Inspired by @NavedaRose in her black shoes…
Yes, I know its pushing it to the wire, but we were hunting for ideas and opportunities to take them and coming up blank. Then this happened, and we were chilling in the bath, waiting for the Christmas cake to finish doing, and @NotMuchofaMuse grabbed the phone and told me to concentrate on relaxing. I’m very good at that sort of photography…
I stumbled over a rather fucking awesome image by an amazing concept artist and graphic designer called Yoshi Yoshitani (that’s it there as the top image) – their twitter is here, and their site is here. You should definitely check them both out. Helena and I fucking loved all of the images, but especially the one above. They’re filled with gender ambiguity, fuckery, queerness and beauty.
We both had exactly the same response – we need to do that. Now, Well ‘now’ was 3pm at work, so it had to wait for the next Friday night. These aren’t of nearly the same artistic quality as Yoshi’s stuff, but it was a really interesting esperience seeing how we each felt in each role; understanding what the picture said to us; what head space it put us in; what the character’s motivations, needs and wants were.
Is The Fox in a realtionship with The Hare? Is that a touch of devotion in their hand, or a more casual inspection? Is The Hare feeling nervous anticipation of what’s to come, or basking in The Fox’s love? I have my answers, and Helena has her’s and you probably have different ones again, because part of the beauty of art is filling in the gaps and ambiguities with your own experiences and desires. It is an outrageously powerful image for one that is, at first glance, so simple.
And so, in a poor quote from Yoshi’s image, we recreated it. Twice.
I see love and support in Helena’s position, I think. I see nervous anticipation and a desire to please in mine.
Here, I think I have a much more critical attitude. A harder inspection and more challenge. It might be in response to Helena’s less-submissive submissiveness. It’s really hard to capture her wonderful brattishness in a single photo, with a mask on …
We decided that we liked these so much that we’re putting them on Sinful Sunday this week.
I take a significant amount of pride in being a robust, well balanced individual with a broadly trustworthy moral compass and little fear of consequences because of all of the above. I’m out as queer to my partner and a circle of friends (and you lot, obvs.). I’m not out at work, although I’m a reasonably prominent ally.
Today I outed myself to a colleague. She is absolutely the safest person in the building to out myself to – she’s prominent in the Pride network of her company. Here’s the thing though.
I didn’t intend to do that.
I mean, it wasn’t an inadvertent disclosure. We were talking about the Pride network and allies, and I thought clearly for about a quarter second before before I said,
“I’m not out at work yet.”
And then there was a sphincter tightening moment, and a brief wave of nausea. She, of course, accepted it without comment or judgement and a few minutes later asked “Poly?”, to which I replied “Kind of, but pan mostly”
It wasn’t a thing, except that it really, really, was a thing.
I’m glad that I did it, I don’t think I overshared because it was in the context of the conversation, but I’m going to need to have a bit of a reflect on how I’m going to manage this stuff going forward.
I’ve got a post sketched out for later on the weird intersection of white cismale privilege and queerness. I’ve got a feeling that there’s a fuck load more intersection than is generally discussed, but in the field I work in, it’s absolutely a vanishingly tiny thing, like homosexuality in professional footballers.
Question for later reflection. Do I have the minerals to be the first to stand at that intersection in my company? To stick a fuck off huge rainbow flag into the ground and say ‘Here I am. This is me. Be the real you.’ I mean, I know I’m capable of it, but am I willing to live with the consequences? What are the consequences?
There’s a way I dress for events and play when I’m of the mood. It’s femininised, but it’s still masculine. I have a fuck-off huge moustache and a deep and strong regional accent, so that’s staying. It involves skirts and stockings. It has corsets and sharp mens jackets. It’s entirely comfortable (psychologically – corsets and heels intrinsically can’t be physically comfortable). Make up is subtle but obvious.
It’s fundamentally NOT drag. It’s not performative, except that it’s for me as the primary audience. And today I found out that there’s a word for it.
Some of you will have read this before on other sites, but it’s a fucking brilliant story, and completely and utterly true in every detail.
So I’d planned an evening of consensual adventuresomeness earlyish in my relationship with Helena who had often (occasionally? once?) expressed a vigorous interest in kidnap fantasies. I had covered all the details – the scene, the tools and accoutrements, the venue for her vile and filthy miscreant to have his evil way with her (and more or less what he was going to do – you have to leave a bit of room for freestyling). All was well and all was going to go to plan.
We met up for a drink in a pub, both on soft drinks, both driving. When I suggested that we might go for a bit of a drive to find somewhere a little darker and less overlooked, she was all enthusiasm – and why would she not be? We jumped into my car and headed off towards the secluded spot I’d found on Google maps. It was only 3 or 4 miles away, so it wasn’t going to take long.
Oh. Bugger. My plan had sort of revolved around arriving there with her securely trussed up in the boot. And there she was as large as life and twice as gorgeous in the passenger seat. And it was only going to take us about 10 minutes to wind our way down the country roads to the ‘venue’. Arsehole.