And people wonder why we're so secretive: The Treatment of BDSM in The Sacred Encounter

The CCAR, the Reform Movement's rabbinic organization, recently published The Sacred Encounter: Jewish Perspectives on Sexuality.  It's a collection of essays and reflections on a variety of aspects of sex and sexuality.  Many people have been excited about this book for a long time--to have something written about sex from a liberal Jewish perspective is something that's been much needed for a while. I know that I'm not alone in being eager to get my hands on a copy and read it.

I haven't finished it yet (at around 750 pages, it might take a while).  But I've read some of the pieces--particularly ones that were of particular interest to me.  So, a full review of the book will have to wait. But I find the need to react to the treatment in the book of BDSM.  Because it's a topic I (obviously) care about.  And to say that I'm disappointed and disheartened would be an understatement.  The essays that are on this topic are "Release from Bondage: Sex, Suffering, and Sanctity" by Rabbi Daniel A. Lenrman, NCPsyA, LP and "Jewish Views on Sexual Fantasy and Desire" by Rabbi Edythe Held Mencher, LCSW.

Of the 2 chapters (out of 49) that are on this topic, neither is written by someone who is kinky.  Both are written from the point of view of psychology.  And while that is a good and interesting point of view, it is not sufficient.  To make a comparison, I wonder what the response would be if the book's entire treatment of LGBTQIA topics were written by straight people who are viewing homosexuality and gender identity from the point of view of psychotherapy.  There isn't even a personal reflection written from the point of view of someone who has experience in any of this (the end of each section of the book contains a selection of personal reflections on the topics covered in that section).  There isn't a personal reflection that touches upon the topic at all, in fact.  From the point of view of the book, it would seem that kinky Jews don't exist or are impossible to find--much less kinky rabbis (if only there were a blog written by 3 of them...).  It would not have taken that much effort to include something from the point of view of someone who actually knows and understands kink in a personal way.

Or at least by someone who has significant knowledge of BDSM, which neither author seems to demonstrate. Both pieces conflate dominance and submission with sadomasochism; while those topics are interconnected for many, they are not the same.  Using the comparison above, it is as if the book were equating sexual orientation and gender identity in its entire treatment of LGBTQIA topics.  In addition, that kink is a sexual orientation is not addressed.  Both articles are written from the point of view that kink is a choice.  While there are those that believe that, neither article articulates that there are many who believe that it is an aspect of our sexuality that is hard wired.

In fact, both articles point out that these desires may be based on pathology (which, while for some people this may be the case, for most it is not).  As Mencher states:

"What for some may be an element of their sexual fantasy and play becomes for others a compulsion that truly limits their capacity to have sexual and intimate lives characterized by tenderness and affection.  If any of us is either experiencing such a sense of being driven and limited in our sexual and intimate life or is involved with a person with whom we experience a coercive or predominantly sadistic or masochistic relationship, it is vital to make use of clinical resources available through psychotherapy to address such issues.  Our goal would be to experience diminished suffering and to be able to experience the full range of human connection that is the Jewish ideal.  Sometimes such a sense of constriction and compulsion reflects traumatic life experiences that we feel forced to relive, and our commitment to freedom and healing out to lead us and others toward more life-affirming paths." (p 707)

In fact, repressing this aspect of my sexuality limited my capacity to fully explore intimacy and made me feel constriction.  There is great tenderness and affection in many d/s relationships and even in sadomasochistic play.  And embracing my submission and my masochism has been extremely life-affirming.   This statement by Mencher encouraging reparative therapy indicates a lack of understanding of how (at least some) individuals come to these relationships and what those relationships look like.

Similarly, Lehrman writes in a footnote, "...One influential interpretation of masochistic desire sees it as a response to abusive treatment in childhood, during which a person may learn to gravitate toward punishing others because he or she knows intimacy only through punishment and severity, not through tenderness.  For an overview of the history of understanding sadomasochism, see Theodore Millon, Disorders of Personality (New York: Wiley, 1996), chaps. 13 and 16."(p 724)  He then goes on to define pathological masochism and sadism, citing the fourth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM 4), without acknowledging that the DSM 5 no longer classifies masochism or sadism as mental disorders (they are now in the category of paraphilias).

Instead, it would seem, the main basis for understanding BDSM relationships for both authors is from having read 50 Shades of Grey, which both pieces describe. Which makes both articles hopelessly tied to this period of time (I highly doubt that the trilogy will have any cultural relevance in 5 years).  It also indicates a lack of knowledge of the kink community, which by and large has viewed the book as a horribly flawed and somewhat problematic description of What It Is That We Do (WIITWD).  That a book series written by someone who also has no personal experience of BDSM (which is clear from her descriptions in the book and she has stated) is what informs the authors' view of BDSM relationships is both troubling and indicative of the views expressed in the pieces--and the lack of understanding that the pieces reflect.

While I found Lehrman's description of Emmanuel Ghent's comparison of surrender and spirituality to be quite compelling, it also proved inadequate.  First of all, the piece he describes and analyzes is titled, "Masochism, Submission, Surrender: Masochism as a Perversion of Surrender," and thus starts from a point of view that is problematic (not to mention that his main citation is an article published in 1990, a time when the internet essentially and practically did not exist and at which our attitudes towards sexuality were vastly different).  But what was both more interesting and ultimately more lacking for me was his discussion of Jewish mysticism and meditation as forms of surrender.  I  found this comparison compelling--and in fact, the state that he describes as the goal of the mystics, is an excellent description of sub space.  I thought this was a great insight, but it is one that I came to on my own because there is no such comparison made in the article.  That he does know that term, or even that idea, is indicative of his overall understanding of submission--or of the subtleties of submission and surrender, the difference between topping and bottoming and dominance and submission.

While I find some comfort in the fact that both pieces ultimately state that we shouldn't entirely reject kink, I also find disappointment in the fact that this seems to be a concession.  Mencher instructs us that limited kinky play can be a healthy expression of sexuality, but that we should limit those desires and strive toward mutuality.  As a kinky individual, I read this as saying we should all be switches and a d/s relationship is unequal. As someone who identifies as submissive, I read this as saying that my sexual orientation is not acceptable.

In his conclusion, Lehrman writes that just like we accept that King David's lust and murder; Jacob and Rebekah's deceit and fraud; Simeon and Levi's, "berserk, heedless vengefulness" (p 723); and the Book of Joshua's genocide are all aspects of who we are as a people and as people, so should we accept BDSM. To him, BDSM is about about sexualized violence and violent sex.  So when he states, "And what Torah gives us again and again is not the Ought but the Is--what we really are..." I believe he means that we need to accept that such violent tendencies are a reality.  But when I read that, I feel that it's telling me that I'm inherently flawed, and only accepted in the sense that we accept those who have this behavioral tendency, despite that flaw.

In addition, in his footnote in which he addresses the actual question of if BDSM is an acceptable form of sexual behavior from a Jewish point of view, he rejects the notion that it is exactly consensually that marks the difference between play and abuse (an idea that is widely accepted within the kink community) stating, "It is naive, therefore, to hold that mutual consent provides a clear and straightforward guideline for evaluating the moral dimensions of sexual behaviors." (p. 726)  He fails to recognize that it is exactly through pain and humiliation and (previously agreed upon) force that some find great satisfaction.

Both pieces take the attitude of assuming that submission comes from a place of weakness and not empowerment--and do not indicate that a consensual relationship between dominant and submissive is equally satisfying for both parties.  And because both articles do not differentiate between d/s and s/m, neither fully addresses power exchange.

While I applaud the CCAR for including this topic at all, I can't help but wonder if it is included as the last 2 chapters of the book because it was an afterthought.  That perhaps because they didn't realize until 50 Shades took off that they would have to address this topic, they just put it in at the end.  That they didn't have time to do any research to include a personal reflection on kink or to find a Jewish sex therapist who is accepting of (and understands) BDSM.  I am happy the topic was addressed, but I wish it went further.

So while I'm glad it's there, I'm also disappointed in how it's there.  When I read these articles, I realize how far we are as a society from accepting BDSM.  And that makes me sad--it's a painful reminder of why I keep my identity a secret.  Why few people who know me because of my kinkiness know that I'm a rabbi.  Why I am careful to not connect this profile with other kink profiles.  Why there are very few people who know me in my professional life who know about this aspect of my being (and most of those who do know are either kinky themselves and/or people I've been in relationship with).  Because people don't accept BDSM.  It's still societally considered other, and far enough removed other that it is ultimately rejected and stigmatized too often.

That the Reform Movement, a progressive movement known for its acceptance of diverse people (especially in terms of sexuality), has underscored this message of otherness is, honestly, disappointing.  I'm not disappointed in the movement per se, but in the fact that we are so far removed from acceptance that even the Reform Movement isn't there yet.

The awesome, the unsure, and the repulsive

I'm not sure why I'm writing this.  I'm not even sure I should be writing this.  But I guess I need to write this.  I've needed to get a lot of this out for a while now.  Not just to a friend or 2 I know I can trust, but to get it out for whomever.  Not that our readership is that vast, but you never know.  We could totally go viral some day.  Heh.  Viral.  That will become funny by the end of this post.

So, anyway, it's been an interesting few months.  I had been enjoying time with someone new--casual (he made that clear from the outset, which was more than fine with me) from around November.  He and I had developed a really nice friendship over the course of a year or so.  And, after a long period of ambiguous flirting before we did anything about it, we eventually became intimate.  And it was nice.  He presented as vanilla but was kinky enough, and open to new ideas so to speak.  We had fun.  We remained friends, and enjoyed physical times together, as well.

And then, all of a sudden, he essentially stopped communication in mid-February.  Quite suddenly, really.  One night, we went to the movies and then he was going to come over but ended up not being able to last minute, after we each got home (I have no reason to doubt this being legitimate).  Then, that Saturday, we were both at a social event that mutual friends were having--I ended up coming late, and he texted me to ask if I was coming.  Then, a week later, he had a friend cancel on an event he had tickets for, so he asked me to go.  That's really the last time he initiated social contact--we've seen each other since then here and there because I've initiated contact, or because we've both been in the same place at the same time. And he's been perfectly pleasant when we have seen each other, so I was a bit confused and perplexed.  It was only after I asked him point blank that he told me that he had started seeing someone and that it was heading in a monogamous direction.

Which I am really happy about him for.  I just don't really understand why that means he can't relate to me as a friend or why he couldn't just tell me that.  In my darker moments, I wonder if he only pretended to be friends with me in the first place because he wanted to get in my pants (or under my shirt, he's kind of a boob guy), and that now that I've lost my utility, and he's found someone prettier and (presumably) less messed up in the bedroom, there's no point in spending time with me.  I think better of him than that, but there are moments in which I wonder if I didn't misjudge this whole thing. Self doubt can be strong. In my less cynical moments, I assume that he's so involved with this new girl, that he doesn't have time to prioritize his other friends. He's spending most of his free time with her, and isn't making time for others.  In my really optimistic moments, I imagine that he can't deal with spending time with me because he can't imagine sitting across from me without wanting to tear my clothes off.  I'm sure the truth is somewhere between all that.  Or something happened that's so egregious that we can no longer be friends, and I'm just not aware of it. I don't think that's the case, but who knows at this point.  Or maybe he just got bored with me, and I'm no longer of importance or interest at all.

At any rate, it hurts that I've lost a good friend--or at least that a good friend can't find a way to spend time with me or really acknowledge my presence (other than in brief snippets and never really meaningfully), which feels the same as having lost that friend.

And I realize, that maybe there's another reason.  He and I never had the poly conversation--it never came up and never had reason to.  The fact that I'm honestly happy for him is directly connected to the fact that I want those that I care about (romantically, platonically, or otherwise) to be happy and to have the love (or intimacy or whatever) that they seek.  I sometimes forget that the rest of the world doesn't really get that, or expects all that one seeks to come from one source.  The world tends to assume that everyone is monogamous.  I don't pretend to really understand monogamy--I mean, I get that most people buy into it and identify that way and that it's the expectation and I respect people's monogamy. But I don't really understand why people would want intimacy with only one person in their lives.  I'll behave that way when it makes sense within a relationship--but for the sake of the relationship, not because it's my natural response, or because I particularly understand my partner's need.  But because it's something that I'll do for my partner.  But I digress. That my default is that I want those I care about to have the intimacy they need makes me happy when they find other relationships, even if it means I can't be with them.  And I become a bit perplexed when they don't assume I'll be happy about their having a new relationship.

Sometimes I forget that others don't know that about me and some have no concept that anyone would feel that way.  They presume that a lover finding someone new is going to be taken as a bad thing.  So, maybe, he was scared to tell me--thinking I wouldn't accept him finding what he needed elsewhere or that I'd be angry instead of accepting and even happy for him.  How would he know that that's not how I process things? I get that he may have thought I wouldn't accept it, so he pulled away. Or maybe he doesn't know how to relate to me, even as just a friend, now that he's in another relationship.

And that's really what hurt the most--that he didn't tell me about what was going on and just cut off contact.  And maybe, since he and I have had that initial conversation about his new relationship, weeks later, he's still not sure I'm ok with what's going on with him.  From my point of view, I just want to be happy for my friend and know I have that friendship.  I miss that friendship.  Maybe I'm just as guilty for not saying this outright to him.

Meanwhile, just to make things complicated (this is where the line in paragraph 1 becomes funny), I found out around the same time that he cut off contact that I have herpes.  Genital Herpes, to be specific.  HSV 1 and 2 (I'm an overachiever like that).  I'm nearly certain that he gave it to me.  There were others that could have possibly transmitted it to me, based on last time I was tested, but they all tested negative since I informed them about my status.  He hasn't been tested, as far as I know (at least he hadn't been--his doctor had once told him that there was no accurate test for males who were asymptomatic, which just isn't true, but I find it easy to believe that a doctor said that; there's a lot of bad information out there).  And, based on the timing, it's almost certainly from him.  I don't blame him, per se.  I'm responsible for my own actions and he did nothing wrong.  I have this just because, well, I have this. Just like any germ.

But that this came at the same time as the other stuff made all of it hurt a little bit more (the diagnosis included).  And, in some ways, this diagnosis has been really rough.  Trying to reframe every negative thing I've heard about herpes over 40 some odd years is hard.  My mother's reaction (I shared my diagnosis with her, although not where it came from, because I think it's important for my family to know my medical situation) basically blamed me for becoming diseased (the conversation actually included the line, "Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free") and didn't make it any easier for me to accept this.  Most of my friends in whom I'm confided have been amazingly supportive.  But still, I have a virus that I will likely never be able to get rid of.  And I've had about an outbreak a month.  And that sucks.  And I can pass it on to others.  And that sucks.  And I have to take a huge ass pill every day.  And that sucks.  But I'm trying. I'm trying hard.  And mostly it's working.

And so, here I am.  Overall, I'm in a really good place.  I'm happy.  I have good friends.  I feel good about myself for the most part.  I'm doing great work.  I'm thriving in so many ways.  And yet, at times, I feel repulsive.  I feel that I'm unworthy of any kind of intimacy. I feel almost like I deserve rejection.

Since the diagnosis, I saw one of my dearest friends, with whom I have also shared intimacy over the past several years--I hadn't seen him in a while. He also happens to be one of the people that, based on proximity of time, could have given it to me (he tested negative) and so I had told him about my diagnosis right away so that he could find out about his own status.  When I saw him, a few weeks later, he was clearly happy to see me, but when I tried to give him a kiss on the cheek, he literally cringed.  I don't know that he's even aware of that.  And if he's reading this, I'm not certain he'll immediately recognize that it was him.  But that really hurt--a lot.  Remembering that moment now, weeks later, still hurts.

That he feels he can no longer have intimacy with me, I understand.  But that he acts in a way that seems as if he is repulsed by me makes me feel bad and sad and like I'm dirty and gross.  And that he doesn't trust me enough to think that I would do something that would put him at risk--that hurts even more.  I know that he thinks highly of me--that I'm smart and sexy and all that.  But still--that moment, and an earlier conversation when I offered that despite my diagnosis there were things we could do with no risk (like, literally, no risk)--he commented that there were other people he had to think about. Again, that he doesn't trust my judgment--that even a small part of him assumed I would put him and others at risk and not consider any of that.  (I won't even get into the fact that intimacy with someone with unknown diagnosis is more risky that someone who is HSV positive and on suppressive therapy...that's a whole different blog post).  So, yes--that he will not have sexual intercourse with me, I completely understand and accept.  Because I know it's a scary thought, even though the transmission rate is about 1% over the course of a year, with a condom and Valtrex, because I also accept that the idea is what's scary and not the reality.  But that he won't even enter a conversation with me about other activity or possibilities--that's hurtful. But I'm trying to accept it as not a rejection of me.  Because I know that's not the intention.

But still, that hurts.  A lot.  The trust I thought was there, I guess isn't, but maybe it is.  Again, I don't think that's what he meant.  And I don't think he even realizes this.  But that's how it felt.  That's part of why it sucks to have a diagnosis with a nice stigma attached.

So, I love my life.  I do.  But there are parts of my life that hurt.  There are friends who I really think intend to be my friends, who I really don't think are just giving me lip service when they say they are my friends, yet whose actions make me unsure about that.

And there are parts of me that struggle to trust myself because of that--to trust my own judgment or my own confidence in myself. Because, believe me--I'm awesome.  And I'm sexy.  And I'm deserving of everything I want.  And I have people who appreciate all that and remind me of all that.  But there are also the ones who every now and then act as if they don't.  The ones who sometimes hurt, even if it isn't their intention.  And, in some ways, they are the ones whose acceptance I want most (partly because it seems unattainable).

But, I'm a forgiving friend.  And once you're my friend, it's really hard to get out of that category.  And I'll still be there for my friends.  So, I move forward. And remind myself about how awesome I am during the moments during which I feel entirely repulsive.  And tell myself that I'm responsible for my own opinion of myself.

Back to the beginning, I'm not sure why I wrote this, other than I needed to.  And maybe that's enough of a reason.

Fit to Be Tied

It has been ages since I've been able to write. Life plays such wicked tricks sometimes. We plan, God laughs. I've been talking to a lot of people these days about Polyamory, open relationships and the BDSM lifestyle.

I had this incredibly open conversation with a new friend who for the life of him could not understand how my wife could accept our lifestyle. He was convinced that I had blackmailed her into it our life together by saying "This is how I am and this is how we will be or we can't be a couple." He just wouldn't be convinced that she accepted our lifestyle because it interested her and because she loved me and understood me and desired that side of me. Sometimes young straight people can be so THICK! I eventually had to break it down to him and say "She's into it. It makes her hot." We were talking more about open relationships and not about BDSM. He still didn't get it.

The conversation had started around discussing Neil Strauss' The Game and why I would be reading that book or need social dynamic training to pick up women. The book simply fascinates me and I love Neil Strauss and the bibliography of the book. Of course people who Play in the BDSM community are totally different from the PUA community who feel they need to game the system to increase their success ratio. Don't get me wrong. I love the transformations of some pick up artists who are tired of being lonely and want to be able to create a connection with women. I just felt by the end of the book that there was something missing because they had no end game and had trouble finding the one woman they wanted to be with. There also wasn't a chapter on creating open relationships so that all parties were completely honest about how many people they were dating so that potentially they could still see each other and see other people.

I have a severe problem with pick up artists who just treat women like objects and treat them like crap because they are still pissed about how badly they were treated by men and women in high school and college before their self-transformation. But I digress.

My friend, after two hours of talking, still wasn't buying it. It didn't help that he was having a hard time finding one partner to share his life with let alone nine.

In a world where same sex marriage is becoming very mainstream I still feel very much in a closet of my own creation despite how many of my friends know about and accept my lifestyle. Professionally I feel the need to stay in a closet because my movement can barely handle the rabbis caught sleeping with a congregant other than their wife or husband. They are fully open to monogamous hetero or homosexual rabbis (as long as they are married to a Jewish partner), but haven't even begun dealing with the circle of rabbis in open or alternative relationships who are some of their most powerful and successful rabbis out there today. They can't understand that we succeed because we can relate to every person who comes into our office for counseling or conversation.

One of my partners on the West Coast sent me an incredible article from the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. Married and Dating. I was outraged by Rabbi Eliott Dorff's, the rector of American Jewish University in Los Angeles and a longtime champion of gay inclusion in the Jewish community, statement:

“First of all, the depth of the relationship is much greater if it’s monogamous,” Dorff said. “The chances that both partners are going to be able to fulfill all the obligations of a serious intimate relationship are much greater in a monogamous relationship. I would say the same to gay or straight couples: There should be one person you live your life with.”

I think he doesn't know what he's talking about. True, most people can't handle one fully actualized relationship let alone more than one. But he speaks of something he knows nothing about. I love each of my partners individually and differently. I am capable of expressing my love and devotion in completely different ways than I do with my primary partner. But I wouldn't still have a primary partner if my wife didn't feel my love, affection and devotion at her desired level. True I can't make her happy if she can't make herself happy. And conversely, she can't make me happy if I can't make myself happy. Any actualized person knows this. Our biggest issues are domestic. Raising the kids, cleaning the house and scheduling. Sexually we wish we had more time (who doesn't) but our open relationship and our BDSM proclivities don't hinder or lessen our love and devotion to each other and our ability to love and welcome other people into our lives. 

Dorff hasn't done any studies to prove that the depth of any relationship is much greater if it is monogamous (other than his own). He hasn't interviewed hundreds of poly or alt people to discover if his hypothesis is accurate. He is just throwing out his biased opinion based on his personal experience and what society has trained him to think without any accurate research or first hand experience. 

The choices I made to change how I lived and loved at 27 have allowed me room to re-open key relationships with old partners who accept me as I am now and my lifestyle. Their love, acceptance and place in my bed/dungeon have changed my life monumentally and made me a better primary partner in gratitude for the quantity of play and love in my life. I am more loving and more romantic at home than I ever would be if I was shut down and lived most of my romantic life in my mind rather than with the partners who make my life so rich.

I pray for the ability to someday have a congregation of poly and alt lifestyle people who are open to all expression of life, love and living (straight and gay monogamists are welcome too I guess). I want to be surrounded by Jews (all like-minded non-Jewish partners and those generally interested are welcome too of course) who are tolerant and accepting of all people and all lifestyles. There is no shame in living our own lives how we see fit to live them as long as everything we do is consensual among like-minded adults. Without us the world would be conformist and beige. No color, no rainbows, no excitement and really nothing to talk about. Be yourself we were always taught. Be proud of who you are. Love yourself in order to be able to love someone else. Shema Yisrael, Hear O' Israel, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai Echad, Adonai, Our God, Adonai is One. We are one. We have always been one. We've spent thousands of years getting back to being accepted for who we are and our oneness.

You are not alone. I am not alone. I love that you are all out there so that when I stand on my Bima, closeted from all my congregants who adore me, I know that I am not alone and that I am accepted for who I am somewhere out there.

Finding Egypt

A lover of mine is African American

He likes to beat white women

It works for him

As it turns out, it works for me as well,

To be beaten by him.

We have a lovely relationship.

Phyiscal.  Full of need.  Full of desire.  Full of joy.

I wonder what it would be like

To have an Egyptian lover

To beat me like my ancestors did

To replay the story of my people

With a different ending

With pleasure instead of pain

Or at least pleasure combined with pain.

To celebrate the bondage of my communal history

In a new way

To bring me back to bondage

In order to celebrate my freedom

In a new way.

Would I want to slay my taskmaster like Moses

Did so long ago?

Or would I take what is given

Like a good girl

Treasuring each lash

Each strike

Feeling the pleasure through pain

Unable to explain it

Yet knowing it was there

Embracing it

Yearning for more.

You have made me in Your Image, God.

So you must have meant this for me, as well.

This need to have a part of me

Forever in Egypt

But finding my exodus from the land of enslavement

In slavery itself

Finding freedom through bondage

Escape through submission

The need to reach out through the need to obey

The need to honor that which is holy in myself

By discovering that which seems other

That which is mine alone

The bondage that my ancestors escaped

I redefine, and make my own

And that, too, is holy.

Age is nothing but a number

Yeah, that's not true at all. Seriously, I haven't believed that for a long time....perhaps never, but age--in terms of how old a partner is--is something that's also, well, interesting.

I had a conversation with a vanilla friend earlier. Really, she's about as vanilla as they get. I've given her a few hints about my kink, but haven't had the full conversation. I don't think she'll be shocked when I do tell her, but I also don't think she's ever really considered that someone she knows enjoys the things that I enjoy...or looks for the kind of relationships that I seek. Anyway, she commented about someone she met that he was 29, and therefore too young for her...she's a few years younger than I am. I commented that I totally disagreed, and fully believe in the law of half your age plus 7. She came back that she really only considered her age plus 10 years, as she likes older men. I returned that I also like older men, and still consider younger men (within the rule)...and then the conversation turned to other topics. But it got me thinking about age.

I like older men. Always have. When I was 22, I was with a man twice my age. More recently, I've been with men whose children I was closer in age to than he was. Looking at every man I've been with, in any way, since my first kiss at age 10, actually...I think there are maybe 5 guys that were younger than I was. And I wonder why that is.

I mean, I sometimes joke that I have the sex drive of a teenaged boy. I know that I'm at or near my prime, and that men reach their peak at a younger age. Maybe I should be thinking about someone younger...I mean, I've been with guys who are at the age where Viagra becomes commonplace. And that doesn't bother me...but, then again, I often want more than they do. Logically, I should be thinking about younger men.

I suppose part of it is the whole sub thing...I look to older men because perhaps they can give me more guidance, perhaps. But I think I'm also just attracted to them. In some ways, I think a younger guy could be fun...but could I submit to them for long? True submission is hard enough for me (as in truly letting go with my mind, fully)...maybe I'm reticent to fully trust someone who is younger. Or maybe I like the idea of someone with more life experience than I have.

Or maybe it's something entirely different. Maybe it's just that I like older men. I'm not sure.

But it's on my mind at the moment...so I figured I'd offer it up here. What do you all think about age? Is there something to be said for someone older? Someone younger?

Happy blogoversary

OK...it's been a bit over a year, but we missed the year mark, so be it.

It struck me earlier that it had been about a year since we started this little blog, and took a moment to look back at when we really did start...and doing a bit of rereading of our posts...what a year it's been.

This was my second Pesach since admitting this discovery to myself, and starting to admit it to others...again, all that talk of bondage at the seder made me smile internally a few times. And this time around, I took the opportunity to come out as kinky to 2 of my close friends. They both took it so nonchanantly...so in stride. It made me thankful to have wonderful friends. And helped me to feel a little bit more, well, normal.

So much else has happened in my own life in the past year. I started writing more, my grandfather died, LOST ended, I started a new job after a long time being severely underemployed, I moved, I had a few non-starter BDSM relationships, 1 really bad one, 1 potentially great one that we both realized wasn't able to be that which we had dreamed it could be (that kind of broke my heart--the fact it wasn't to be, not him--he was wonderful and still is. It was the right thing to end where we were...and I'm thankful every day for his ongoing friendship), a bit of fun play here and there, and a good dose of potential that's only just beginning. I tried things that I never imagined I'd dare try, and even enjoyed some of them. And I keep my eye out for more exploration in that realm...and in life.

May this be a year of new experiences, new lessons, new ideas for us all.

I'm babbling, I realize. But I want to get back to what a year this has been. And how we started around Pesach last year (I do believe it was during Pesach that Spritually Playful learned about my proclivities, Rabbi Submissive knowing for longer. She was the first person I told of my exploration, as she was the one who helped me take the first steps), and how so much of this is about freedom. We named this blog for a reason...and it is through our recognition that returning to bondage, by choice, gives us so much of the freedom we all seek.

As we enter this Shabbat of Pesach, I hope that we all find the peace--the shleimut--that comes from acceptance of who we are. Of what we are becoming in the constant process of life.

And that we all find others who help us to complete that journey.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach!!

A Tale of 2 Cities

With CCAR convention in NOLA & the RA in Vegas, this week's theme is "Your rabbi is having more fun than you are."

Not quite fair to say that this tweet went viral, but within a really small segment of the Jewish world (even smaller segment of the world at large), this statement was shared by and amused more than a few people. And, it's true. Last week, The Rabbinical Assembly and Central Conference of American Rabbis each met in Las Vegas and New Orleans, respectively. Yes, the Conservative and Reform rabbis each had their annual conventions in the 2 US cities perhaps most known for debauchery.

Of course, there is more to a conference than the city where it was held. I was at one of them, and can attest to that. I've read reports from the other and it sounds like the 2 conventions were similar. Both movements discussed the goings on in Israel and the Middle East at large, considered technology and how it fits in to what we do, pondered how to move beyond what it is we do in order to reach those that we don't and began to envision the future of our movements. We learned, we prayed, we networked, we shared. We inspired and were inspired by our fellow colleagues. We socialized with old friends and found new connections. Our conventions are about all of these things and this was true once again, in both cases.

But I think there is something to be said...to be thought about...regarding the location of both conventions this year. Yes, there were the jokes. And yes, there were many comments about what we weren't doing (perhaps the rabbis doth protest too much?). I have to wonder about how honest those comments were. To what extent did we partake in that which the city we were visiting had to offer?

I admit here that I went to a strip club with a few colleagues. It was fun and instructive on a number of levels. But I also share that we looked both ways before we exited; and were very careful about who knew our whereabouts. I have to wonder how many others did the same....or went down their own paths of exploration. Both groups being in cities where anonymity is part of what happens naturally...where it's so easy to hide....here there are so many venues for behavior that might be perceived as "not what we do" (even if some of us know it's exactly what we love to do). There must have been more that went on...or at least temptation. I highly doubt that the 3 people I went to the strip club with were the only other colleagues that partook in all the city had to offer.

I have to believe that at my convention and at the other that the 4 of us were not the only ones that did something outside the perceived boundaries of what we are "supposed to" do. I know there are others who are kinky...who think outside the box about matters of sexuality. How many were aware enough of their needs to partake? How many felt the freedom to explore, even if just a little.

In some ways, those of us who are still in the closet, but have begun to peek out, owe both groups of conference planners a load of thanks. For giving us the opportunity to convene with like minded colleagues who allow us to explore--to put us in locales where such exploration is bound to happen. Perhaps that's not what the planners had considered as goals...but I think it's a good thing. It's all part of finding the right balance between all the aspects of our lives.

I, for one, am thankful that I had the chance to explore this locale...this aspect of my self...with colleagues that I know I'm lucky to have.