Been ages since I posted a video blog. It was time. It's kind of always time.
I've got this friend, Nanny Grace. She's a sex worker, a pro-domme Mommy. She's thinky, fun, and kind. We're relatively new friends, and lately have indulged in that glut of "get to know you" talk where we discuss anything and everything.
She introduced me to an idea about sexuality, the "dual-control" model of sexual response. Basically, it works like this:
Some things get you going, like pressing a gas pedal. Other things hold you back, like a brake pedal.
What sort of things? All sorts of things. Physical condition, social context, self-image, emotional well-being, the list goes on and on and on. So, what it's like a math problem? Gee thanks, Mako, you've reduced my getting off to an algebra problem.
No, no, I swear it's not that bad. Even though it seems overwhelming, clinical and awful, there's a hidden secret yet effective way to get on top of your sexual response.
Just ask Emily Nagorski.
Who? I'm glad you asked. She's a researcher, author and speaker who my friend Grace introduced me to. Watch this. It's going to be among the most useful, important 17 minutes or so of your life. The basic premise is, context matters.
When you like yourself, when you recognize how awesome your body is, and all the different ways you have to use it to get off, and how good a thing that is, you stomp that gas pedal in your underpants hard.
Thanks, Grace.
It hasn't been easy for Marigold.
First, when she was just a child. she had to go live with her awful aunt. Then, there’s the very bad thing that made her run away from home.
Eventually she grew up and found a great guy. They got married, had a kid, everything seemed just fine. But it wasn’t.
Marigold realized what she really wanted. She wanted him to spank her. Not just that, either. She wanted him to put her in diapers, and she told him.
It didn’t go so well.
But that wasn’t going to stop her. Because once she really knew who she was, that was when little marigold began to blossom.
New illustrated chapters and audio released exclusively at https://www.patreon.com/makoallen
There's an old joke that says the opposite of congress is progress.
Ha-ha. Progress is on my mind though.
So, I'm a creative guy. You know this, because you're here, reading my blog, and my projects are a major part of what I talk about on here.
But I have a lot of things "in progress" at the moment. Let's see:
- I've lost over 50 pounds on the keto diet, and want to lose somewhere between 40-50 more.
- I'm getting my personal finances in better shape.
- I've got a small company that's building a software product.
- I've got a patreon, where I'm writing short illustrated and narrated fiction.
- I'm working on my third novel, which will soon be released-in-progress on the patreon.
- I'm beginning to release my narrated, illustrated fiction in a new format, as movies.
- I'm learning new technologies at my day job.
- I'm polyamorous, and working hard to be fully present in my relationships.
Boy, that sounds like a lot. That's because it is a lot. Some days, I'm wrung out from it. I get stuck in a sort of analysis paralysis, unsure of what to do next, what resources I have, what to do when the tank is empty.
I stumbled across this great video by Simon Alexander Ong, about making progress your focus.
In a way, it's a rehash of something I am constantly telling other people. Don't focus on the wall you're building, focus on the brick you're laying. Lay it perfectly. If it's not right, pick it up, adjust it, start over with that brick, whatever. (And I'm talking about a wall like the Great Wall, a metaphorically overwhelming in scale project, not that travesty you-know-who keeps blathering about.)
When I was a kid, my dad taught me one of the most important lessons of my life, to measure success by motion, not by destination. You can be 1 step on your path, or 1,000. Your path can change, alter course. It most likely will, in fact. Doesn't matter. As long as you keep going, you're doing just fine.
I had this big obstacle I crashed right into about two weeks ago. My patreon got suspended for violating their guidelines. I worked feverishly to figure out how, and do something about it. Then, when I didn't hear from them, sought out other venues for my work. It was a frustrating yet ultimately beneficial experience. I learned a bunch of things about where an erotica author can publish, what they can publish, and how. And that knowledge is going to be helpful to me down the line. And I had support, so much support. Friends and family consoled me, offered me guidance, helped me find options. I am so very loved and supported in my work, by so many.
Thankfully, my patreon got reinstated. The changes I made put me back in compliance, and I'm good to go. I'm not going to lie when it first happened, it was crushing to me. Even that pain and suffering (much of it self-inflicted) taught me things about myself, my efforts, my patterns of behavior and self-judgment, what's important to me, what my underlying reasons are for even doing much of what I do.
Targets change. They move. But it's the travel towards them that helps me know I'm alive.
Listen, you and me, dear reader, we're the same. Human animals, with only some grasp of what it is we're actually doing as we move through life.
Keep going, okay? Because it feels good.
There's no easy way to say this. Andrea has died.
She died on Wednesday, February 28th.
I've been grieving for days.
Andrea and I sharing a cuddle, and laughing together, back in 2010
I've known Andrea, had her as a part of my life, for about 15 years now. We met, first online, through live journal, and then in person, for the first time, at the Fetish Flea.
This was the first day we met in person. Note the baby pride pin tie clip thing. I gave her that, that day if I remember right.
I love Andrea. Not loved, but love. She was among the people I am closest to on this planet. I consider her family.
Andrea and I have been one another's cheerleader and support for ages. She was an utterly amazing human being. Here's a description of herself she wrote for her Kensho Kitten blog.
“I’m open-minded and I live outside the box. I love hard and refuse to play by the rules. I have several long-term Partners and a handful of very dear friends that I call my Chosen Family, and they fill my life with blessings.
I am introspective and I practice authenticity and self-acceptance, while encouraging others to do the same. I’m deeply spiritual but in a silly and irreverent way. Every day I pray that I may learn to have compassion for assholes; it’s called a practice for a reason.
I am a no BS, no head-games kinda girl, and I don’t deny uncomfortable truths. In fact, sometimes I enjoy talking about things that are ‘uncomfortable’ simply because society doesn’t want us to. Like bodily functions, especially at the dinner table!
You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
That was Andrea. She loved Hello Kitty, unicorns, the color pink, and talking about farting and pooping and coming. (Not all at the same time, although in retrospect the idea and the conversation about such would have made her roar with laughter.)
I could (and have, and likely will again) go on about Andrea for hours and hours. I'm sure there will be more posts about her. I just went back and even made a Special Andrea Tag for my blog, to make it easier for you (and me) to find these posts again.
She occupies a very special place in my life and heart. I have been grateful for her before, and will continue to be.
In the course of my grief, I've been sort of binging on her. Going back through old photos, old texts, listening to her appearances on the Big Little Podcast. Just positively guzzling her digital self down, in big chugs.
That was when I stumbled across something of a gift that Andrea made for me, with me.
We did an episode of the podcast that was a personal interview with Frankie and Andrea, all about them, their love, their history. During the interview, one of the more odd subjects that came up was how they both were these hard-charging, grizzled long distance travelers.
On the regular, it's nothing for him to get in the car and drive 15 hours straight someplace. Andrea used to take 19 hour long bus rides from Massachusetts to Michigan to visit with him. And they both did those things regularly to come visit me, here in Virginia. Often during these travels, they'd listen to episodes of the podcast.
Frankie joked on the show about how he'd be listening to Spacey and me on the show, and then the phone would ring and it would be me, and how weird and meta it was. Plus, how when he'd be listening, he'd often respond to the podcast as if he were a part of the conversation in progress. Andrea added that she did that too, and because she knew my humor so well, she could predict the things I'd say next, and how good it felt to be included, even though I didn't know it was happening.
Then, at 1:00:38 I observed how it was both sweet and creepy, because I could see people doing the same with the podcast for me, long after I was dead.
When I heard that, this morning I broke out in tears. I wailed. I tortured myself with it.
Then, I stopped. Because I knew just what Andrea would have to say to me about this self-torment, "So, how's that working for you?"
I laughed, a little at first, and then a whole bunch.
There you are, Andrea. Right where you've always been. I love you.