journal entries

vulnerability and simplicity

It feels … vulnerable, I think, to write anything but sex right now, given the amount of traffic the Sugarbutch Star contest is getting. I’m worried you’re all coming here for the sex, so to talk about feelings or emotions or my whole twenty-something-quarterlife-crisis crap would be a disappointment!

But then I think, well, this is a personal sexblog, after all, and it’s kinda nice to know the person you’re fucking, you know? The more of their psychology you know, the better the sex.

My evenings are a strange combination of extreme vulnerability and sex these days; I printed out all the Sugarbutch Star submissions I’ve received so far (a dozen!) and am spending some time looking at the details, trying to choose my favorites, trying to decide which stories I would write the best. I was reading over the printouts on the subway on the way home from work tonight, and definitely noticed more than a few of my crowded sardine-like co-passengers peering over my shoulder at words like cock, orgasm, fuck, rough as you can give it, I’m on top, you fuck me, in your bed …

Oh good god damn. From a purely selfish standpoint? This contest is amazing. I love hearing you tell me what you’d like me to do to you.

In the words of Flight of the Conchords: Thank you ladies. You didn’t have to say that.

The other parts of the last week or so of my life have involved lots of crying, drinking, and aloneness. (Not to be confused with loneliness, though maybe there’s some of that underneath as well.) Commercials, film trailors, reality TV, even the fucking Simpsons have all been making me cry. I watched Premonition last night and was crying at every desperate look of love from Sandra Bullock to her dead/dying husband.

Everything is hard hitting. It is as though I have no defenses, no skin, no protection between myself and the world. Everything goes right through.

That’s not horrible, I suppose, in that I’m glad to be feeling. I think I’ve broken through some sort of shell that has been keeping me held together – take that away and there are a lot of cracks to exlore. You know those toys where the little critter is held by a tension string, and you press your thumb into the base of the toy and release the tension, thus the critter falls apart? Yeah, that’s me.

I’ve had some character study revelations about myself lately, things I’ve wanted to write about because they seem significant and important to the further development of my twenty-something finding-myself self. (I’m almost over that, right? I’m almost already found? I’m so ready to be thirty.)

One is that I need to figure out how to tell the truth more often. And not just a kind way of “not lying”, but actually expressing what it is that I’m thinking and feeling, my reaction to what’s around me, the people I love and care about specifically. One of my deeply held values is to be kind to people, to not hurt people’s feelings, especially those I love & care about, and I often find myself not quite saying what it is that I mean, or want to say, because I’m concerned about hurting someone’s feeling, overstepping my bounds. It goes along with my ideas of not giving advice, too, which has also been a philosophy of mine – only to give specific advice when it is particularly requested, not just to bust out with “you know what I think you should do is …” without explicit invitation.

But I want to unlearn these things. These are deep-set values of mine, perhaps, yes – and I want to be kind, good lord, of course – but sometimes, it is more important to take a risk, put myself and my opinions out there, to offer up what’s really happening in my mind. And I don’t think I do that often enough.

(Thanks, by the way, to my fluffer femme spy who listened to me work through some of these ideas this afternoon.)

Two, the other thing I’ve been thinking about lately and kicking around in my mind and having various crises over, is that I am really fucken busy. But not just busy – overextended. My therapist told me yesterday that she is continually surprised how much I volunteer and give away my time for little (or no) money. I live the life of a freelancer, she said – I am balancing so many projects, organizational involvement, interests, and obligations that I no longer have any time for preparing fresh food (what a luxury), yoga in my living room, a fucken bubble bath, lazy masturbatory Saturday mornings, cleaning my bathroom, organizing my files or books or music, tossing a feather toy around for my cats …

I am currently balancing too much. So I have begun to simplify, simplify, simplify. I need my time back. I need calmness back.

My schedule, and my obligations, are going to change. I’m working on it.

My roommate is out of town for the next week, and I’m looking forward to having the apartment to myself. I suppose it would be best if I had a girl or two in my bed to entertain, but that may or may not happen, whether or not I get my nerve up to reply to any other craigslist ads. That is, whether or not I can read between the lines enough to know that I am not actually replying to an ad Callie placed.

There must be another way to meet girls, I swear. I guess I’m going to have to practice my bar game.

Published by Sinclair Sexsmith

Sinclair Sexsmith (they/them) is "the best-known butch erotica writer whose kinky, groundbreaking stories have turned on countless queers" (AfterEllen), who "is in all the books, wins all the awards, speaks at all the panels and readings, knows all the stuff, and writes for all the places" (Autostraddle). ​Their short story collection, Sweet & Rough: Queer Kink Erotica, was a 2016 finalist for a Lambda Literary Award, and they are the current editor of the Best Lesbian Erotica series. They identify as a white non-binary butch dominant, a survivor, and an introvert, and they live outside Seattle as an uninvited settler on traditional, ancestral, & unceded Snoqualmie land.

4 thoughts on “vulnerability and simplicity”

  1. Essin' Em says:

    but don't feelings and emotions, and even 20-something life crisises have something to do with sex? everything is so intertwined…unless all you wrote about were sexual experience and erotica, nothing you write will ever be "only sex" or "not sex"…and as much as I love me some hot steamy stories, it's the rest of someone's life, as much as they're willing to share online, that makes it so interesting.Plus I blogged about the midnight premiere of Harry Potter (I had a major crush on Tonks, played by Natalia Tena), and that's waaaay less sexual than emotions. So I think in the scheme of things, you're still way deep in the sex spectrum

  2. Ms. Avarice says:

    The life stuff gives the sex stories context. even though sometimes they're not even related to you, it's the back story that makes the difference. At least for me.As far as the picking up chicks goes, just do that thing you do! You shouldn't have any trouble.If worse comes to worse, I could just hop a cheap Southwest flight to NYC and we'll go cruising. How's that sound? ;)

  3. birdonthewirenyc says:

    you can practice your honesty on me if you want. i can take it!

    and you know i’ll always be your wingman at the bar.

  4. Dylan says:

    i enjoy the sex writing, of course, but i especially enjoy when you blog about life. good old realistic life with all of the ups and downs it comes with.

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