I’ve been going through some old emails and found one from a former patron that I thought I’d share.  This blog has, for me, been an experiment in personal expression and a way to solidify my beliefs about what I do.  It’s been pretty cathartic, actually.  Still, there’s a lot I leave out for reasons of self-preservation, so it’s impossible to get across a complete picture.  I’ve decided to start separating my professional site from this one, so I can be a bit more open and personal here.  We’ll see how that goes…

I’ll preface this excerpt by saying that the author was prone to extremes of romantic flattery but I still take the following as a great compliment.  It was written in the middle of last year and I think what he says was true at the time.

“S–I love that you are “overtly smutty.”  I finally see something about you. Most people use blogs and networking sites to create a persona, an avatar that represents their ideal of themselves or someone they wish they were courageous enough to be. These people are often disappointing when you meet and “unmask” them. You on the other hand are the opposite. You expose the raw inner self – you try on your “outrageous” statements as a test – not for others but you want to see if you yourself believe these things when you hear yourself saying them. Your “real world” persona therefor is much softer and more complex than the Avatar. You are like a wine with absolutely superb tannin - a little stringent at first taste but you leave a lingering aftertaste that grows and expands in complexity and opens up as it does with more and more gentle flavor every moment one lets you linger on the pallet.”

Terry Richardson

I was at a dinner party recently when the topic of conversation turned to sexual attraction.  It started when someone mentioned Padma Lakshmi and I voiced my long-held disappointment that Salman Rushdie, despite his great insight into human impulse and the forces of nature, went for the obvious in choosing a mate–physical beauty.  Padma’s no intellectual slouch but I guess I just hold out hope that there are people who see beyond it.  “Why wouldn’t he choose someone beautiful?” was the majority response at dinner. “He can.”

The conversation moved on to famous people we’d like to fuck.  I condradicted myself by choosing Matthew Bomer, who plays a white-collar criminal turned FBI agent in the TV series White Collar.  Come to think of it, my previous actor infatuation was with another criminal mastermind–Dexter’s serial-killer brother in the HBO series.  I guess it’s the bad boy thing–at least the latest one is into non-violent activities.  In reality, I’d probably avoid someone as beautiful as Bomer, he’d make me nervous.  The conversation moved on to what we’d do with the chosen ones if we had them. The girl next to me commented that a guy she’d been with recently had asked her to spank him.  She said she thought it was weird.  I’m not sure if this was her way of gaging other people’s reactions or if she genuinely couldn’t understand kink.  This was a woman who’s very liberal minded socially and politically, has travelled extensively and lived a pretty bohemian lifestyle.  I was reminded that, even in our culture of overt and constant sexual imagery and messaging, deviations from the standard acts are still taboo.

Former Frat Boy said that he couldn’t understand why any guy would want to hit a woman, even during role play.  Putting stereotypical gender roles aside, I think it’s fair to say that most human interaction involves a power exchange or the assignation of roles.  In every sphere of human endeavor there are degrees of expertimentation and expression.  I see kink as a way of further exploring the submissive role I find myself in when being fucked in the missionary position (which I really like).  Or, of the masochistic role I play when I continue to see someone who I know is bad for me.  Or the dominant role I play when it’s called for at work (which I don’t like). Then there’s sadism.  We can take the route of labelling any form of inflicting pain as abuse or we can acknowledge that there are always circumstances in which something that’s unacceptable in one case, is acceptable in another.  Willingness, consent and desire are, I think, the mitigating factors.

I’ve done things in my sexual life that many people would consider to be objectifying: being “forced” to read aloud anti-feminist propaganda while being held down and fucked hard enough that the words became a blur; being collared and leashed and exhibited on a hotel room balcony to neighbouring apartment buildings; cleaning the penthouse of two bankers in high heels, rubber gloves and nipple clamps while they sat on the sofa giving orders and watching Blue Velvet.

All of these situations were pre-negotiated and there was a distinct understanding of the boundaries of each party.  I had gotten to know and trusted the men who were “degrading” me.  I wanted to feel and understand the experience of whatever each scenario entailed.  I’ve degraded others in similar ways and am comfortable doing so because I don’t believe sexual objectivity is always negative.  There are times when, to my partner, I could be anyone.  To me, it’s really liberating to be just anyone sometimes, to step outside of myself and through doing so, find out a little bit more.

I’ve been getting some nice feedback from friends and readers about this blog and I just wanted to say thanks!  Comments and thoughts are always welcome.  I’ve also just come across messages sent via my contact form over the last couple of months–due to a technical glitch, I didn’t realize they were there.  So, if you’ve sent something in, I’m sorry for not getting back to you.  The glitch is gone, so feel free to try again or email me at mailsuzannah@gmail.com.  There were a few questions about my professional website–it’s currently being updated so I’ll let you know when there’s something worth seeing.  I’m going for something a little more fun, more mischievious…

Enjoy the holidays!

Generation A is leading the way to an increasingly commodified lifestyle, sexual habits included.  Gen Yers like me and even Gen Xers are quickly jumping on the Gen A ‘me’ bandwagon.  This is no great revelation, it’s a trend that’s been happening for a while and is really just an extension of the consumption-driven culture that is modern-day America.  Seventy percent of The United States’ Gross Domestic Product is generated by consumption.   This means that the money people spend to buy stuff is what makes this country rich.  It’s a self-generating, self-perpetuating economic model, expedited by the literal printing of money.  Not the production of actual material goods, not manufacturing and export activities, not the cultivation of raw materials or commodities.  Shopping.  We are increasingly defined by what we wear, have and own.  Who we are is directly related to the image of the company we work for and the labels on our shopping bags.  Every job, profession and business has an embellished label, an identity of its own that allows us Millennials to immediately identify what we’ll be getting or who we will become if we are a part of it.  This extreme commoditization is both hyper and de-humanzing.  It at once takes account of every whim, feeling and desire we have to express our individuality, whilst categorizing and homogenizing the resultant traits.  We’re all getting our 15 minutes and it feels good.  Blogging, facebooking, twittering and iphones have democratized free expression, stripped us of privacy and exponentially increased our sense of self-importance.  We took the exposure we saw happening on Reality TV, through public camera surveillance and in celebrity gossip culture and put pushed it as far as we could.  Everyone is what their Facebook update says they are, what their job title names them, the numbers on their web stats page.  We’re running to keep up with every new technological and status-oriented thing and get to a piece of it.  Sexually, this is manifesting in quick, anonymous and detached encounters or furious dating in the race to find the perfect soul mate, or one who at least looks good on a virtual resume.  See New York Magazine’s Sex Diaries for real life examples of such vacuous encounters (or some of my previous blog posts).

I’ve had my own fill of the narcissistic lifestyle and although I’ve gotten rid of a lot of dead wood lately, I’m keeping a toe in the pool of pure gratification.  Only the toe as there are too many negative consequences to swimming in Echo’s pond.  FFB (Former Frat Boy) is the ultimate GenAer, ensconced in the game and consuming all the Good Times New York has to offer.  He stands for a lot of what I’m trying to get away from.  He’s full of text speak and sexisms that are ok because girls have put themselves out there for the slamming.  Ashley Dupres are cool because hey, they’re hot and they’re infamous.  He aspires to be Hank Moody.  He’s a younger version of my ex-boyfriend–ex for good reason.  But when I don’t want to think about anything, when I don’t want to talk about anything, when I want to watch mindless TV and hear stories about gay chicken and beer pong, he’s perfect.  Aside from that, you can’t help who you’re blindly, relentlessly sexually attracted to and why not enjoy that while you can?  I was a bit annoyed at first that FFB expected to call up at midnight and invite himself over to my apartment.  I said no, but let’s get drinks or dinner.  FFB can’t put that much emotional effort into something that’s not going to go anywhere, he said.  LOL.  Fuck that, I thought.  But I came around.  He’s right, actually.  I want to talk subtexts of London Fields at a dive bar or lounge somewhere dirty and decadent, while he’s looking for the bar with ten screens on ESPN.  So I go out with my friends and when I’m on the way home, I give him a shout.  He comes over, we don’t say much.  It’s just hot, straight up sex.  No ropes, no games, no lingerie.  He’s such a shameless boy and underneath the sweet talk and smiles, a total chauvinist.  I hate it that I love it.