sexuality and lack thereof

~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

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brin-bellway:

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Quite apart from whether their arguments are correct, the main problem I have with kink-critical and porn-critical feminism is that their definitions of “kink” and “porn” feel *really* weird to me.

I would say that I’m kinky and that I consume porn. And I think it’s reasonable of me to define these terms in ways that cover me (what terms should I use, if not these?). But I’m not into pain and I’m not into power exchange (let alone non-con) and I’m not into video, so I end up in this unnerving grey area where people *appear* to oppose me, but none of the reasons they give for *why* they oppose me actually *apply* to me, so do they oppose me or not?

Like, am I vanilla-by-default in their worldview, not being into the things they define as “kink”? In what universe do *I*, of all people, qualify as vanilla?

(…maybe the universe I encountered in this post?)

Tags:

#not really ”vagueblogging” so much as inspired by the general discourse going on around me lately #sexuality and lack thereof #discourse cw #oh look an original post #our roads may be golden or broken or lost #(sort of) #nsfw text

~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

sinesalvatorem:

Question for the mind control fetishist community that is inexplicably over-represented among my followers:

I’ve recently become curious about the theory I’ve heard that asexual people who have kinks often have an autophilic sexuality. That is, their primary sexual interest is tied to them achieving some specific state. They’d have the same range of sexual response as allosexuals, but in response to achieving their preferred state to varyingly precise degrees.

For example, some asexuals are into amputation, or depictions of amputees. They often are more interested in being amputees themselves than in other people who are amputees. Often they’ll enjoy fantasising about being amputees, and further prefer situations where they can pretend to be amputees, and sometimes even desire actual amputation.

And I just remembered that lots of people who follow this blog are part of the mind control kink community! Which always surprises me, because I don’t think I post any mind control related content, and am honestly really sexually boring. But, like, I’ll totally give you guys more shout outs if you can help me learn about this.

My question is: Are asexual mind control fetishists more interested in being mentally controlled/impaired or in controlling others / the mental impairments of other? The autosexuality theory implies that asexuals should overwhelmingly prefer to be controlled/impaired, or be most aroused by the thought of their own altered mental state.

Also, autosexualities are in general correlated with being transgender. Are asexuals in the mind control kink community more likely to be transgender or feel gender dysphoric?

Right now I’m just curious about whether there’s any anecdotal support for this random thought, in case it’s worth doing a survey of. Would anyone be willing to tell me if their personal impression of the community supports or debunks this hypothesis? @acemindbreaker, @brin-bellway, @bannableoffense, @enscenic and anyone else who might have an opinion on this.

First of all, I would like to give the context in which I became aware of this post:

Me: *switches on Wi-Fi on phone, goes to check weather report*

Phone: *buzzes*

Me: Oh, is that an email notification?

Email notification: “sinesalvatorem has mentioned you in a post!

‘Question for the mind control fetishist community that is inexplicably over-represented among my followers…’”

I was amused by this. (I think because I played a critical part in the original surge in such followers.) (Also, it seems to be a popular kink among rat-Tumblr denizens in general.)

—

I personally am very much autophilic, but when I query my brain for “asexual or asexual-ish hypno-fetishists” I mostly get back switches. I’m not sure in how many cases their switchinesses were deliberately cultivated, though, or what they started off as if so. (I remember @ellaenchanting talking about how her first hypnosis community was aimed at non-sexual recreational users, and that in that community taking a single role was Not Done: everyone was expected to switch. (I think the idea was something like “how are you supposed to experience the full extent of how neat hypnosis is without seeing it from both sides? and anyway, experience with one side of things will help you when doing the other, because you know more about what it’s like for your partner”, plus an assumption that people weren’t going to be especially attached to one role to start with.))

I’m really not sure how gender tends to go.

Tags:

#reply via reblog #sexuality and lack thereof #nsfw text? #asexuality #gender

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Guest Post: Diabolus Hypnotica by Samantha Parks

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

hypnoticharlequin:

So, something a little different today! I’ve been friends with a wonderful author called Samantha Parks for a few years now and those of you who enjoyed porn in the early days of the internet will likely be familiar with her.

For those who aren’t, Samantha was one of the best and most prolific erotica writers of the mid-90s and her work was shared on all sorts of BBSes and forums.

She hasn’t published anything for a while, but when she asked me about posting something on my blog to see if people were still interested in her work, well I couldn’t say no!

So I really hope you enjoy (and support) Samantha’s return, and without further ado, I’ll hand over to her!

 

 

Greetings. I’m Samantha Parks and years ago, I wrote a piece of erotica, so different and so daring, the government shut it down. It was deemed unfit for mortal minds to read through their mortal eyes. However, after digging through the vaults (my basement) I’ve been able to recover and piece it together. So here, for the first time, is my opus Diabolus Hypnotica. To celebrate this momentous occasion I am also going to present author’s notes to help you understand the fractured narrative you are about to enjoy.

 

-Diabolus Hypnotica-

 

Chapter 1- The start of things to come

It was a cold night on the streets of the city. Emily rubbed her fleshy hands together in a failing attempt to warm her fingers. Soon she would be home to the warm and dark embrace of the darkness.

As she arrived she nodded her head towards Francesco, the doorman of her building. She asked about mail. He had heard of mail, but there was none for Emily. This was normal. Emily didn’t get many letters.

She climbed into the elevator and let it elevate her to the floor where her apartment sat, the same as it always did. She walked in through the front door of her apartment because all of the other doors in her lease were interior doors and thus impossible to enter through. She went to her computer. She loved her computer, working in IT meant she had to have a computer and this one was a beast.

It was a beautiful, off-beige, SliconFusion B86. It had a quad speed CD drive, a colossal 8 MB of memory and a sound card. It was beautiful. If it had been a person she would have made love to it. However, it was a computer, and sexbots would not be common for at least ten years.

 

At this point, I had a sponsorship deal with SilconFusion computers. They paid me $20 every time I mentioned their name in a story. They were planning on releasing a sexbot and had a good prototype. However, it gained sentience and drowned itself in a bowl of soup. This put the project back several years.

Actually, I should check if that deal is still going, as they owe me at least $40 for this.

 

Emily turned her computer on and went to make a cup of tea. She scanned the boxes in the cupboard and picked a tea that would perfectly suit her mood. Something dark, something moody, even musty.

She got the box and put it on the table with a thud. She boiled the kettle and felt the heat in the room rise. She poured the water on the tea. She carried the tea to the couch and drank it. She turned around and saw her computer finishing its boot process. The green cursor flashing on the deep black background.

She tapped the keyed and started up her connection. Its whirring was comforting, relaxing even. Its aural landscape transported her to a world of electronic sheep counting each other as a way to get to sleep. It was a peaceful place. Emily was happy when a warning popped up telling her that the connection had failed. It meant she got to visit that place again.

After the second attempt, the internet connection connected to the data tubes. Emily went to the place she always went. A chat-room. It was like sending each other letters, except you didn’t need to write or wait for it to be delivered, or to know the person you were sending it to. It also didn’t use envelopes. This was good, Emily hated envelopes.

 

While this may seem odd now, people really loved hearing about the magic of the internet back then. It was authors like me who made the internet so popular by hooking people with our stories.

 

Emily had a favorite room. It was like a room in her house, except it was full of people she didn’t know and had not let in. It also did not exist physically, much like the built-in closet the landlord kept insisting was there despite Emily not being able to see it.  

Her heart lit up as she saw one of the names in the user list. Arachnida. Emily loved seeing Arachnida, they had been talking for a few weeks and Emily had loved every moment of it.

Emily sent Arachnida a hello. A common start that meant so much to her. Soon Arachnida replied and within moments the two were in a high-speed conversation. The conversation got so fast Emily had to get her second keyboard out to be able to keep up. Like most people who worked with computers, Emily could type with every single one of her limbs and this was a talent Arachnida found delightfully endearing.

“So what are you up to tonight?” Asked Emily via her typed words.

“Studying for my certification exam,” Arachnida replied with her typed words that looked the same as Emily’s just with a different name at the start of the line.

“Another exam? Why do magicians require so many tests?”

“For the last time, I am not a magician. I am a hypnotist. It is a recognized field, like Demonology or the draining of humors,” replied Arachnida, the speed of her reply conveying her irritation.

 

I actually had a degree in Demonology, before the killjoy government shut it down as apparently you have to be a “registered institution” to give out degrees and not just be an eldritch entity that lives under a bridge. The joke is on them, I still have it on my resume.

 

“True, magic would pay better,” replied Emily, sticking her tongue out despite Arachnida not being able to see it.

“You didn’t seem to complain,” replied Arachnida. Her message was followed by either hand cramp or an attempt at rendering a face using the simplistic ASCI character set.

“I didn’t seem to complain? I have never been involved in your weirdness,” replied Emily, slightly indignant at the idea of Arachnida presuming her likes and dislikes without her vocalizing them.

“Well I do have to practice!” replied Arachnida. Emily crossed her arms and pouted. Something that didn’t phase Arachnida due to her inability to see it, due to only conversing with Emily via a textual medium.

“You could have done no such thing on me!” Insisted Emily, typing harder to convey her point. Emily was one with the darkness, she had used an ouija board and had tried to summon Bloody Mary by covering a mirror in tomato juice and licking it off. Such magic would not affect her or her mind.

Her mind was like a steel colander at the bottom of a river. Unsinkable.

“I have proof that says otherwise,” replied Arachnida, her evil laughter not well conveyed through a computer, but Emily could hear it in her head.

“And what proof would that be?” Asked Emily, crossing her arms and starting to type with her feet as a show of defiance.

“A certain polaroid, depicting a certain someone running around in her bra and panties,” cackled Arachnida. Emily ran into her kitchen and grabbed her tinfoil and started to wrap it around her head. While she was okay with Arachnida laughing in her head she couldn’t risk other people getting in as well.

By the time she had sealed her head and returned to the computer, Arachnida had typed a few more messages to her.

“If you’re looking for it, you won’t find it,” she had said. Emily sighed, of course, she wouldn’t find it. How does one find a picture that does not exist?

Emily started to hammer on her keyboards, the tin foil on her head rustling gently as she did. “There is no such photo! Your magic doesn’t work on me!” She insisted.

“If you want to see it, then come to the park at midnight,” came Arachnida’s response before a creaking sound signaled that she had left the chatroom.

Emily sat and stared at the blinking cursor. What had Arachnidia planned for her? What was her end goal in all of this? And could this photograph be real?

Emily shook her head. Obviously, it wasn’t real. Emily often swallowed St. John’s wart and thus was immune to manipulations of her aura. She knew this to be true.

But if she knew it, why did she want to go so badly? And if she knew she wanted to go, did she actually know it wasn’t true? And if she didn’t know that, what did she know. All she knew was that she didn’t know. Which meant she didn’t know that she knew the question she asked herself. Which was as good as not asking at all.

Emily shook her head and grabbed her long coat. The park was a sprawling mass of grass and worms only a few minutes walk from her building. However, it would be cold on a night like this due to the low temperature.

At the one side of this floral nightmare was an old decaying mansion house, complete with crypt. Emily knew Arachnidia would be there, she was always one to appreciate an atmosphere. Emily was going to go and disprove that photo.

 

Chapter 2- Ghost Of A Chance

 

Emily waved to Alexandro, the doorman, as he held the door open for her.

“Late night walk?” He asked, with interest.

“I’ve got to make something right,” replied Emily, blowing into her hands in an attempt to warm up her flesh.

“Ah, well if you are chasing up a blood debt I suggest you be careful, cold out.” Nodded Alexandro. He always gave Emily the best advice about such matters.

As she started to wander towards the park Emily pondered her situation for a while, how exactly was she going to deal with this obviously crazed girl. Could she talk Arachnidia out of her delirium? Maybe she could seduce her out?

The park was large, and a sense of foreboding hung in the trees like overcooked pasta. The wind howled and a heavy mist crept along the cold grass. Emily put her head down and walked to the decaying house, its rotted beams and falling tiles testament to how long it had lived in the park. No one knew who had built it, or why someone had constructed such a thing.

But the place was overrun with spirits, denizens of the night who rattled their chains and moaned their ghoulish howls at any mortal who tried to step foot on the property. The council had many times tried to evict them to make way for a mall, but the spirts had prevented this every time. Their legal representation being both costly and effective.

 

This is actually a reference to the TV pilot I wrote called “Legal Ghost House” I had some interest from several television executives until, in an act of pure spite, they had me arrested for trespassing on their property!

 

Emily moved closer, pushing some branches out of her way as she headed towards the crypt, her feet sinking into the mud a little with each step.

“I knew you’d come,” came a voice from behind the crypt.

“Arachnida,” sighed Emily, a cloud of breath forming in front of her.

As the woman came into the dim light of the moon Emily was able to see her for the first time. She burst into laughter. Arachnidia looked like a dork! She was middling in height and her hair was a mess. Her figure was made almost comical by a coat that seemed to be some horrific crossbreed between a gothic trenchcoat and an anorak.

 

For those curious, the “Anoroat” was something I was lined up to promote, but then I realized that being warm was not goth at all. To be goth one must endure the cold of the weather like the cold of your soul. If you lose a few fingers to frostbite, then that is the price you pay for fashion.

 

“Don’t you laugh at me,” growled Arachnidia, glaring butter knives into Emily as she walked past the cold stones of the crypt.

“What are you going to do?” Replied Emily, growing more and more confident about her situation. “Take another photo?”

“I already have the one I need,” grinned Arachnidia, lifting a polaroid from one of the many pockets that adorned her stupid coat.

“I don’t believe you,” responded Emily, only to squeak as Arachnidia threw the polaroid towards her with surprising force, like [Sportsperson] throwing a [Sportsperson thing].

As the square hit the floor Emily scrambled in the mud to pick it up. As she turned the image over she gasped. The picture was a real as the ghost that whispered to her in the night.

It showed her running around in her tinfoil bra and panties, her arms stretched out into a giant T and a dumb look stuck on her face.

“What did you make me do?!” Screamed Emily, her scream so loud that it could shake the birds from the trees. However, unluckily for Emily, she lived in a city and thus the only birds were pigeons, all of whom were too fat to get into a tree.

“You thought you were an airplane, it was pretty cute,” smiled Arachnida, adjusting her glasses as she did.

“I won’t let you get away with this!” Shouted Emily, throwing the picture into the mud before quickly grabbing it again, not wanting to risk a fine for littering. The park rangers often hid in the bushes and could smell a discarded wrapper from fifty feet.

“And what do you think you can do to stop me!” Laughed Arachnida.

“I’ll think of something! I’ll sue!” Shouted Emily in response.

“Under what grounds?” responded Arachnida smugly

“I’ll punch you!” Sighed Emily, realizing she couldn’t afford a lawyer.

“I doubt that will help,” replied Arachnida. “I have something of a secret,” she purred.

“Apart from being a pervert?!”  Hollered Emily, marching forward.

“Oh on top of being a pervert,” giggled Arachnida, licking her lips as she did. Suddenly a beam of moonlight refracted through one of the mansion’s old windows and bathed Arachnidia in the pale light of the night.

Arachnidia started to twitch and groan as her terrible coat was ripped through by eight spindly black legs, her body shifting and changing and taking on a more arachnid-like form.

Emily stood in disbelief, unable to work out what was going on with this girl. Why was she such a drama queen? Why was she happy to shred such a disgusting jacket instead of returning it to the store?

“Bask in my glory!” Shouted Arachnidia, looking down on Emily, her voice now much deeper. “For I am Werehnid!”

“Aracwolf,” coughed Emily, shaking her head gently.

“What?” Asked Arachnidia, her voice returning to normal.

“Werewolf is old English for Man-Wolf, thus Werehnid would be Man-Spider.” Explained Emily.

“Right, I get your point, it is a common misconception, but like, look at me,” smiled Arachnidia, moving her hands to show off her eight-legged body. “Does any of this look like a wolf to you?”

“Umm, no?”

“Right, so Aracwolf is wrong, I’m not part wolf, I’m part man, so Werehnid is more correct.” Said Arachnidia firmly, making Emily cower a little, fear flowing through her veins like a cheap blood substitute.

“Right, but, I mean spirit of the rule,” mumbled Emily, looking at her shoes.

 

This part is based on my attempt to pitch “Were Were  Where?” to a movie studio. It was an educational film about someone trying to locate a Werewolf in one of America’s lesser known desert towns without the aid of a map.

However, they rejected it outright, due to them not being happy about being pestered while in the shower.

 

“Anyway, my full name adds to it,” grinned Arachnidia, moving closer to Emily, who looked up with terror in her eyes.

“What do you mean, your full name?” She asked, tripping over her words slightly.

“I am Werehnidacula!” Shouted Arachnidia before laughing, thunder forking down from the sky as she did.

“So what? You’re a woman spider from Europe?” Shrugged Emily, not fully understanding what Arachnidia was going on about.

“No,” sighed Arachnidia, lowering her head down to Emily’s level. “I’m a woman, spider, vampire hybrid.” She explained before shaking her head, “why am I bothering explaining this to you?”

“Monologuing is fun!” Smiled Emily, only to jump as Arachnidia pushed her face right into Emily’s.

“So is hypnosis,” giggled Arachnidia as her eyes changed from a soft blue to a spiraling vortex of pink and black. “And I think you enjoy it,” she cooed. Emily stumbled, her whole world starting to spin as reality almost melted into those two spirals. Some primal part of her mind screamed that she should run, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the spiraling pattern.

She felt her whole body go limp, it was like she was sleepwalking like she was trapped in a dream she couldn’t wake up from, a lot like taking a day trip to Wales.

Her body slumped forward, her nose pressed flat against Arachnidia’s as she started to drool, her eyes growing wider and more glazed as she continued to stare into the spiraling eyes, the world falling away around her leaving nothing but numb nothingness.  

“You will obey me,” purred Arachnidia, her voice like sweet honey flowing in Emily’s brain, drowning her thoughts and leaving behind a sticky residue.

“I will obey you,” slurred Emily, swaying gently in the breeze, her eyes crossing as they continued to focus on the spirals, unable to do anything but submit to them.

“I will do whatever Arachnidia says,” added Arachnidia, sounding more confident as she did.

“I will do whatever Arachnidia says,” nodded Emily drowsily, not even bothering to question, the spirals wiping out any and all resistance.

Suddenly Arachnidia grabbed Emily firmly around the waist and pushed her against the wall of the crypt, tearing her clothing away in one quick swipe of her legs. She admired Emily’s nude body before reaching in with her fangs, biting Emily firmly on the neck as her legs circled around Emily’s crotch.

 

{Note from Harley: The next 20 pages have been cut for reasons of length and general decency}

 

 

Chapter 5- The Further Development Of The Situation Described Previously

Emily pulled herself up out of the pool of blood, her head throbbing and her eyes blurred. She was sore all over, her body riddled with puncture wounds.  

The light applause tickled Emily’s ears as she blinked. She turned and found several police officers applauding, some of whom were holding up score cards grading the sex a perfect ten across the board.

As Emily started to walk she felt her feet fall from under her as she slipped in a puddle of stray custard. As she thudded to the floor the police officers giggled, some of them blushing a little as Arachnidia took a little bow.

“Thank you, thank you!” She smiled. “What a wonderful evening! You’ve been a wonderful audience! I’m here all week, tip your waitress!” She said before laughing, nudging a man who was tied up in a web as she did.

Emily started to crawl along the floor, trying to pull herself out of the crypt, she needed to escape this spider girl or risk becoming forever part of her harem.

But in front of Emily, there was only blood and stone followed by blood and stone, followed by yet more blood and yet more stone. Also more custard. Sickly yellow custard. And more blood.

Suddenly a line of webbing tied around Emily’s legs. Emily tried to struggle but she was slowly dragged backed towards Arachnida. Emily tried to break the web but found it was stickier than old wet cement.

“And where did you think you were going?” Asked Arachnida, looking down at Emily with a smirk on her face.

“Home?” Stuttered Emily.

“But I am your home,” smiled Arachnidia, her eyes starting to spiral again, causing Emily’s eyes to change in response, her whole world starting to spin like a disc jockey on ketamine.

The world fell away again, there was only the spiral, and at that moment Emily wanted nothing more than the spiral.

 

Chapter 6- A World Torn Asunder

Emily sat in front of her SilconeFusion computer, typing away with her feet, a dumb and dopey smile on her face, the rattle of the keys echoing around the polished room.

On her desk, a phone rang. Emily reached forward and lifted the corporate beige receiver. “Arachnidia psychic hypnosis service and detective agency, how may I help you?” She drowsily cooed.

Arachnidia looked out from her office and giggled to herself, her body back to its more human form.  She put her feet up on her desk and leaned back in her chair, this was going to be great.

 

“Psychic Hospital Hypnosis Detective Service” or PHHDS was another of my pilots. However, due to a miscommunication, it was only pitched to networks in Peru.

It went through a few changes and became a soap opera about a Doctor who solves medical emergencies with medicine. The only thing about my script that remained was the shorter name, which became the name of the main character.

However, due to the negotiations falling through I never saw a penny. It also held the record for the only Peruvian soap opera to be canceled while it was on the air. In fact, it was canned during the first episode.

I don’t like to talk about it….

 

Suddenly Arachnidia heard a thud from down below. She squinted her eyes and looked around, making sure no one was looking before she pushed her chair back and lifted a hatch under her desk.

There was a set of stairs going down into the darkness, much like a spelunker who had forgotten how torches worked. As her feet echoed on the steps Arachnidia heard a familiar tapping sound growing closer and closer.

Suddenly she came out into a large room, crammed full with wooden desks and spider webs. At each desk was a wonderful, sexy, SilconFusion computer, and in front of it was a dazed girl, staring forward at her screen. Each of them typing in a chatroom. Each of them using the name Arachnidia.

“My web is coming together nicely,” cackled Arachnidia. “But what was that noise?” She said to no one before shrugging. It couldn’t be anything important, likely just rats with tunneling equipment.

Little did she know that something was rising up from the depths and in time it would come back to haunt her. And bring with it a whole new adventure.

 

I hope you enjoyed my opus, my masterwork, Diabolus Hypnotica! I think the story teaches an important life lesson that we all need to learn at some point.

Always trust doormen. They are at one with the universe and thus can sense its vibrations.

Also, never trust anyone on the internet. They might turn out to be a spider. Why else do you think they called it “The Web”?

I actually continued the story of Diabolus Hypnotica in a small series of fifty-seven books that I, unfortunately, lost when a rogue pyrokinetic maniac attacked the special safe my agent kept all my manuscripts in.

Maybe one day I will piece them all back together and share them with you all!

Until next time, sleep tight. If you can sleep that is!

Tags:

#April Fools #(sorry I’m late) #(I wavered for a while on whether to reblog this?) #(I’m not sure I’ve ever actually reblogged porn) #(*links* to porn occasionally but not porn itself) #(but then I’m not reblogging this *as* porn) #(and in the end:) #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I especially liked ”glaring butter knives” and ”like a steel colander at the bottom of a river: unsinkable”) #(though the part that made me laugh most was) #(”like a day trip to Wales”) #long post #nsfw text #sexuality and lack thereof #rape tw #storytime

~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

asexualactivities:

[This post is a submission.]

So I’ve been (very slowly, I know) thinking over the post asking for recommendations to share. Yesterday it occurred to me how many trials and tribulations I had in learning to masturbate, and I wondered if maybe I could help people in my past selves’ situations skip over some of that shit.

But honestly, the main takeaway I got from the learning process (other than the outcome) was that the whole thing is a complete mess and it’s a goddamn miracle anyone ever manages to find a technique that works for them.

I used to resent Scarleteen for telling me “masturbation usually doesn’t work the first few times you try it; keep trying, it gets better with practice” and sending me off on a wild goose chase for a while in my late teens. But it turns out that, in a way, they weren’t wrong: while the genital-focused methods they recommended have never done much for me, the method that *is* right for me *also* didn’t work at first and got better with practice.

(Trouble was, I had so much learned helplessness built up around masturbation from previous wild goose chases that for a long while I hardly ever practised. You know how long it took me to reach a skill level where I could reliably achieve effects that were, not just “neat” or “better than nothing”, but actually *satisfying*? *Three years*! And almost all of that time was in making “you know, I *could* masturbate, *that* might help with the sexual frustration” an available thought (instead of reverting to my old habits of distraction and waiting it out); if I hadn’t had to deal with that, I suspect I could have reached a sufficient skill level in a month or three.)

I guess the best I have for actionable advice is to focus your practice on methods with a high prior probability of working (things that are a good fit with what you already know about your sexuality, things that have worked for a lot of other people, or ideally both), and on things that are at least *somewhat* enjoyable even when they don’t satisfy your libido. That second part helps with cultivating a lower-pressure mindset: it’s easier to get the motivation to practice if there’s something pleasant to it (rather than just a gamble at it becoming pleasant *eventually*), and that also makes it easier not to get frustrated and give up too soon. (Although, unfortunately, I still have no idea how to tell how soon is too soon to give up. Hell, for all I know, there’s some trick to making genital-based masturbation work for me that I just never worked out, or never practised that particular trick long enough.)

I wish I could tell you that it gets better, but I know there’s no guarantee that a given person will have *any* method that works for them. Maybe try to make your peace with that idea in addition to the above practising; no individual is capable of the full range of possible pleasures, we’re all missing some stuff. Don’t get me wrong, masturbation *is* a very useful tool to have, and it’s worth trying to obtain that tool, but stressing out about whether you’re ever going to find something won’t help anything and might very well make it more difficult (by loading practice with negative associations).

(this is all assuming you even *have* a libido; I’m not sure which parts are different if you don’t, but I’m guessing it’s probably easier for you to be lower-pressure about it)

I don’t know if it gets better for you; all I can say for sure is, it got better for me. Lately I kind of want to go back, give my twenty-year-old self a hug, tell her it’s gonna be okay, and hand her a guide to self-hypnosis.

Tags:

#crosspost #sexuality and lack thereof #nsfw text #asexuality #oh look an original post #(I wrote it so it counts)

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~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

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brin-bellway:

brin-bellway:

brin-bellway:

I’ve been doing archiving again today, downloading local copies of things that previously existed (in versions accessible to me) only on the Internet.

The thing about archiving is that it *hurts*. Not having done it–the moment when you want to remind yourself how something went and find it isn’t there to tell you, will never be there again–hurts a lot more, so I keep doing this. My past is valuable to me and I want to keep hold of it, have it available, and yet it always hurts to immerse myself in it.

(Today I’m saving works of fiction, works I think I would miss if their links rotted. (Some of them have already rotted. Most were salvageable through the Internet Archive. But only most.) I didn’t think that would hurt, but it turns out that it does, that they evoke the time periods I read them in.)

I know a lot of people hate their past selves, for their ignorance and foolishness. I think this is another version of that impulse, but I don’t hate past-me.

I don’t hate *her*. I hate the people who did this to her.

I think that’s a lot of the problem. I think maybe a lot of the pain of archiving isn’t inherent to the task in general, but because most of the stuff I’m archiving–this project and previous projects–is from around my late teens, give or take, and I was in a lot of pain then. A lot of it I hardly acknowledged at the time, or if I acknowledged it I shrugged and figured that was just how things were.

Maybe it’s good for me to immerse myself in the past, sometimes, if only to show myself how far I’ve come.

aaaaaaaahhhhh

I have reached a series that–while it has many good parts, and I still have plans to finish reading it someday–also brings up a whole lot of baggage

and a large part of the baggage is feeling like I’m not allowed to complain about it

aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh

#I can’t even really get angry at anyone involved, #the worst part is knowing they weren’t even wrong to do it, #knowing I really *didn’t* deserve consideration,

no, you know what? that’s not quite true

yeah, I didn’t deserve *full* consideration, and yeah even if they’d done everything right I’d probably still have felt subjectively (unreasonably) betrayed, but I deserved more consideration than I got

everyone deserved it

because you know what? even if they didn’t recognise it as erotic, even if they didn’t even recognise it as *trance*, they still sprung a “““vicarious relaxation exercise””” on people without content warnings

honestly in some ways that’s *worse* for other people than it is for me, *I* realised what they were doing three paragraphs in, most people straight up *don’t have* “this story is attempting to hypnotise the reader” alarms in their brain and so it couldn’t have set those alarms off

@injygo replied:

“that’s horrible and i am really upset that anyone would write that now

people should warn for hypno type things

i once went to a concert thing where they did a “relaxation exercise” and it triggered the fuck out of me and caused a meltdown

and this could have been alleviated by providing a content warning“

 

The good news is, I went back and checked and they’ve since added a content warning to the beginning of the fic (continuing to refer to it as a “vicarious relaxation exercise”, but I suppose that’s probably enough to be getting on with). It looks like they added that in response to the comment I left when I first read it.

I hope that reassures you. I know *I* find it reassuring, that my comment actually accomplished something useful and wasn’t just me barging in somewhere and making people uncomfortable.

Tags:

#(I don’t know how uncomfortable they actually found it) #(it’s partly the anxiety talking) #replies #sexuality and lack thereof #amnesia cw? #(for first post in chain) #vagueblogging

~ Brin ~ 2 Comments

{{previous post in sequence}}

brin-bellway:

brin-bellway:

I’ve been doing archiving again today, downloading local copies of things that previously existed (in versions accessible to me) only on the Internet.

The thing about archiving is that it *hurts*. Not having done it–the moment when you want to remind yourself how something went and find it isn’t there to tell you, will never be there again–hurts a lot more, so I keep doing this. My past is valuable to me and I want to keep hold of it, have it available, and yet it always hurts to immerse myself in it.

(Today I’m saving works of fiction, works I think I would miss if their links rotted. (Some of them have already rotted. Most were salvageable through the Internet Archive. But only most.) I didn’t think that would hurt, but it turns out that it does, that they evoke the time periods I read them in.)

I know a lot of people hate their past selves, for their ignorance and foolishness. I think this is another version of that impulse, but I don’t hate past-me.

I don’t hate *her*. I hate the people who did this to her.

I think that’s a lot of the problem. I think maybe a lot of the pain of archiving isn’t inherent to the task in general, but because most of the stuff I’m archiving–this project and previous projects–is from around my late teens, give or take, and I was in a lot of pain then. A lot of it I hardly acknowledged at the time, or if I acknowledged it I shrugged and figured that was just how things were.

Maybe it’s good for me to immerse myself in the past, sometimes, if only to show myself how far I’ve come.

aaaaaaaahhhhh

I have reached a series that–while it has many good parts, and I still have plans to finish reading it someday–also brings up a whole lot of baggage

and a large part of the baggage is feeling like I’m not allowed to complain about it

aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh

#I can’t even really get angry at anyone involved, #the worst part is knowing they weren’t even wrong to do it, #knowing I really *didn’t* deserve consideration,

no, you know what? that’s not quite true

yeah, I didn’t deserve *full* consideration, and yeah even if they’d done everything right I’d probably still have felt subjectively (unreasonably) betrayed, but I deserved more consideration than I got

everyone deserved it

because you know what? even if they didn’t recognise it as erotic, even if they didn’t even recognise it as *trance*, they still sprung a “““vicarious relaxation exercise””” on people without content warnings

honestly in some ways that’s *worse* for other people than it is for me, *I* realised what they were doing three paragraphs in, most people straight up *don’t have* “this story is attempting to hypnotise the reader” alarms in their brain and so it couldn’t have set those alarms off

Tags:

#oh look an original post #vagueblogging #rants #amnesia cw? #(for first post in chain) #I have seen stories with content warnings that look like the warning labels on *drugs* #”may cause drowsiness. do not drive or operate heavy machinery until you know how this product will affect you” #and yes they weren’t familiar with any standard etiquette regarding may-induce-trance warnings but they could have said *something* #sexuality and lack thereof

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~ Brin ~ 2 Comments

{{previous post in sequence}}

brin-bellway:

I’ve been doing archiving again today, downloading local copies of things that previously existed (in versions accessible to me) only on the Internet.

The thing about archiving is that it *hurts*. Not having done it–the moment when you want to remind yourself how something went and find it isn’t there to tell you, will never be there again–hurts a lot more, so I keep doing this. My past is valuable to me and I want to keep hold of it, have it available, and yet it always hurts to immerse myself in it.

(Today I’m saving works of fiction, works I think I would miss if their links rotted. (Some of them have already rotted. Most were salvageable through the Internet Archive. But only most.) I didn’t think that would hurt, but it turns out that it does, that they evoke the time periods I read them in.)

I know a lot of people hate their past selves, for their ignorance and foolishness. I think this is another version of that impulse, but I don’t hate past-me.

I don’t hate *her*. I hate the people who did this to her.

I think that’s a lot of the problem. I think maybe a lot of the pain of archiving isn’t inherent to the task in general, but because most of the stuff I’m archiving–this project and previous projects–is from around my late teens, give or take, and I was in a lot of pain then. A lot of it I hardly acknowledged at the time, or if I acknowledged it I shrugged and figured that was just how things were.

Maybe it’s good for me to immerse myself in the past, sometimes, if only to show myself how far I’ve come.

aaaaaaaahhhhh

I have reached a series that–while it has many good parts, and I still have plans to finish reading it someday–also brings up a whole lot of baggage

and a large part of the baggage is feeling like I’m not allowed to complain about it

aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh

Tags:

#vagueblogging #I can’t even really get angry at anyone involved #the worst part is knowing they weren’t even wrong to do it #knowing I really *didn’t* deserve consideration #oh look an update #amnesia cw? #sexuality and lack thereof

{{next post in sequence}}

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

I wonder what’s going on in my brain right now, like on a neurological level. I bet it’s fascinating.

Tags:

#woke up yesterday morning feeling rather more tired than I would expect given that I only got ~half an hour less sleep than usual #(8 instead of 8.5 – 9) #looked at calendar #start date of last menstrual period was two weeks ago #well I guess that explains that then #(slept 9.5 hours today) #(which was probably a bad idea) #(given that this is not the kind of tiredness that unconsciousness helps) #(but it was hard to drag myself out of bed) #((I mean I guess it would make up for yesterday’s sleep-deprivation component?)) #((but that component was probably pretty small)) #I would probably make an excellent case study of some sort #oh look an original post #tag rambles #sexuality and lack thereof #people who can distinguish between their drive for sleep and drive for sex fascinate me #and so do people who can’t #just in somewhat different ways

Permission to be Sexual

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

asexualactivities:

Do you feel like you have permission to be sexual or to have sexuality or to do things considered sexual in nature?

Who or what is granting this permission or denying it?

Does this tie into your asexuality?

(Related to this post.)

It depends on what you mean, but for the most part I do.

Personally, I feel like being ace actually makes it *easier* in some ways to feel like I’m allowed, because my sexuality is not interpersonal. People don’t get as many *opportunities* to forbid me from doing things, because I don’t do acts that require cooperation from others (I need very little of even the indirect, logistical kind of cooperation).

Being kinky *sounds* like it would make feeling permitted more difficult, and in some ways it can, but in other ways it makes things easier. Notably, my masturbation generally looks non-sexual when seen from the outside, out of context, and so getting caught is less bad. (The level of privacy at which I start to feel comfortable is “nobody else is on the same floor of the house”.) Fluid containment and lubricant sourcing are also complete non-issues.

It is probably relevant that my sex ed was pretty liberal (it *was* terrible for me, but only because I was an outlier who slipped through the cracks; unlike the “masturbation is for losers” kind of stuff that other people in the conversation are describing, the messages I received *would* have been good if I had been the intended type of recipient). It probably also helps that I’m not firmly attached to asexuality: the idea (regardless of how likely it is) of getting kicked out for having too much of a sexuality doesn’t really scare me, I kind of just shrug and figure “well, I could probably convince the bisexuals or somebody to take me in”.

I can’t relate to the thing in the linked post about not feeling like one’s sexuality really belongs to one: my sexuality definitely feels like it belongs to me, and that’s a lot of what I like about it.

Tags:

#sexuality and lack thereof #reply via reblog #nsfw text #asexuality

~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

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brin-bellway:

.

When I read stuff about What Pre-Pubescent Sexuality Is Like, the traits they describe tend to divide up into “I was never like that” (example: no sense of propriety) and “I’m still like that” (example: sexuality as having to do with oneself, not something interpersonal).

When I read stuff about What Adult Sexuality Is Like, the traits they describe tend to divide up into “I’ve always been like that” (example: capacity for sexual arousal) and “I’m still not like that” (the thing that comes to mind is just the inverse of the still-like-that pre-pubescent one, but there’s probably others).

The transition from pre-pubescent sexuality to adult sexuality is called “awakening”.

What I am saying here is: I, a dozing fetishist, have a perpetually half-awake sexuality.

If there is a God, He loves puns.

Tags:

#sexuality and lack thereof #people who can distinguish between their drive for sleep and drive for sex fascinate me #oh look an original post #puns #nsfw text?