Wednesday, August 31, 2016

In Defense of the Quickie

I'm baaaack bitches! And I am feeling inspired to write about one of my favorite sexual acts: the quickie. Consider this a quickie post on quickies.

Obviously, a quickie means something different to everyone. For me, a quickie is a fast sexual interlude, often not including much foreplay but it can include some kissing or hand stuff or etc. Often the goal is orgasm(s) for one or both partners in a quick amount of time, because hey we've all got shit to do. I would state that for me, a quickie must be shorter than 5 minutes. But I think that can definitely vary from person to person. If you're used to having sex for an hour at a time, a quickie might look more like half an hour or 15 minutes, for example.

I have written about this before, but I think there is a misnomer in heterosexual society that women hate quickies because it's hard for us to get off in a short amount of time, with only penis in vagina penetration involved. First of all, not all women need a bunch of romancing and foreplay in order to reach an orgasm; many do, and that's cool! But hashtag not all women, folks. I myself can come within 30 seconds of the first clit touch, especially if I'm in the mood or with someone I'm really excited to be having sex with. Second, a quickie doesn't have to consist of penis in vagina action, and both partners don't have to get off! In fact no one has to get off, and that's still fine. Let's break the heterosexual ideas on quickies and queer this up a little bit, friends. Third, not all women or people even want to have an orgasm during a sexual encounter, or want to feel pressured into it. Sometimes a swift reminder that you are wanted (in that way) is enough to fill someone with endorphins and good feels.

Sometimes, when you're first with a person, you just want to spend all day/ night/ weekend fucking them. Which happens to me too, even though I tend to cum quickly and can't necessarily keep up the same level of interest after that. But some of my favorite long-term relationships started with some fast sex, and continue to be based in quickies. Brief moments where we see one each other naked, suddenly decide we need to bang, and then move on with our days. Which is simply lovely moment to share with people! Repeatedly. Throughout your lives together.

Don't hassle yourself too much if you cum quickly and prefer shorter sexual interludes. Sex is one of the best things ever, but trust me: as someone who is totally obsessed with sex, I can attest that there is more to life and love than sex alone.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Writer's Block: a Lament

I've never been the most prolific writer, and even during my most creative periods I still mostly just write narcissistic verbal diarrhea (as evidenced by this blog!). Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I don't feel like I will ever achieve my big goals as a writer. I'd love to write the next Great American Novel because wouldn't we all? But I fear the best I may be able to do is a set of fairly uninteresting essays about being depressed and sexy that I could call "memoirs." And I'm never even going to get there unless I can establish a process for daily or, at least, frequent writing.

Recently I have been attempting to rectify my creativity drought by seeking books about writing rather than actually doing any writing, like you do. Everyone always recommends this book called The Artist's Way to me, and I apologize in advance if this book totally changed your life but I have to say it's crap. I mean, if it worked for you that's wonderful. It doesn't work for me because the spiritual nonsense in it is distracting and especially because she is so adamant that one must do their stream-of-consciousness writing first thing in the morning. Because the same creative process that works for one person should work for everyone, right? Especially rebellious spirits who hate mornings?

I am so sick of morning people. Or really just the concept, not always the people themselves (but it depends, more on that in a moment). I have had to rearrange my entire life around the fact that people believe that morning is a superior time of day, and that everyone should be able to adjust their schedules to be most productive during that time of day. I can only guess that this has it's roots in puritanism and agriculture. My mother (who was raised on a farm) was certainly an adherent to the concept that lack of ability to get out of bed in the morning = laziness. I love my mom and I'm fine with her schedule (she wakes up at 4am), but let's just say I have a gigantic chip on my shoulder about this bullshit.

Out of all the reasons I went into sex work, including that old love of sex that I have, my lack of ability to wake up and have a functional brain before noon was up at the top. You see, it is totally possible (though extremely difficult) for me to get up in the morning. This morning I woke up at 10am, but didn't get out of bed until 11. When I used to do vanilla work I woke up at 7 or sometimes even 6 to get to work on time, but would be mostly useless until noon. Or at least I felt useless. My brain is foggy in the morning, my bones tired. The fact that I suffer from insomnia doesn't help, but even if I go to bed at a normal hour and actually do fall asleep I still struggle to be active until well into the afternoon. I have never been able to go to the gym first thing in the morning, and everything I write is garbage. Every mistake I have ever made at work has occurred before noon.

I can't remember what Julia Cameron- the author of The Artist's Way- says about writing first thing in the morning. It has something to do with your mind being more connected to your subconscious then, I believe. Or more open to letting creativity in. I mean, I guess that makes sense... but if your mind is a raisin first thing in the morning, how useful is it that it's connected to the subconscious then? It's not really useful for me. I often feel as though my brain is both more functional and more connected to creativity after midnight. I have heard so many artists say that's true for them, and they're usually the sort of tortured artist I can get down with. It would seem that my art is often about honesty over craft, and quality over quantity. Not that this blog post is any indication of either. And I'm even writing this at 4:30 in the afternoon!

As I struggle to tap back in to my creative flow, I know one thing for certain: every artist is different. Actually, I know 2 things for certain: every artist is different, and a book that states that there is only one way to find your creativity is not useful in my own process. In fact, books overall are not useful. Actually writing, like I am right now, is what is best. Even when it's complete and utter self-reflective poop. So help me out and give me some prompts if you like. And know that some day I will find myself again and will have new posts of equal or lesser quality to this one back up here weekly to daily.

Monday, March 21, 2016

Just Reminding Everyone that I Sell Porn, Too, Plus Juicy Porny Photos

Hey you pervy Kitten fans- I know I don't write on this blog much these days, but I hope to get back into it more soon :) I've been busy working on my side projects, and one such project I'd like to share with you is my amateur porn efforts.

When I started writing this blog I was still working at a cable porn company in Boulder, watching porn all day and wishing that could be my career. Since I left there what... almost 4 years ago now, if you can even believe it, the Internet porn industry has changed so much and it has become a lot easier to just throw some clips up and make some $$$ off them. So while I am not expert when it comes to shooting and editing and websites and etc etc, I am an expert at bullshitting my way through things and can now officially add "amateur porn star" to my resume that will never actually get me any "real" job ever.

It took me like 2 whole months to figure out how to edit the scene that the photos below are from- that's how amateur and occupied with other things I am. But I finally figured it out and now my first ever B/G POV blowjob scene is available! You can find it and other clips at ManyVids (this is where most of my clips live right now, but they take a larger cut just FYI) and AmateurPorn (only 2 clips here thus far but I get more money from them just FYI).

VIP Secretary Looks
It's no secret that I love blowjobs, and if you've been reading this blog then you know I also love cum. My friend who shot this scene reads this blog, too, and he had a nasty idea about having me dress like his secretary and then having me tease him with a beej before popping all over my face and glasses. My response to this idea?

Hell yes.

I got so excited I couldn't even keep my pussy in my panties

My friend lives in DC so he came to visit me in my hotel room there on a recent visit. He has just the sort of dick I love... I mean ok I love all dicks, and I love different sorts of dicks for different reasons. He has a perfect dick for oral though; big, but still fits in my mouth, plus uncircumsized and velvety in texture.

It was so much fun to shoot this scene! Seriously, I have a lot of fun with my wacky sexy lifestyle, but this really topped my experiences for that week. I'm such an exhibitionist and experiences like this one really make that abundantly clear. Don't believe me?

Then check out my damn pussy and asshole, have I proved my exhibitionist tendencies yet?
I don't want to spoil the scene too much, but let's just say I got him good and hard, and it ended like this:
That's cum on my glasses
So what are you waiting for? The best way to encourage me to continue working on this side project is to incentivize it with your cash money, so kick some my way and enjoy some jerk-off time with me :)

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

The Meaning Behind My Tattoos, Part #3: Little Mermaid

On my right arm I have a tattoo of the Little Mermaid swimming to Prince Eric after he becomes a statue. It is done in a watercolor/ painting sort of style, back before tattoos like that were all the rage.

Outtake from space babe shoot, you can sort of see the tattoo


It's based on this painting by Greg Hildebrandt:


I had a book of fairy tales with paintings my Greg Hildebrandt to accompany them when I was growing up, well actually I still have it today! The Little Mermaid was always my favorite story, and not because of the perennial 1989 Disney classic by the same name. Oh no, I was being read this  story long before the movie came out (I didn't learn how to read until I was 8), and always had a great fondness for it. Or at least that's how I remember things going down- it's possible that my memory is incorrect and actually rewritten in my mind to make myself seem cooler to myself.

I started this tattoo when I was 20 and completed it when I was 23- it took about 13 hours all told, making it my most elaborate and intensive tattoo- at least hours wise. I chose it as I saw the story of the Little Mermaid, and my love of it, as representative of the transition from childhood to adulthood. And when I was 20 I was having a particularly difficult time with that transition. Looking back with a more mature and feminist perspective, the story of the Little Mermaids transition to adulthood is, of course, highly problematic; she feels trapped by the sea and her father's rules, she sees a human man (a prince even) on a ship and decides she loves him, she pursues him by asking a sea witch to make her human and give her legs, the sea witch tells her that if she is able to make the prince love her without speaking she can be human forever, she accidentally speaks, he turns to stone. I can't remember clearly if that's the end of the original fairy tale version- I believe it is. In the Disney version they all live happily ever after, of course.

However, this remains one of my favorite tattoos. One thing I love about it is that most people can't tell what it is unless I tell them- that used to annoy me but now I like it, since almost everyone can look at my chest and say "Tetris!" or my Twin Peaks coffee cup and say "coffee!" or "Twin Peaks!" It feels more personal this way, and opens up a more extensive conversation with those who ask about it (not that I'm encouraging any of you to ask strangers about their tattoos- I'm usually happy for the attention, but many with tattoos can get annoyed with the constant attention).

Interestingly, the statue of Prince Eric in the tattoo resembles my boyfriend at the time more than it does the painting version. He came with me to some of the sessions and I was never sure if the artist meant to make the statue look like him, if it was subconscious or just coincidental. This boyfriend was my first love, and one might even say my Prince Charming at that young, impressionable, mostly heterosexual time in my life. I definitely thought he was going to be the one I married, and TBH I would still be happy to have married him if that's how things went down. I'm glad they didn't seeing as how it never would have worked and my life would have taken a completely different course. But he was a sweet, giving, intelligent, hilarious person and I hope someone is happy with him now. Especially since I did him so wrong (if you're reading this, anonymous first love of mine, I hope you know how truly sorry I am. I have had to move on in order to live with myself, but I don't think there's any forgiving how I treated you).

This is pretty much not a sexy story, but when I think about the time of my life when I got this tattoo I think about the importance of realizing that young love may be fleeting, the importance of growing up and the importance of knowing how to ask for what you want in a relationship. Things started hot and heavy with my first love; I was his first and he was my second (sexually), and since we both still lived with our parents we used to drive around the industrial parts of Arvada late at night, find an empty and secluded parking lot, and fuck in the back seat of his car. True  and pure teenage/ young adult love, to be sure.

Later on we moved in together and we both lost interest in frequent sex, but him especially. I don't know if he may have been on an asexuality spectrum, but I do know that he was much more interested in making music, making computer games, and in doing drugs than he was in sex. And my impressionable young female self of course interpreted this as him being disinterested in me. I tried not to- I tried to listen to him about it not being about me, he was discovering that he just found other activities more interesting. I thought we were so different from other couples. I had heard about the natural decline of sexual interest that can occur when you move in with someone, but here I was 20 and he was 19 and it was happening all backwards according to what I had been told about gender and sexual interest. I was the one who was supposed to be interested in other things, not him.

My first foray into non monogamy began here. I think I may have written about it a bit on this blog here and there, and I don't want to spend too much time talking about the experience or how it ultimately failed. But to touch on it quickly, I met a friend of his who I thought was hot, asked him if it was OK to have sex with his friend, got his permission, had sex with the friend, he (boyfriend not his friend) freaked out when it actually happened and said he couldn't handle the jealousy, we broke up and I started dating his friend immediately. We still lived together in a collective house and it was a disaster. I was pretty mean to him and said his friend had a better/ bigger penis than him (the bigger part was true, but not the better part), that we were having SUCH GREAT SEX all the time (that was totally true, but no need to rub salt in the wounds), and I kept reinforcing that my ex was a great friend while the new guy was a great lover. I mean yuck, what a horrible creature I was. He dated one of my best friends for a brief period, I think partially because they liked each other but also maybe to get back at me. I didn't really care, nor do I still because really I've never been the jealous type. But at the time I definitely saw my new relationship as sexually superior to theirs, and felt sorry for her.

So instead of a sexy story you get one about how my sexuality, and entitlement to my sexual expression around others, made me the worst human possible. But back to the tattoo: it has become emblematic to me of the processes I go through in order to grow, and how painful and yet ultimately rewarding it can be to learn from past embarrassingly asshole-ish behavior. And I also have no problem having this fine specimen of a young lover forever immortalized in Prince Eric form on my arm- he deserves to be there, and deserves to live forever fondly in my memories.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

The Meaning Behind My Tattoos, Part #2: Phoenix

So I just got a new tattoo of a phoenix on my hip that is super sexy and super exciting Simultaneously, I'm attempting to learn how to take better "professional" photos of myself, so that I can do photoshoots on my own schedule or whenever the mood strikes. I put professional in quotes because, well, I'm still an amateur. As the photos in this post will make blatantly evident. They were taken with an iPhone, which I don't think I realized would make them look the way it did and I definitely have to figure out how to charge the battery in my better camera. And I don't know how to do lighting. And I just use my "office" as a setting and didn't attempt to dress it up in anyway. But they're not bad for a first effort! I'm about medium to medium-high proud of them.

Unfortunately, none of the photos I'm about to share show off the tattoo super well, but you can get a feel for it from them.  But I am definitely feelin' myself and I think it shows. Below find the one that shows my tattoo best.


The tattoo is done in a watercolor style and goes from just below my rib cage to mid thigh on my right side. This tattoo has a lot of personal significance for me; it is located on my right hip as I was born with congenital hip dysplasia in that hip (check out the link if you're curious what that means). I was in casts and braces for the first 3 years of my life, and the doctors were not sure I would be able to walk or have normal mobility as I grew older. However, I healed almost fully from it and only have a barely perceptive limp to show for it. This early experience with the medical world was traumatizing for me, and could be a factor in my anxiety disorder- but I came out of it more able-bodied than I was expected to be. Choosing to place a phoenix there is a reminder of my ability to experience hardship with grace, and to learn and adapt and heal and eventually "rise out of the ashes."

I promised a sexy story to go along with each tattoo, but unfortunately I don't have much to go with this one yet! I mean, other than it looks fucking amazing on my body and a couple of hotties have cum on it thus far.

Or how about this?: When I was getting the 2nd session of it done, I noticed that the artist who worked across from my artist (who is amazing, by the way, but I am reticent to share his name in this public of forum... even if the advertising might be great for him) was super hot. I mean, not just normal hot- movie star quality hot. At least in my eyes. He was working on a woman who was getting a tattoo under her breast and who surprisingly seemed in a lot less pain than I, even though hers was on her fucking ribs, right near her heart.

I had a particularly difficult time with the pain of this tattoo, which I think is apt, given it's meaning. I was able to get through the 2nd session only through watching him work on her. It was such a sensual looking experience to me- not that I want to sexualize someone elses tattoo experience, so I will just say that it was soothing to me to imagine it being sensual for them. It helped to make my tattoo more sensual, and helped me to think about how to find pleasure in the pain. I'm not usually one to make sounds during the tattoo process, but as I got higher from the pain I began to work through it by moaning lightly. I hope I didn't weird everyone the fuck out, but they all seemed to be just fine and not surprised.

Well, if the sound of that squicks you out or if pain isn't your pleasure (trust me, it's only rarely mine when I need it to be), here's some more pictures from the shoot to make up for it :)










Tuesday, August 18, 2015

The Monster Under My Bed: How Sex Has Helped Me to Manage Anxiety and Depression

First of all, I need to credit the title and inspiration for this post to a panel I attended at the Woodhull Sexual Freedom Summit this previous weekend. The panel featured JoEllen Notte (The Redhead Bedhead), Stephen Biggs and Crista Anne. One thing that was talked about during the panel, and something that really struck a chord with me, was the need for more folks who live with mental wellness issues to speak out on sexuality, and it's importance in our healing and dealing processes (if we do use it for those purposes). I could not agree more, and even though I've already spoken extensively on my struggles with anxiety and depression- and my use of sex, masturbation and orgasm as a coping mechanism- on this blog, I think it's time to delve into the topic once again.

I was diagnosed with severe anxiety disorder when I was 7,  and panic disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder and depression when I was 13. These monsters have always been with me, though- I cannot remember a time in my life when they did not affect me. I began taking an SSRI when I was 13, and while it helped A LOT it has still always been a battle. I felt like I had finally reached a place where I felt "even" and capable when I started using cannabis regularly I quit my job to do sex work, and stopped taking the SSRI. That led to about a year of really bad mental and physical health, and when the disastrous stomach problems I was having were finally diagnosed and linked back to my anxiety, I finally got back on a different SSRI. I am feeling even and capable again now, but only just barely. I struggle a lot with depression especially right now. (For those curious I switched from Paxil to Zoloft).

For me, anxiety and depression are like two sides of the same coin. They actually don't feel that different to me, except for when I am experiencing anxiety more keenly I have a much harder time. Depression feels really manageable to me, and almost a relief in comparison. I actually only experience suicidal thoughts when I'm in the worst depths of deep, dark anxiety. I have a lot of somatic symptoms that go with my anxiety, meaning I get extremely physically ill and can't control it. I've been told by about a million people (including by therapists who aren't very good at their jobs) to just breathe deeply, imagine myself in a peaceful meadow, exercise, etc. and I'll feel better. Ha. Those things work for me to manage mild anxiety and depression, but when my panic attacks start to happen almost 24/7 there is really no way to manage that. I cannot emphasize that enough.

When I was going through my bad times last year, I did find one refuge that helped me to forget my problems, if even just for a few moments. I remember a moment when I had completely broken down and need my mom to come hold me while I cried and feed me and help me go to the store to get my medicine. As she was leaving she asked me what my plan was to get through the rest of the day, and I perked up and said "oh, I'm seeing a client and I should be able to manage that just fine!" My mom, who has had difficulty understanding my relationship to sex and sex as work, was nonplussed by this statement. I will admit that it is pretty weird, and it must have been real strange to see her daughter go from and absolute mess of an adult to someone who was looking forward to working. But she was nevertheless supportive and encouraging, which is the sort of reaction I'd like to see more people have when I share my inner sexual healing process with them.

If you've kept up on any sexual science at all, you'll know that orgasms cause humans to have a dopamine rush. Some people look at this and feel concern that this could lead to addictive behavior; indeed, many people are diagnosed with sex, masturbation and porn addictions. I know a lot of people struggle with the ways in which sexual compulsion can ruin other aspects of their life, but I often wonder if that's necessary. If we had more room in our society for compassion and understanding about how fucking hard it is to get through the day for some people, perhaps we could not be so quick to judge those who need/ want dopamine or other rushes. Perhaps we could have more room for consensual, safe and friendly sexual exploration. Perhaps we could stop punishing those struggling to survive with mental wellness issues for their sex, drug, or other "addictions," and we could start facilitating healthier personal approaches to those dependencies.

For me, orgasms have always been a refuge. They have been the one physical thing I could do that has most consistently helped throughout my entire life. Whether I have had them with myself or with others, orgasms have given me much deserved relief for just a few minutes or sometimes hours or even days if I'm lucky. A sense of calm and rightness in the world always comes over me; a sense that I actually can handle whatever life throws at me. So, as you might imagine, the whole idea behind sex addition or people having an unhealthy relationship to sex really burns my biscuits. Sex is the only reason (besides drugs) that I am still alive today. Sex work too. I know that's a hard one to swallow, but trust me.

I'm glad that it is so much easier for a lot of other people to move about this world, and that they don't need drugs or sex or other dopamine rushes to be OK. I'm also really, really sad that there are so many other people in this world with much more severe mental wellness issues than I, and I refuse to apologize for being depressed about how society treats mental wellness overall. I'm sick and tired of it. While this anxiety/ depression issue I have may originate from my terrible brain chemicals or genetics, the way I and others who struggle are treated as weak and less than human makes me feel terrible. I battle demons over these thoughts every single day. Please just let me have my sex and drugs so I can get through this.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

The Meaning Behind My Tattoos Part #1: 冬

In case it isn't implied in the title, I have decided to do a series that explains the origin of my tattoos, along with a sexy story that is associated with each (because they all have a sexy story that goes with them). Many people like to know about what inspired me to get my tattoos, so you will now find those stories right here on this blog and it will be a great test as to whether or not you've been reading ;)

(I've also already explained one of my tattoos on this blog before, so I guess this is actually part 2?)

Most friends know that I lived in Japan for about a year when I was 24 and 25 because I mention it frequently. In fact, when I returned I wouldn't shut up about how I had just returned from Japan and I can only imagine how annoying it must have been. But ICYMI, I lived in Sapporo, which is the capital city of Hokkaido, the northernmost island and prefecture. Hokkaido is a lovely little island, a land of volcanoes and hot springs and near perpetual winter. Sapporo itself is the 2nd coolest city I have ever lived in, with Denver being the 1st most cool. Sapporo has a snow and ice sculpture festival every February, and a beer festival every August. I credit Sapporo beer specifically for giving me a taste for beer and ultimately leading me into a 3-4 year period of mild alcoholism. Or whatever- alcoholism isn't even really a thing in Japan like it is in the US. Drinking is a huge part of their corporate and work culture (not that they drink and work, but they have endless drinking parties after work that you're semi-obligated to attend) (My boss also brought Sapporo to work one day and announced it was "beer o'clock" when we were done for the day and gave us all one).

Culture shock and my inability to learn anything beyond the most basic Japanese made my first 6 months there particularly difficult. I was teaching English to 3-14 year old kids for an after school English tutoring program, and they didn't want us to ever use Japanese in class so my language acquisition problems weren't a huge deal. But I had a difficult time adjusting to their work ethic and expectations around that. I once had a migraine and tried to call in sick for work, which didn't go over well. After that I went into work once when I was extremely ill and shouldn't have gone to work, but rather than send me home my boss drove me to a pharmacy and got me some cold medicine and a face mask.

I also had trouble adjusting to the cold of the winter there, and the ridiculous amount of snow that never melted. People tend to think Colorado is the same, but in Denver our winters are relatively mild and temperatures only dip below 0 Fahrenheit every once and a while, if ever. That year in Sapporo it was consistently below 0 from December through April. On my way to the school I worked at every Friday we drove past the pile of snow that the city had collected from street snow removal. It was about as tall as a 2-3 story building.

Still, I did adjust to the winter, the work ethic and the language. I was very poor and my benevolent middle class friends bought me a pair of good snow boots and snow pants. One of the teachers at the after school school who really disliked me quit, and they hired new teachers who were much kinder to me. I created a beloved teaching persona where I encouraged bad kids to vocally rebel in class in English, which ended up working well for everyone involved. I never learned to speak Japanese, but I was able to comfortably get my needs met when interacting with non-English speakers, and I was able to read and understand the language ok. I never learned kanji, the more complex form of written Japanese. But I was able to learn hiragana and katakana, which are the 2 more basic forms of written Japanese. It's sort of like I was at the equivalent of what a 5-year-old Japanese kid could read. I also learned about 3-4 kanji characters, one of those being the kanji for winter, fuyu in Japanese. It looks like this 冬. Isn't it pretty? I think that's why I was able to learn it- it's so simple and yet aesthetically pleasing.

I also used to like winter a lot more at the time I got this tattoo. lol.


I began considering getting a tattoo that featured a snowflake and 冬 around the time that my long-distance boyfriend from the US came to visit for my birthday and the snow festival in February. The period between when I left Colorado in August and then saw him in February was the longest period I went without partner sex in my adult life. We had agreed to allow sex outside our relationship while I was in Japan (this was one of my pre-poly non-monogamy experiments), but I hadn't yet met anyone to have sex with. Or rather, I didn't meet anyone who wanted to have sex with me. I was friends with the JET community there, which was the group of native English speakers contracted to teach English through the Japanese government. I will admit that I had a crush on pretty much every male JET during that time period, and also a few of the female ones as well. I even managed to make one of them extremely uncomfortable when, upon finding out he was a virgin during an evening of drinking, I offered to take his virginity with absolutely no hesitation or pretense. I think he was a little intimidated.

My sexual desire was only just barely satiated by my boyfriend's visit, and then again when I had terrible casual sex with an Irish dude in Tokyo. Everything changed when I met a 42 year old Japanese guy with passable English and cute glasses at a bar one night. We began emailing to "practice English," and then eventually ended up making out on a ferris wheel and going to a love hotel to fuck. I wasn't at all interested in him for anything other than sex, which is actually sort of unusual for me. I was expecting the sex to be just as disappointing as my Tokyo liaison, but it was surprisingly decent and was probably the kinkiest sex I had had up to that point my life. In what will probably sound like the most stereotypical sex experience to have with a Japanese man, he very politely asked me if he could tie me up and then used the belt of one of the robes in the room as a rope to do some complicated kinbaku on my wrists. I was super impressed, seeing as how he didn't have much "rope" to work with.

Since I had been impressed and orgasmic during our first fuck, I continued to agree to meet with him even though it was clear he was in love with me and we were heading for trouble. He did more elaborate kinbaku on me each time I saw him, and said funny things while fucking me like "piss out!"... which I was never sure if he meant squirt/ cum or if he actually wanted me to take a piss? It didn't really matter, it worked for me at the time. I asked him if he thought it would be offensive for me to get a tattoo of kanji when I didn't really speak the language, and he was adamant that it would be totally awesome and he hoped I would do it. So it could be say he's somewhat responsible for me going through with it, though I'm sure the opinion of one Japanese man who fucked/ loved me is no exoneration from how culturally appropriative this tattoo probably appears to most Japanese people.

He began texting me regularly and asking if I loved him and where our relationship was going. We had been together for about a month when he began talking marriage. It occurred to me that he might want to move to America, and thus was maybe just trying to use me for a green card, but then he started talking about me moving to Sapporo forever and meeting his family. I didn't even know what to say to get myself out of this situation. Eventually I explained to him that I actually had a boyfriend back in America, and he was heart broken but not deterred. I ended up breaking up with him in a subway station and then running away, saying I "had other plans and had to go," when he started to get emotional. Hey, I was 25. And he was 42. Don't judge.

I had meant to get the tattoo while still in Japan, but tattoo artists are hard to find there and I suppose I still had some embarrassment about how culturally appropriative it would be to have to bring a translater into the shop with me to explain the Japanese language tattoo I wanted to get. I got it done in a shop in Denver by a guy who was pretty pissed off at me for almost passing out during it because I had forgotten to eat before I went in to have it done. I believe it was my 4th tattoo, after my ankle cat, my shitty prison-tat armband and my little mermaid half sleeve. I always forget I have it because it is on my back and usually covered by my hair. Everyone else forgets I have it, too, which is perhaps for the best. But I do love it, and love the period of my life that it represents. Many of my tattoos represent my ability to overcome adversity and to grow as a human being, and this one is no exception to that.