she pens her theater performances. She is also a masochist. Williams is part of San Francisco’s BDSM community (shorthand for “bondage/discipline, dominance/submission, sadism/masochism”). By definition, a masochist receives pleasure from experiencing certain types of pain. By her own account, Williams loves pleasing her partners. That might mean a whipping. It might also mean obeying her partner’s commands or being called a “slut.” Her partners aren’t strangers. Like non-BDSM people, she expects to feel a connection and develop trust—enough to submit to a partner for the hour or the day or the week that they agree to. And she, in turn, expects a lot. Her partners have to be comforting, quick thinking, and treat her like the princess she’s always felt herself to be. Contrary to popular notions, BDSM is not about abuse. It’s consensual and trusting and people refer to it as “play” (as in “I want to play with you”). The point of BDSM is not sexual intercourse. In fact, when Williams recalls her first experience as a masochist seven years ago, she says she met her partner, a white man, at a bar and “fell in love at first sight.” They made their way back to his hotel. “For the first time I felt someone could see who I really was.” And that was someone who found it erotic to be a submissive to her partner. In recent years, Williams has added another element to her repertoire as a masochist. She’s begun to engage in what is called “race play” or “racial play”—that is getting aroused by intentionally using racial epithets like the word “nigger” or racist scenarios like a slave auction. Race play is being enjoyed in the privacy of bedrooms and publicly at BDSM parties, and it’s far from just black and white. It also includes “playing out” Nazi interrogations of Jews or Latino-on-black racism, and the players can be of any racial background and paired up in a number of ways (including a black man calling his black girlfriend a “nigger bitch”). White master seeking black slave, however, seems the more popular of the combinations. Race play is considered on the edge of edgy sex, but workshops on the subject are becoming standard fare at kinky conferences as people like Williams become comfortable with publicly speaking about it. Like any practice making its way into public conversations, the workshops include everything from personal testimonials to theories on why people of color are getting aroused by what some would see as just racism. Like any controversial sexual activity, race play has its critics. In May, the title of a workshop at a BDSM conference had to be changed after protest over the original name, “Nigger Play: Free at Last.” Williams herself has been the subject of several e-mails from people of color who, while enjoying BDSM themselves, accuse her of self-hate and recommend she enter therapy. ------------------------------------------------- He first considered race play when a partner asked if it was humiliating for him as a black man to bow before her, a white woman. “If that made it more embarrassing,” he said, “then I was all for it.” ------------------------------------------------- But Williams doesn’t seem self-hating. If she is, then she’s pretty darn happy talking about her writing and desire to find a good man. If race play is not about hate, then what is it about? What does it mean for a person of color to be aroused by words like “nigger” or “spic”? For the people that I talked to, it’s made them neither freaks nor Uncle Toms. Teaching Race Play There are about as many ways to engage in BDSM as there are theories for why it arouses. For some, BDSM is having your boyfriend yank your hair and mumble a naughty word like “whore” during sex. For others, it is whips, chains and hot wax—all done in public before an audience in a space that ’s been converted to a dungeon. Psychologists from Freud on down have speculated on BDSM’s appeal. Perhaps the most common perception is that it’s a way of working through childhood trauma. But some say it’s more akin to psychological theater where you abandon your mundane life role (all those responsibilities!) and act like a master or slave, for example. Still, others conjecture that BDSM alters body chemistry or proffers a spiritual connection. In his coauthored book, Bound to Be Free, Dr. Charles Moser has put out what might be the most sensible theory, calling BDSM just another type of relationship. It’s consensual and erotic, he writes. People find it erotic to act like they have complete control over another person (or pretending that they give up control). It also has its own rules: people agree at the outset what the limits are. Needless to say there are countless conferences, websites and parties, all of which loosely make up the “BDSM community.” It was at one such conference in May that Mike Bond was to present “Nigger Play,” a workshop on using the word “nigger” as part of race play. But a small public outcry from fellow kinky people, many of them apparently people of color, on several electronic listservs devoted to BDSM resulted in a change to the more demure, “Dancing with the Devil.” Ironically perhaps, people did not seem to object to the content, just to the word “nigger” being in the title. Mike Bond, who declined a phone interview and answered questions by e-mail, is a masochist. He is a black man and emphatic that race play “is not a message about all of black kind.” He doesn’t suggest that all black folks enjoy what he does, but he says, “I have been floored when people have criticized me by saying [that] not everyone agrees with my fetish. So what? Not everyone likes cheese. ” During his workshop, Bond told the audience about his own history. He first considered race play when a partner asked if it was humiliating for him as a black man to bow before her, a white woman. He hadn’t thought about it before. “But if that made it more embarrassing, ” he said, “then I was all for it.” On the panel with Bond were three white women he has played with. They emphasized that race play isn’t about hate. For one woman calling Bond “nigger” was just another bad name that aroused him. But another woman, who is Jewish, said it took time and encouragement to be able to relax with race play. ------------------------------------------------- “I can’t do race play because I have people in my family who had to submit to that, where they had no choices.” ------------------------------------------------- After the talk came the demonstration: A woman dressed in a business suit and planted in the audience heckled Bond, then grabbed him by the collar and threw him down, all the while yelling about what gave Bond the right to criticize “her people” (rednecks). As arousing as that scene might be for some, it is downright repulsive for others. Racism was institutionalized as social, economic and legal practices, in part, through rape and the white domination of black sexuality. Chupoo, who is a black woman and declined to give her last name, says it point blank: “I can’t do race play because I have people in my family who had to submit to that, where they had no choices. It’s too close to home for American black people.” Race play makes her think about her grandmother who had to sleep with her employer, a doctor, so that her children could have healthcare. Chupoo is not anti-BDSM. In fact, for seven years, she’s been a submissive in a master-slave relationship with a black man. So, she’s delighted, for example, when in an erotic context, he calls her a “bitch.” “I can accept other people are able to rise above their sexism,” she says, adding, “The race thing is really a lot deeper. I guess it’s easier for me to deal—he understands that we have a partnership I feel like my master respects me. I cannot imagine feeling that with someone around race play. ” Those who engage in race play are quick to say that they keep politics outside of their bedroom (and dungeon). But their own relationships to race are telling. Chupoo sees race as central to her life; Mollena, not as much or not in the same way. Chupoo refuses to do BDSM with anyone who’s white and she says that when someone at a BDSM party ignores her partner, or pretends to not know his name, it’s disrespectful and has to do with racism. For Mollena, it’s most often the other person’s problem, and she’s had relationships with white men. Whatever trajectory brought the two women to these different conclusions, it may also inform what they do in the dungeon, making race play either titillating or disturbing. The Turn On Many presentations on race play, if not all, follow a similar format: personal history, explanation of race play, demonstration and time for questions and answers. The explanations vary. Vi Johnson, the black matriarch of BDSM, has presented on race play at kinky conferences and she believes the appeal is different for each person. “When you’re being sexually stimulated, you’re not thinking that what’s stimulating you is a racist image, ” she says. “You’re just getting turned on.” So, for some, she says, race play is about playing with authority and for others, it might be humiliation. Well-known sexuality and SM educator Midori, who is Japanese and German, often presents her theory that humiliation in BDSM is linked to self-esteem. Take the woman who likes it when her boyfriend calls her a “slut,” Midori says. Perhaps the woman internalized the idea that “good girls don’t,” but she enjoys her sexuality. Because the boyfriend sees her in all her complexity, Midori says, when he calls her a slut, “he is freeing her of the social expectations of having to be modest.” That’s different than having some stranger (and jerk) calling you a slut. The stranger doesn’t see the full woman. It’s similar with race play, Midori says. By focusing, for example, on a black man’s body, while he’s bound as a slave, she’s bolstering his own perception of himself as strong and powerful. Of course, race and gender have a different history. So does that make it easier to play with the word “slut”? Midori tells me to not take it the wrong way but it’s a question of my youth. She’s known women of other generations, for whom the word slut is painful to hear. Her workshop demonstrations have included full auction scenes mimicking those of the Old South. In them, she is the plantation mistress inspecting a black man for “purchase.” He’s in shackles and “I slap him on his face and push him down on the ground, make him lick my shoes,” she says, emphasizing that she only does the demonstration after the “psychological” talk. The audience’s reaction? “Everything from horror to sighs of relief to uncomfortable arousal to validation to hooting and hollering, including people walking out.” Midori stresses again that race play is “advanced play.” Advanced players have had their reservations. Master Hines, a black man, joined the BDSM community in the early 90s. He’s a sadist who’s more than comfortable flogging his white submissive. But with race play, “I thought I’d feel like I was being racist. I thought it was very extreme.” He changed his mind when someone likened it to people playing out a rape fantasy. In that case, he wouldn’t consider that person a rapist because reality and fantasy are different. While most workshops focus on black and white, every color line is up for grabs. Williams facilitated a workshop in Washington, D.C., three years ago where a Mexican friend helped her. When it came time, she mentioned “wetbacks” and her friend who was sitting in the audience burst out, “What’d you say bitch?” The scene that followed was an erotic struggle, verbal and physical, between him and Williams. When he had her down on the floor, he barked, “Now what? Now what bitch? ” "Now we stop,” she replied, and they both started laughing and hugging. Williams adds that even for kinky people, the race play is still so new that it’s important for them to know that she and her partners are real friends. Williams stresses the emotional care in race play. Because it is psychological, “no one knows that you’re hurt,” she says. So, she advises seeing it before trying it and having a go-to person for comfort after engaging in race play. She reminds the audience to think carefully before doing it in public. “You’re putting your reputation on the line —are you prepared for that?” The Reality of Play A curious thing about race play is that it is pursued by people of color but often consumed by whites. The BDSM community is largely white, so those watching a public scene are more often white people. The community itself is not free of racism. Chupoo sees this evidenced in the men who approach her. “I get more white sub[missive] men hitting on me than anything else,” she says. They’re hoping she’ll be a big, black dominant woman. “It’s their thing. It ’s their racist fantasies of what black people are.” Bond has had similar experiences but he and others note that the white people they do race play with are not racists. “Truth be told, you have to get a white woman to like you before you can get her to beat you or call you racial names, ” he says. However, discomfort in saying the word “nigger” during race play doesn’t make someone racism-free. A related concern is the relationship between the sex industry, much of which operates on race as fetish, and those who do race play. But white men flying into Havana for morena prostitutes reduce those women to racial and gender stereotypes. It’s not a consensual relationship (or any kind of relationship). They don’t have to consider that woman’s needs. By contrast, Williams only does race play with about four people she’s come to trust. Still it is tricky matter, race play. Williams says that in considering a partner for it, you have to ask yourself, “Do you know in your guts of guts that [racism] is not their point of view?” Even knowing the answer to that, she says, you have to be ready for that moment, that quick second perhaps in which you might find yourself doubting the person’s motives. It’s like wondering if a boyfriend would cheat, Williams says. The moment should ideally pass quickly but if it doesn’t, she says, “Are you ready for that moment?” ------------------------------------------------- Daisy Hernandez is a senior writer and editor at ColorLines. 7 Comments

One never knows.... Mar 4, 2005 4:57 pm Mood: okay, 1802 Views A while back, oh, maybe almost a year ago, I’d met and hooked up with a cute guy for some “tumbling in the hay” time. Ye Olde Zipless fuck. And it was quite good. Often, when you first become sexually involved with someone, it takes a while to get in sync, to feel comfortable, etc. but he and I hit is off, and had several really fun times. Then poof, vanished off of the face of the earth. I was bummed: a god fuck-buddy is a scarce commodity in this town. You wouldn’t thin k that to be true, but the person who have truly maintain a respectful mutual sexual friendship are far and few between. I attempted to contact him a few times, heard nothing, and was miffed. Would it be so difficult, a sniped, to call or send an e-mail? Whatever. I recently received an e-mail from him, looking to catch up. I was a bit standoffish: what, I am just supposed to be all readily available for YOU when YOU want it? As if! Then he told me he’d been diagnosed with cancer not long after we’d last been together, and that things had been “A little crazy.” Ooop. No doubt Who feel smaller than tiny? That would be me. That started me thinking about the people with whom I have fallen out of touch, who I assumed blew me off, who I might have blown off either intentionally With Extreme Prejudice or simply by letting time slip by. I was reminded again that assumptions are rarely ever productive, and that sometimes it isn’t all about me. Go figure. We’re trying to mesh schedules to get together again. I am looking forward to it: mostly because he is a sweetheart, and I can only imagine how terrifying an experience it must have been. plus, hey, if he is “back in the saddle”, all the better XOXO ~Mollena 5 Comments

Well!! FUCK ME VERY MUCH, ALT.COM :-< Mar 4, 2005 10:46 am Mood: mad, 1800 Views Yes, I am an attention whore. Why else would one blog? It is a thinly disguised plea for attention from anonymous strangers. “Hey, look at me!! I am interesting!! I am here!!” it is very much like the Whos in the Dr. Seuss book “Horton Hears a Who”, crying out for their lives under threat of being plunged into boiling oil. As a Desperate Attention Seeking Slut (heretofore known as D.A.S.S.), the alt.com blog is a great way to feed my malnourished ego. Shit, I’m an actor, for the love of Christ do you need any more proof that my ego needs frequent stroking?! I was one of the first people to open a blog here a few weeks ago, and was always tickled to log in and see m blog listed in the “Popular Blog” listings. I felt extra cool. I got cool responses, and a couple of people with whom I’d lost touch contacted me because they saw my photo on the front page. Imagine my dismay when, after my profile was erroneously blocked by some &%$#@ birdbrain on the ALT review board, all of my stats for my blog were dumped. Obscurity! Uncoolness! Is this to be my fate?! Yeah, it might be pathetic. But if you are a blogger, you understand the pride one takes in being well received. If you read blogs, you understand the entertainment value. Take a crack whore’s crack away, she’d kick and scream for more. Take the focus away from the D.A.S.S., the same will occur. HOW YOU CAN HELP “But Mollena ” you might be saying “...even if I did want to feed your pitiful attempts at self-aggrandizing back flips to catch the attention of people you will probably never meet, what could I do?” Good question. You could go on back and post a comment on my previous posts, and flag the posts as “Posts To Watch.” The comment need not be pithy. It could consist of ...and it would count towards a “response” And I would feel better. And not mope around I am in the process of crafting a very strident letter to the Powers that Be on ALT, since I think this is terribly ridiculous. Plus, my attention getting needs are not being met, and I am suffering withdrawal. Thank you; thank you, kind people, for taking pity on this groveling D.A.S.S. And hey, if I wind up in the top spot, I’ll post a picture of my tits. Whatever it takes. Love ~Mollena 16 Comments

from Darkgoddess to...um...BitchGoddess ;-) ?? Mar 3, 2005 9:23 pm Mood: thoughtful, 1664 Views A submissive man contacted me I get that quite a bit. But I am a nice person, so I wrote back (I do try to respond to everyone who takes the time to write a nice note to me) and explained that the fact is, I am not a Domme and don’t get off on bossing people around. Now, the fact is, on a number of occasions I have topped people. I’ve been involved in WIITWD formally for over 8 years and been a Freak my whole life. I teach classes on different Leather Lifestyle issues, and have attended more classes than I could count. My first Trainer taught me the basics of many different practices, so that I could assist him in scenes. SO, yeah, I know my way around. Just would rather be the one being done than doing. But back to this guy he wasn’t discouraged by my demurral, and said he thought he could learn a great deal from me (ooo, that flattery don’t flatter an actor, for the goddess’s’ sake that is our Achilles’ Heel”) and would I consider traveling down to LA to train him. !!! Yeah, OK, right, like I have nothing better to do than take MY time and fly my ass down to $#%@ LA (a pseudo-city / sprawling powder keg of lies, smog and prejudice of which I am not fond) to “Train” some guy I thought to myself “OK, I’ll shut you up.” I replied and said I’d consider it if it were a professional relationship and he agreed upon terms for coverage of expenses as well as financial remuneration, since this would, essentially, be personal tutoring and a dam good acting gig to boot. I was HONESTLY surprised he wrote back and said he would like to negotiate this. Huh. OK, now, funny thing is, about a third of the ProDommes I know are bottoms, switches or submissive in some facet of their lives. Their empathy level makes them very good, IMO. Soooo .wellll .hm. Mull. Mull. Ponder. Ponder . 3 Comments

Too hot for ALT??? Mar 3, 2005 8:40 pm Mood: amused, 1680 Views Man oh Manishevitz SO, I get home to revel in the glory of MY NEW DSL connection (drool drool pant pant) and my hand-me-down-but-still-a-damn-sight-better-than-my-previous-piece-o-crap-PC and, of course, log in to my ALT account, to find it had been suspended!!! Jeeze Louise. SO, OK, they list a bunch of POSSIBLE reasons for the suspension, like “URL” or “Personal Info” (ok, ok, fine) or “Underage reference” (what, does no one understand that I am not actually looking to fuck my bio-DAD if I say I am into a “Daddy/girl” dynamic?!?!) or (and this is the kicker!!) “Obscene content” (??!?!) Yep. Rub them eyes. I’ll type it again. OBSCENE CONTENT. OK. Um, what could one possibly post here that might be construed as obscene?!?! “Hi, my name is Mollena, and I like white picket fences around little pink houses for you and me, baseball, apple pie, and waving the American flag while blindly following our leadership like a little sheep looking only at the crap-encrusted ass of the stupid sheep in front of me, and I am looking for a limiting, abusive, unfulfilling meaningless empty relationship!” OK shudder That IS obscene Gotta go whack off to cleanse my palate. 5 Comments

Saliva, Spitting, Lugies and Drool.... Mar 2, 2005 10:41 am Mood: curious, 1642 Views (I also posted this on the "Magazine Questions" page, so if you wanna chat about it there too once it hits, feel free!!) Greetings! When I first came into the Leather Lifestyle, I’d done my homework for a couple of years, mulling over whether or not this was something I truly wished to do. Being one of those types who goes whole hog and jumps in with both feet, I wanted to make sure that, if I did, I’d be as prepared as possible. My first 2 years in the public Scene here in SF were spent in service with someone who was my partner, and training me for entrée into the world of M/s. After leaving that House, I had several long-term play relationships, one of which generated one of the more interesting and powerful moments in my time playing. We were at a party, and having done a fairly long bondage and flogging scene, I was wiped out. He went to get some water for us both, and I though it quite sexy when he took a mouthful of water, pressed his mouth to mine, and gave it to me that way. A few moments later, he playfully “buzzed” me with a mouthful of water, which sprayed all over my face. “Ick!!” I thought, and of course, my discomfort was immediately evident on my face. I am a pitifully easy “read”, I have been told. Sensing my discomfort, and being the sadist he is, he leaned over me, pulled my mouth open, and spit in my mouth. I felt my entire body convulse, I had this rushing sense of what .. Disgust isn’t inclusive. Anger was a facet of it, shock and horror, and all of these emotions boiling up into a freakishly powerful emotional cocktail that sent me into instantaneous hysterical choking sobs. My partner was bemused, but just held me and talked me down. In a few minutes, I was able to talk and respond shakily when he asked me if I was all right. I was confused by my own reaction. I tried to scan through my memories and recall if I’d had some sort of trauma associated with spitting. Nothing presented itself. A few minutes later, I was trying to make a joke out of the whole incident, and as I sat trying to gather my thoughts, he turned to me, looked me in the eye and spit in my face. My reaction was again instantaneous freak out sobbing shaking quivering wreck. This cycle of freakitude went round two more times, with no discernable reduction of my reaction. Even in the warm light of the next morning, while chatting over the Sunday paper and brunch, when my friend approached me and held me down making threatening throat-clearing noised, I was whimpering like a pup left out in the rain within seconds. This was too bizarre, I thought, and it makes no sense! My play partner asked if I wanted to put this on my limit list, since I was obviously really bothered by it. Oy! I’ll confess to a big case of “Masochismo”, and my Sanctified Limits List is (generally) confined to the following: à Scat. à Play with minors. à Involving non-consenting participants in my play. à Anything that MIGHT leave a permanent mark, unless previously approved. (I am keloidic, and you’d be surprise what marks even a knife-tip drawn lightly over the skin can leave!!” à Any play that willfully disregards common sense practices. à Any play that goes against the spirit of my general character. Because of the way I play and the way I structure my limits, I tend to have very few people I crust adequately in this arena. And my friend, knowing that the spitting thing, while bizarrely unexpectedly difficult, wouldn’t be something I’d redline outright without a thorough examination. That is the long way of me saying I did not, at that time, expressly forbid the exploitation of this simple and efficient method for reducing me to a sobbing mess. I’m sick like that. I have since informally polled folks about the spitting thing. Interestingly, gender, sexual orientation and BDSM orientation seem to weigh heavily when it comes to thumps up or thumbs down on the Saliva Scene. I’d like to hear some thoughts, experiences and feedback on this forum too! Peace. ~Mollena 2 Comments

40 F