I am proudly autistic, asexual, and kinky.

When we last spoke, I discussed how, despite running a blog about kink and sexuality, I have never actually had sex.  And in the time since we last spoke, I remain a virgin.  However, I have spent the better part of a year doing a lot of research and soul-searching, and have come to the realization that I am asexual, and that on the asexuality spectrum, I fall somewhere between sex-averse and sex-repulsed, while still feeling romantic attraction.  I also recognize that there is probably nothing that I can do to change that, because that’s just how I’m wired.

Before coming to this conclusion, however, I did my research, looking at it from every angle that I could think of.  I started by looking at it from a fear perspective, but I came to a dead end, because I felt like I couldn’t make get close enough to it to even worry about being afraid of it.  I also felt like the various “solutions” that I found online about a fear of sex didn’t address the issue.  I have engaged in some sexual touching with my partner, after all, but it was with a gloved hand.  So it was pretty clear that it’s not a phobia, so that’s out.  I also looked into the possibility of low libido, and what that involves.  One of the big questions that those ask is whether or not you masturbate.  I do masturbate on a somewhat regular basis, usually once or twice a week, which helps to relieve stress.  Another big question that typically gets asked in that situation is whether or not this is a recent thing, and in my case, it isn’t.  I’ve always been like this.  Nothing has changed as far as libido goes.  Similarly, I looked into Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder, or HSDD.  That again didn’t check all of the boxes, as that requires the condition to cause some amount of distress, and I’m not distressed by it.  The only distress is caused by external factors, in that my partner makes sure that I know that she is not happy about the lack of sex in our relationship.  Me, I could go my entire life without copulating and be just fine.  In short, it’s none of those things.

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For someone who runs a blog about kink and sexuality and how these things meld together, I have a confession that many might find surprising: I have never actually had sex.

The whole thing makes me think about what happened in the second season of Ink Master.  In that season, one of the contestants was a very accomplished tattoo artist, but he had no tattoos on his own skin, unlike everyone else on the show.  The judges made a big stink about the guy’s not having any tattoos, but I felt that the criticism was unfair because it was ultimately his own choice about what he wanted to do with his own body, and he should not feel obligated to do something with his body that he didn’t necessarily want to just because he was “supposed to” have tattoos as a tattoo artist.  The same thing applies here.  I feel that one can be a voice discussing kink, sexuality, and the like and still never have had sex.  After all, it’s my body, and therefore it’s my choice.

I had considered discussing this topic for a number of years, and had gone back and forth on whether I really wanted to discuss this topic, being concerned that revealing this would harm my credibility when talking about BDSM and the like.  After all, one would think that a prerequisite to discussing sexuality and exploring one’s sexuality would be to have experienced having sex at some point in one’s life.  But I have never experienced sexual intercourse before, though I certainly have had sexual gratification before, both by myself and with other people.  I finally decided to write about it because I suspect that I am not alone.  I am most likely not the only one who is kinky as fuck, and yet has never “done the deed” with someone.  I hope, by discussing it, that it helps others who are in similar situations and who may be questioning things themselves.

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A few weeks ago, I had an “aha” moment when I was thinking about crossdressing and some of what makes it so pleasurable for me. I came to realize that Jennifer, in her own way, is a form of bondage.  I may not be physically restrained (though I have definitely done some scenes as Jennifer), but it’s more of a mental thing.  I typically go out without any option to easily change out of female attire, and now that I’ve started going into makeup, it’s far less straightforward than simply changing clothes.  Whenever I go out, there is almost always some element that is difficult to undo in the field, which de facto locks me into Jennifer until I get home.

How I accomplish that little bit of bondage that keeps me locked into Jennifer varies by adventure, but it’s usually something simple.  For my January trip to Pennsylvania, where I first started using makeup for Jennifer, it was the lipstick.  The lipstick locked me into Jennifer mode, because once applied, it wasn’t coming off easily, as I did not have makeup removal wipes on that outing.  In more recent cases, the bondage has been my nails.  I will typically paint my nails in a nice girly color, and that stuff is not coming off easily.  And that keeps me locked into Jennifer, since the nails would be a dead giveaway that something is up.

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As is typical for the holiday season, my workplace decorates its facility.  They put up a Christmas tree, they hung some garlands around the place, and they put this next to the entrance:

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I guess that you could say, “That escalated quickly.”  Since last we spoke, I have been going out as Jennifer quite a bit, and having a lot of fun with it.  On the days that I don’t have work, when I need to go out, I’ve been putting on the gold zentai and being Jennifer.  I’ve also put some renewed effort into it, getting some new outfits, as well as new boobs.  Recall that Jennifer’s original breasts were homemade, made out of nylon stockings and rice:

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The coronavirus pandemic has caused so many abrupt changes in our lives. Social distancing has eliminated dining out and many other fun activities.  Stay-at-home orders have strongly encouraged us to remain in our homes unless it is “essential” to go out.  In Maryland, Governor Larry Hogan has ordered all “non-essential” businesses to close.  Additionally, Governor Hogan has ordered that everyone is to wear a mask whenever they’re out in public, such as while shopping.  I find a lot of these new restrictions to be rather draconian, and I have been given no reason to think that these measures will actually accomplish the goals that officials are claiming that they will.  I get the sense that the true purpose of these measures, rather than actually accomplishing what they’re stated to accomplish, is “security theater” to make it appear that the government is doing something, even if the measures are totally ineffective.  Additionally, unlike other states, Maryland’s mandates have no expiration date, and therefore will continue until explicitly cancelled.

The mask order in particular has not sat well with me.  The stay-at-home order has holes in it that are big enough to drive a truck through them.  I also work in a so-called “essential” job, so I’m still going out on a regular basis to go to work.  However, the requirement to wear a mask or other sort of face covering is killing me.

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I was recently listening to a Stuff Mom Never Told You podcast about BDSM, and one topic that was discussed was safewords.  Among other things, the presenters characterized safewords as being less important than you might think that they otherwise might be.  That struck a chord with me.  In past experiences with BDSM education, it was always said that safewords were necessary because “no” or “stop” in a scene might not always mean what they mean on the street, depending on the context of the scene.  While this is true, it’s not always the case.

In my own scenes, I typically do not employ a safeword.  The reasoning is simple enough: if a scene is becoming too much, or something needs to be adjusted, we typically just say so.  But because of what I had learned both online and at various events about the necessity of having a safeword, I had always assumed that I was being a bit irresponsible by not having one, even though speaking in plain language instead of using a safeword worked.  With my girlfriend, we speak in plain language about how the other is doing in the scene.  When one of us is gagged, we speak through the gag to communicate.  However, if the top really can’t understand the different variations of “arglbargl” that are produced with the gag, we take the gag out to help facilitate communication.  Using plain language makes enough sense to me, and helps keep a certain playful mood about it, since in the end, it’s really just two people having fun together, and not a theatrical production or anything like that.  If we need to adjust the scene to ensure that everyone keeps having fun, we just say so.

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As I’ve gone through my thirties, I have really been more open to exploring my inner self.  When I was in my twenties, I was more concerned about what “other people” might think.  Now that I’m in my thirties, I have come to realize that said “other people” are too busy dealing with their own insecurities, and therefore aren’t paying close attention to me.  With that realization, there’s a certain level of “fuck it, let’s do it” that comes to mind, because, after all, you only live once.  I also love the freedom that we have as children to do and explore whatever we want in the name of child’s play, and it makes me sad the way society then pushes us into conformity with certain gender norms as we get older.  It raises our inhibitions, and makes us less willing to go outside those norms.

I generally go through life as a cisgendered male.  I have the male anatomy, I dress in men’s clothing, etc.  However, when I was growing up, I remember thinking how much more interesting the “girl” toys that were advertised on Saturday morning were than the “boy” toys.  I also secretly envied the far more exciting and fun outfits that women got to wear.  I loved the clothes, and I loved the shoes.  After all, men’s clothing is pretty formulaic, and the shoes aren’t that exciting, either.  Not much in the way of excitement there.  When I was around 12 years old, I secretly tried on some female clothing, and it actually felt pretty good.  However, at that age, I kept that side well hidden, because, you know, middle school and all.  Then I unconsciously put it away for quite some time.

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If you’ve been on FetLife for more than about ten minutes, you’ve probably seen a warning in various places on people’s profile pages.  It usually reads something like this:

WARNING to any institution or person using this site or any of its associated sites: You do not have my permission to use any of my pictures, information from my profile or discussions, or anything I post in any of the forums or groups on this website in any form or forum both current or future without prior written consent.  You do not have my permission to copy, save, print, or repost our pictures, discussions, or information without prior written consent.  If you have done or do any of the above, it will be considered a violation of my privacy and personal property and will be subject to all legal remedies.

To give you an idea about how pervasive this “warning” is, in order to look for a copy of the text, I went down my FetLife feed and opened up the profiles of my five most recent friend additions.  Four out the five had some variation of it on their profiles.  If you are one of those people that has this “warning” on your profile, my advice to you is to get rid of it.

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Like most people in the fetish community, I was shocked and saddened to learn about the demise of 824 North Calvert Street, the former home of the Baltimore Play House.  For those not familiar with what happened, the building at 824 North Calvert Street in Baltimore was the site of a major fire in the early morning of January 24 (more photos).  As I understand it, the building, already damaged (and never repaired) from the effects of Hurricane Sandy a few months prior, caught fire when the roof cracked under the weight of ice, which led to an electrical fire.  That more or less destroyed it, as the entire building went up, and there was a partial collapse of the roof.  There were no firefighter or civilian injuries related to the fire.  My understanding is that the Play House staff had vacated the building about two weeks prior, but it was later revealed that all of the contents of the Play House had not yet been removed, and were lost in the fire.  The loss of the building was one thing, but the loss of the contents of the building really made me sad.  After all, when a person moves their residence, putting all of one’s stuff into the new place makes the new place start to feel like “home”.  And the Play House had a lot of neat stuff in it that was different from that at The Crucible in DC and DCDungeon (now DC Speakeasy) in Rockville.

I had planned a trip up to Baltimore for April 5, where I was going to do some vanilla photography.  I am something of an accomplished photographer in my spare time, and was out shooting photos in a few neighborhoods in Baltimore.  So while I was already up in Baltimore, I made a stop over by the old Play House.  Since this was a vanilla trip, my official purpose of photographing the building was to document urban decay as exemplified by a burned out structure, or, as an employee at Iggie’s Pizza (the restaurant next door to the old Play House) described it, “ruin porn”.

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