“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages…”
— Jaques (Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-143), Shakespeare, As You Like It

If you’ve read some of the articles I’ve posted here on Eden Cafe, you probably know that my husband and I aren’t the typical couple. We are polyamorous pagan-types, with not much interest in organized religion or traditional relationship models. So when it came to getting married, we had a lot of decision to make about things that most people take at face value without a lot of questioning.

Did we want to sign a marriage contract that ostensibly committed to signing all our potential future children over as property of the Queen (we’re Canadians), and admit that any sex outside the confines of our relationship would be tantamount to infidelity, regardless of our own personal agreement, and not only reason for divorce, but essentially illegal? Short answer – no, we did not.

Who would we ask to perform our marriage ceremony? Who could we trust to perform such a sacred service to our specifications? Would our friends and family recognize our choice even if we didn’t sign a standard license or have an “authorized official” officiate? Could we cast a circle and invoke sacred space without freaking out our born-again Christian relatives? How could we convince our parents that an “open marriage” is just as real as a monogamous one?

All of this was beside the other things we needed to decide on – invitations, flowers, food, drinks, location – which we did as much on our own as possible, with an incredibly small budget. We sent our invitations printed on the backs of traditional Rider-Waite tarot cards (which came with descriptions already printed on them under the images), cooked our own Indian buffet and had a friend make the cake, my mother grew the spring flowers herself and created the bouquets, and we made gallons upon gallons of wine, beer and mead for an open bar. We chose an outdoor location in the northern climes of South-Western Ontario, a risk for our May 2nd date, overlooking the Niagara escarpment and the Beaver Valley. My mother sewed my dress herself in silver satin, and my husband wore a traditional kilt in his family tartan. Our friends who represented the elements and natural forces we called in, as well as our two witnesses, all wore matching blue velvet cloaks so they could put on whatever they wanted underneath. All told, I think we spent less on our entire wedding than the cost we were quoted by the only caterer we considered, and my wedding party didn’t have to pay anything other than the gas money to drive up for the two-day event.

After some discussion, we asked two very close friends of ours – a husband and wife who had been priest and priestess to our close knit group of pagan friends for some time – to do the honours of tying our knots. With their input, I wrote the rituals myself – a May 1st Beltane Eve celebration to honour the spring God & Goddess with our nearest and dearest, and the wedding itself the following afternoon. My husband and I each wrote our own vows, which we kept in confidence until we spoke them aloud that day. It was an event that was completely unique, totally self-made and perfectly us.

I have published the full wedding ritual on my own blog, (http://getsexsavvy.com/blog/?p=176) but today what I really want to talk about are the roles we chose to play in the day-to-day. While my husband’s vows closely paralleled the traditional:

“I do solemnly vow to love you fully and completely for all our days, to hold my esteem in your eyes above all others, to dedicate my life to service of the power of love, enthroned in you, to never let you go, in hunger, sickness or ill health”

… mine were a bit more centered around the idea of roles in our relationship, rather than specific acts or situations. My Vows stated:

“I do solemnly vow to be your anima, your goddess, your priestess, your muse, and to help you see these things in the faces of all others.”

Many individuals, especially in the kink community, devote themselves to specific roles of service or dominance when they enter into a lifelong relationship. My roles, while they are a testament to my dedication to my relationship with my husband, are not just about my service to him. They are, as my husband said in his own vows, my service to “the power of love, enthroned in” my partner. To each other, we are love incarnate, god and goddess, the divine masculine and the divine feminine in the dance of life, love, sex and death. Each of these roles not only describes my perceived roles, but the reciprocal roles that my husband takes to compliment our experiences.

Anima (and animus)
In Jungian psychology, the anima and animus are the two primary archetypes of the unconscious. The masculine mind is said to express its unconsciousness through the feminine personality (the anima) and vice versa. Couples are often counseled to be careful not to confuse the reality of their partner’s own personality with the project of the anima or animus onto the object of affection. By recognizing these hidden personalities in ourselves and each other, we are able to “take on” this personality, to mirror each other in times of great need and self-reflection, then put the mirror away so we can see each other more clearly for who we really are and what we truly desire.

Goddess (and god)
The concept of the divine feminine is vital to my personal belief system and my call as a sacred sexual priestess (we’ll get to that soon). One very specific role of priestesshood, is the ability to take on the face of the Goddess, to let go of myself long enough for the divine feminine to shine through me, to reach out and touch someone… literally and figuratively. There are many goddesses whom I can become, and there is The One, she who is the perfect match for the divine masculine in my mate. Together we strive to be the best, the most sacred that we can be.

Priestess (and priest)
Aside from the act of “aspecting” (putting on the face of) the Goddess, my role as a priestess is complex and varied. I am in very many ways still learning what this means for me – teaching, directing, healing, nurturing, tending, worshipping, praying, creating. As a priestess I am an artist, a writer, a singer, a dancer… I tend our gardens and make good food, I am mistress of my own fertile body and work to understand the sacred cycles of life and time. In the tarot, the High Priestess is the harmonizer, the keeper of women’s mysteries, and she who weaves and masters the dualistic nature of the universe, moving seamlessly between the physical and the spiritual in the same way that The High Priest of the tarot makes it his work to bring the sacred “down to earth”. These archetypes are master (and mistress) of their own domain, together we make the world in the image of our higher selves.

Muse (and artist)
In ancient myth, the muses were goddesses themselves, keepers of sacred knowledge, which they passed down to humans in poetry, prose, song and dance. Calliope is the muse of epic poetry, Clio of history, Erato of lyrical and sexual poems, Euterpe of music, Melpomene of tragedy, Polyhymnia of sacred verse, Terpsichore of dance and song, Thalia of comedy, and Urania of astronomy and astrology. In more general terms, a muse is one who inspires, who doesn’t create beauty herself, but makes space for beauty to become reality through another. Through my love and devotion, my husband finds his place in the world to bring about his own true beauty, his own great works. He is safe to write, to make music, to record history, to dance and sing, to laugh and make jokes, to write love letters and gaze at the stars. In the comfort of his arms, I am afforded the same freedom.

The Faces of All Others?
Well yes. That is what polyamory is all about for us, about learning that our true love is only the beginning, that our sacredness doesn’t negate that which is holy in the hearts and minds of others, but instead makes it even more special, even easier to draw out and to praise. The strength of our bond is not just the safety we each share to become our own true selves, but the comfort we can give to others to do the same. This path doesn’t end with us… we are only the beginning.

With the recent controversy surrounding the Slutwalk marches, there has been a lot of talk about the word – “slut”. We all know what it means, the connotations of a woman who enjoys sex, who has a lot of sex, who might even have a lot of sex with a lot of different people…. and who doesn’t even get paid for it! I’ve been called a slut before – both by someone obviously attempting to shame me with the word, and by people I love, with voices of great admiration and adoration. Context makes all the difference, and that’s what people don’t seem to get about the Slutwalk demonstrations.

SLUT: Meaning “woman of loose character, bold hussy” (hussy meaning “mistress of the house”) is attested from mid-15c.

I am certainly bold, few could deny that…. and my place of residence may be variable, but I am quite the house-mistress, if I do say so myself. More to the point, I do indeed love sex. I love it a lot, almost as much as I love new experiences and adventure. The fact that I am in a committed, long-term, poly relationship only makes it that much more enjoyable to share love and new sexual experiences with my partner (and potential partners-to-be) in life.

So what is the Slutwalk all about? By now you probably know the origin story – at a campus safety session at York University, a police officer (after stating that he’d already been told not to utter such words) told women that if they wanted to be safe from rape, they shouldn’t “dress like sluts”. Let’s put aside the fact that studies have shown that only 4.4% of rapes have been shown to have anything to do with the victim acting or dressing provocatively, or that nearly all rapists have absolutely no recollection whatsoever of what their victims were wearing at the time. Let’s forget about the fact that despite these figures, the majority of people are far more likely to blame a rape victim for her attack based on what she was wearing at the time. Let’s even dismiss the fact that the best way for women to be safer from experiencing rape is to look and act strong, confident and capable (even if that means strutting around in a wonder bra and daisy dukes), at least for this moment.

When was the last time you heard a man called a “stud” with disdain? Moreover, when was the last time you heard of a man being offended for being called a stud? Is it really any less “objectifying”? The word “stud” refers to an animal (in particular a male horse) who is pimped out for nothing but his sperm and ability to fornicate, kept around only because he is young and able to make babies, then sent off to the glue factory when he’s no longer useful. Why on earth is it perfectly acceptable that this word is considered a compliment, but to consider the word “slut” empowering is a “step back for feminism”?

I’ve heard so many people – mostly men, to be honest – ranting about how the Slutwalk takes feminism back so many years, how the “fight to be called a slut”, as they characterize these demonstrations, undoes all the work that so many women have done to stop our bodies from being objectified.

There’s one problem with that, of course – we are human. We have minds, yes, and emotions too. But being human means having a physical body – an object to which we are inextricably linked. Why is it considered such a crime for a woman to recognize that she is a sexual creature, and that this innate sexuality she bears is part of her body? It’s perfectly acceptable for a woman to “dress like a slut”, if she’s getting paid to sexualize her body on a billboard or the big screen… but Goddess forbid that she do it for herself, because it feels good to revel in one’s own sexuality, to accentuate and adorn the object-body with beautiful things and move it about to tantalizing rhythms. And that, I suppose, is what the Toronto officer meant when he uttered the now infamous words. To dress “like a slut” is to show off the parts of one’s body that are considered by mainstream society to be sexual – the breasts, the belly and hips, the legs…. any amount of skin considered to be “too revealing” for someone who isn’t getting paid to reveal herself.

Slutwalkers challenge this stigma, demonstrating that women of all shapes, sizes, and kinds of dress (and not just women – men too!) love sex, because it feels good… because it’s fun and stimulating and spiritual and ecstatic, because it promotes good health and deeper connection, self-awareness and feelings of power and desire and satisfaction! If you are one of the many out there who believes you can tell how much a woman enjoys sex, or how many sexual partners she’s had, just by looking at her clothes, you are by far a better mind-reader than me, my friend.

While statistics show that peers are by far more likely to blame a victim for rape if she is dressed in a “provocative way”, recent research is very clear – women are actually less likely to experience victimization when wearing clothing that suggests they are confident and comfortable with their own body! Rapists look for signs of passiveness and submissiveness in their potential victims, signs which include wearing noticeably more body-concealing clothing like high necklines, long pants and sleeves, and multiple layers. Not only did the officer’s advice cause this incredible uproar and outrage about his use of the word “sluts”, but his suggestion, if taken seriously by any women out there who might feel scared to bare their bodies as a result of his slut-shaming, actually makes them more likely to become victims of sexual assault.

I wonder if it’s just our obsession with crime drama that makes “profiling the victim” such an enjoyable past-time for the every day citizen. I have had dozens of discussions in the past month about rape, and I wish just once that those conversations would be about the rapists, not the victims. I wish I didn’t have to talk about it at all, that it was a thing of ancient history. I wish that everyone could wear whatever they want, and celebrate their sexuality without being publicly shamed and denigrated. Sluts and sex-positive activists all over the world want the same things, and this is why Slutwalk exists. There is no “right path” to a sex-positive future, there are only our paths, and sometimes those paths follow the main stream, sometimes they follow the path least taken… and sometimes we blaze our own path. Which one are you on?

Compersion. My word processor doesn’t even recognize it as a word…. Yet, according to Wikipedia, “compersion” is defined as:

“…a state of empathetic happiness and joy experienced when an individual’s current or former romantic partner experiences happiness and joy through an outside source, including, but not limited to, another romantic interest. This can be experienced as any form of erotic or emotional empathy, depending on the person experiencing the emotion.”

The word was first coined back in 1990 by a polyfidelitous group known as the Kerista Commune, and has since spread far and wide throughout poly and other nonmonogamous communities around the world.

In many ways, compersion is the opposite of jealousy, so you are most likely to hear the word within circles of polyamorous partners and groups, or those in other types of open or consentually non-monogamous relationships. You don’t have to be nonmonogamous to feel compersion, however, based on the above definition. If you have ever felt happy about an ex finding new love, you have experienced compersion (or, alternatively, are feeling “compersive”).

Of course, in many circles, compersion also carries with it a connotation of sexual bliss – feeling turned on by your partner’s joy and experiences. In this situation it may be referred to as “erotic compersion” and it can be very similar to the feelings of NRE (New Relationship Energy, a whole other topic on its own!). In this context, the slang “frubbly” or “frubbles” might be used, especially in casual conversation in places like the US and UK.  Eg. “Thinking about him out with his new girlfriend has got me feeling all frubbly!” or “Her relationship with her new lover has me filled with frubbles!” and suggests a chipper, happy, bubbly, excited sensation.

Has the feeling of compersion every gotten you frubbly? Does being compersive fill you with frubbles of joy? Okay, so maybe you’ve never felt anything like any of these words before. So, what’s the big deal?

Let’s assume that, at the very least, you have had the opportunity to feel jealousy at least once before in your life. Do you remember how hot and bothered you were? Maybe not in a good way, I’ll give you that, but surely you got a bit red in the face or hot around the collar…. What if, in the middle of all that heat, you were able to find a core of erotic passion? What if, instead of feeling angry and betrayed, you were able to blow off all that steam by relishing in all the new sexual energy available to you and your lover through this new relationship?

What if you were able to, from that place of passion, let your insecurities fall away, your trust in your partner prevail, and instead of losing yourself in anger, find yourself in love? By valuing happiness and love above anger and fear, non-monogamous lovers (and heck, even those who happen to be monogamous but like to get out and flirt a little) can relish in each others happiness, rather than trying to drag each other down into a murky abyss of possession, exclusion, competition, ego and fear.

Even some of the most experienced non-monogamous lovers feel jealousy from time to time. Compersion isn’t about ignoring those feelings, but rather harnessing the love and passion behind them, and turning them into something that gives us that chance to share the power of our experiences, rather than allowing insecurity to take our power away.

So, the next time you are feeling jealous, think about the reasons behind that sensation. Try to challenge your fears and insecurities, and find in yourself the place that lets go of control over your partner, and instead basks in the beauty of shared love and romance! Why not feel all the love you can? Go and get your compersion on!

Sexual health is one of my most personal passions. I’ve talked briefly about xenoestrogens before in many an article. I’ve worked with women who’s reproductive systems have succumbed to this pervasive poison, and who’s resulting suffering ranges from fibroid tumours, poly-cystic ovaries, endometriosis, and radical weight gain to general, nondescript infertility. And women aren’t the only ones effected – weight gain, low sperm counts, poor motility and genetic mutations also occur in men who are overexposed to these little monsters.

I’ve mentioned in previous articles that these nasty little “plastic estrogens” are just about everywhere – our drinking water, the food we eat, the plastics and other products that fill our households, even the air we breath – so you might be wondering, well, what’s the point in avoiding them? Right?

I mean, what’s so bad about xenoestrogens anyway? Well, let’s start with a discussion of their known side effects, shall we?

“Xeno” literally means “foreign”. Xenoestrogens are man-made hormones which have been proven to negatively affect not just the reproductive system and hormonal balance, but complete overall health. These chemicals surround fat cells, making them nearly impossible to dissolve. They throw off the balance of the endocrine and reproductive systems, overburden the liver with toxins and overtax the sensitive immune system. Women and men alike suffer reproductive health problems, increases in cancers to the breasts and reproductive organs, not to mention the health problems associated with xenoestrogen-related weight gain.

The list of known foreign estrogenic compounds is a long one, and these chemicals are widespread throughout our environment:

alkylphenols (intermediate chemicals used in the manufacture of other chemicals)
atrazine (weedkiller)
4-Methylbenzylidene camphor (4-MBC) (sunscreen lotions)
butylated hydroxyanisole, BHA (food preservative)
bisphenol A (monomer for polycarbonate plastic and epoxy resin; antioxidant in plasticizers)
dichlorodiphenyldichloroethylene (one of the breakdown products of DDT)
dieldrin (banned insecticide)
DDT (banned insecticide)
endosulfan (widely banned insecticide)
erythrosine, (FD&C Red Dye No. 3)
ethinylestradiol (combined oral contraceptive pill)
heptachlor (restricted insecticide)
lindane, hexachlorocyclohexane (restricted insecticide)
metalloestrogens (a class of inorganic xenoestrogens)
methoxychlor (banned insecticide)
nonylphenol and derivatives (industrial surfactants; emulsifiers for emulsion polymerization; laboratory detergents; pesticides)
pentachlorophenol (restricted general biocide and wood preservative)
polychlorinated biphenyls, PCBs (banned; formerly used in electrical oils, lubricants, adhesives, paints)
parabens (lotions, sex toys, lubes, etc.)
phenosulfothiazine (a red dye)
phthalates (plasticizers)
DEHP (plasticizer for PVC)
Propyl gallate (used to protect oils and fats in FOOD products from oxidation)

Conscious consumers are going to great lengths to try and protect themselves and their children from the harm caused by these toxins, and yet millions of women are volunteering to put this poison in their bodies everyday, for the sake of birth control. In a world of such advanced medical science, why is it women are still required to poison themselves in order to enjoy the “free love” promised to us so many years ago?

When Free Love is Finally Free

Somehow we begin to assume that until the “invention” of modern medicine, women just went about their lives with no understanding of their fertility whatsoever, having babies willy nilly at the drop of a hat, and dying in childbirth like it’s nobody’s business. This, my friends, is a lie.

A woman’s body may seem strange and mysterious, but the tell-tale signs of fertility are undeniable. This is not “The Rhythm Method”, which is based on the false assumptions of male doctors that all women ovulate on the 14th day of their cycle. Twaddlecock!

Each cycle is different, and while the day that you menstruate depends entirely on the day that you ovulate, not all women ovulate the same. This doesn’t mean that hope is lost, however, for a new free birth control method. “Fertility awareness” is a kind of “birth control” (and “fertility control”!) that I have been using successfully for several years. Not only is it great for not getting pregnant, but also for anyone looking to conceive naturally.

There are three factors taken into account when keeping track of your fertility – temperature, cervical mucous and direct cervical observation (of the size, shape and texture). These things are easily charted so that you can choose to abstain, use contraceptives like condoms or sponges, or plan your sex for when you are at your most fertile if your desire is conception.

First, we’ll talk about temperature. It is the most unreliable of the three and is mostly used as verification. Your BBT (basal body temperature, or the temp you show right when you wake up in the morning before doing anything active) rises sharply on the day that you ovulate, dropping back down to normal again on or just before the day you menstruate. If you are pregnant, this temp will continue to stay elevated as the fetus develops. Temperature taking alone is incredibly unreliable, and not just because you have to get up at the same time every morning for it to be accurate. Also, because your body begins to develop fertile fluids a day or three before you begin to ovulate, and these fertile fluids make your body ripe for holding on to sperm, (for up to five days!) it is important to keep track of other factors so you don’t end up having unprotected sex just before your ovulatory period begins….

…which brings us to the second sign – cervical mucous or fluids. From day 3-4 of your cycle, (when you stop menstruating) any fluid in your vagina and especially around your cervix will be thin and smooth. As you begin to develop fertility, this fluid thickens, becomes more copious and develops the consistency of egg-white – thick and stretchy. When this fertile fluid is present, regardless of your temperature, you have reached the fertile stage of your cycle. Many women can tell what stage they are at simply by the way their vagina feels on a day-to-day basis, noticing an increase in lubrication even in an unaroused state. Others need to get right to the heart of the issue and feel for themselves….

…which brings us to the third and final reliable sign of fertility – the shape and texture of the cervix itself. Many women don’t mind the sensation of having their cervix touched, especially by their own hand or – even better! – the hand of a loving partner, though some will find it slightly uncomfortable. When you are in the early stages of your cycle, the cervix will be fairly rigid and especially for women who have not yet borne a child, the opening will be tiny and closed rather tight. As you become more fertile, the cervix softens and begins to open, making the way for sperm to travel to their ultimate goal.

When the two “sensory” signs are in progress, you can expect a temperature spike to be imminent, but don’t fret if you sleep in one day and miss it. You will soon be able to tell by sensation alone when you are in oestrous and plan accordingly.

The Party Poopers

I’ve heard all numbers of excuses why fertility awareness won’t work – “I just can’t remember to take my temperature every day”, or “It’s awkward trying to reach my own cervix”, or “Charting is hard!”

I ask you this…. which is more difficult to deal with, you think? Taking your temperature and sticking a finger (or your partner’s finger!) up your hoo-ha every morning? Or cervical cancer? Or ovarian cysts? Or fibroid tumours that cause you constant pain and make you bloat up like a balloon until you pay for incredibly expensive surgery, only to have the same tumours come right back again?

That’s what I thought. So….. get poking, ladies! Tell me, how does your cervix feel today?

Religion. It’s a hard word to get my mind around, because I’ve spent so much of my life railing against it. When asked, “How does your religion affect your sex life?” my first instinct is to answer, “I don’t practice a religion.”

In ways, it’s true. I am not a Christian, Jew or Muslim, not Wiccan or Rastafarian. I’m not even an agnostic or atheist. When pressed, I may call myself “pagan” or sometimes a “pantheist”, but even these are lacking in the true essence of my faith.

Yes, I do have faith. I believe that in some ways, “God” (the genderless, formless Divine) is in all things. I believe that there are forces beyond our knowledge and control, that the old names for gods and goddesses have power, and maybe even some kind of form in a place I (and Alan Moore fans – read his graphic novel Promethea for an even better understanding of my beliefs) like to call the Immateria.

It was once explained to me that each human being on the planet is made up of a certain blending of all the colours of the rainbow, all the notes of the scale. The gods and goddesses, those things in the ethereal are each only one shade of light, one pitch of sound, pure and unrefined.

I am a devotee of Babalon and the Goddesses of Love. I find my spiritual home with Aphrodite & Persephone, Inanna & Ninshubar, Erzulie Fréda & La Sirene, Xochiquetzal & Xtabay… goddesses of love, sex, service and death; patronesses of prostitutes, creatrices of transformation. My faith is in the power of love to heal, transform, build community, achieve ecstasy and make magic.

In history, I may have been called a sacred whore, qadishtu, or temple prostitute. The Greeks used the word hierodule (temple slave) to denote someone in service to the Goddess of Erotic Love. In my day-to-day relationships, I consider myself a switch, but I am always in service… not to my partner, though I do interact with others who seek my services, nor to any Master, though I certainly like to play. No, I am in service to Her… that which is sacred in seduction, that which is divine in the dance of life and love.

I had my first transcendent sexual experience when an incredibly open partner looked up into my eyes after our first encounter and said, “Oh, how I do love Goddesses”. I knew then, that I had found the right path. That somehow without knowing it I had been delivered into my calling.

How this plays out in my “real life” is strange and complicated. I am married to a wonderful man who I have known since before I found myself, and who loves me not in spite of, but because of the path that I follow. I am polyamorous, seeking to build a happy home of loving adults working together toward similar goals. I am a devotee and Priestess-in-training, learning to tend my temple and embody the Goddess for petitioners who seek Her presence.

It is both unbelievably freeing and an incredible burden, wearing the face of that which has none, breathing life into names that have been lying in wait for so many centuries, waiting to be spoken, waiting to be seen…. waiting to be adored and to dole out adoration. Waiting to unleash not just pleasure and joy, but pain and wrath, transformation by fire, and perilous journeys into the underworld. Waiting to greet Her God and remake the world in their own image.

In many ways I am still waiting. In many ways I am initiated every day. Every new partner, every new act of love, every step down this sacred path changes me, every moment I spend walking changes the path. I feel as if I am on the journey I was born for, and some days it overwhelms me. Sex is rarely the simple soft kisses and kind caresses, for I crave its transformation. It moves me to new heights and incredible depths, and some days I just need to stop, close my eyes and catch my breath.

But when I open them again, ready to move forward, She is always there… my love, my spirituality. My faith.

In many ways, friends and family might consider me a righteous feminist. I am a sex-positive professional with, what are considered by many to be, radical views on what a “free market” ought to look like. I believe that sex work should be accepted, safe and legal; that we all have the right to do as we please with our own bodies (harm none), and that we all have a responsibility to understand how our body works and how to take proper care of it. Truth be told, though, I hate the “f” word. I feel that most feminist rhetoric negates the many ways that men and trans/gender-queer individuals are oppressed in our society, but I digress.

There is an often-overlooked trend that I’ve noticed when it comes to the patterns of revolutions, including the woman’s suffrage movement, and the sexual revolution of the 60’s and 70’s. I wonder how this trend will play out in the modern-day uprising of sex-positivity. Whenever there is a massive shift in consciousness and attitude, there is a responsive movement of corporate interest that races to capitalize on this confusing, and often isolating, experience of social evolution. Please don’t get me wrong. I recognize the hard work and tireless efforts of the women who have come before me, and those who have gone. I realize that we are all products of the thoughts and dreams of earlier generations, and that hindsight is 20/20. I am utterly grateful for those who fought to teach me, and others like me, that we have a choice, and a voice. With my voice, I choose to explore the ways that money seeks to exploit and transform the drive for freedom into learned helplessness.

Cast Away

Imagine that your child spent her entire grade school experience complaining that a specific group of “cool kids” were tormenting and torturing her, excluding her and spreading rumors about her behind her back, being manipulative and ruling the school…. and then all of a sudden in high school, they want to be best friends, and encourage your child to join them in bullying others. Your daughter can’t believe her good luck, she finally feels accepted! But how would you respond? Would you congratulate her on her years of perseverance, finally getting the “cool kids” to like her? Or would you counsel her that perhaps people who treat others like crap don’t make great friends? This is a touchy issue, and it is difficult to consider the possibility that there is another way to think outside the box we live in. But I don’t believe we are better off for playing the politics game. You can’t change a system when you depend on the system’s functionality to live.

Working Stiff

How better to sell war than to allow women the right to an expendable income? Systems of oppression thrive on ignorance, but they can never truly prevent learning. The ability to do as we please with our bodies is not a right given to us by the state, but a freedom granted us by the divinity of our innate humanness. Accepting the right to be employed came with long term consequences for the lowering of wages across the board, and the increased labor expectations placed on working-class families. This right also came with the responsibility to participate in a growing industrial economy. A woman doing a deployed man’s work didn’t have time to do a woman’s work too, and so a dependence on chemical cleaners, disposable products, and convenience machines was born.

Torches of Freedom

On March 31, 1929, a young woman and her friends walked into an Easter parade full of eagerly awaiting press on New York’s Fifth Avenue, drew flames to their lips and lit “torches of freedom”. The feminist statement was a media sensation, sending women the message that they could do as they pleased with their own bodies, even if it was “embarrassing” to the men in their lives…. even if it was poisonous and addictive. Bertha told the press that her and her friends hoped they had “started something and that these torches of freedom, with no particular brand favored, will smash the discriminatory taboo on cigarettes for women and that our sex will go on breaking down all discriminations.” No one reported the fact that Miss Bertha Hunt worked as a secretary for Eddie Bernays, a Public Relations expert on the payroll of the American Tobacco Company, in charge of establishing the female market.

Squeezing Out Midwives

When medical doctors began to evolve their trade, forming powerful societies and industrial complex hospitals, it became clear that the midwife was a serious threat to the profits of the new corporate structure. In many countries, midwives were welcomed into hospitals with nurses training, and the Nurse Midwife became a popular and useful aide in the birthing process. In the United States, however, midwives were overwhelmingly pushed out of the process, smeared with racist and xenophobic advertising campaigns, likening them to “witch doctors”. Within only one generation, many of the secrets and wisdom that the midwives held regarding natural birth, fertility, birth control, and miscarriage were lost, at the benefit and profit of the Medical Industry.

The modern day birthing room was designed solely for the convenience of the doctor, rather than the comfort of mother and child. The position which women are most likely to give birth in, when in the hospital, is also the worst position for this act! It makes it easy to keep a woman in one place and control her actions – many women at the turn of the century were bound to beds and left to lie, feet up in stirrups, in their own filth for several days waiting for birth. It also makes the experience more difficult and more painful for both mother and child, even with the easiest of births.

At the height of the Second Industrial Revolution, new advances in anesthetic medicine crossed paths with the tail end of First Wave Feminism. Women who had been told their entire lives that the pain they would undoubtedly bear during a gruesome hospital birth was entirely her fault, the sin of Eve and the curse upon womankind. Feeling as if she was liberating herself from this horrible suffering, women gladly accepted anesthetic, and the other “interventions”, that the medical community devised. Currently, there are dozens, if not hundreds, of different pharmaceutical interventions actively supplied in North American hospitals, designed to schedule the birth within a specific window, allowing greater convenience and flexibility for doctors, not the mothers. Most of these interventions are designed to induce a requirement for further intervention, causing what is known as a “cascade” in obstetrics. It has been shown, in fact, that many of these drugs affect the mother’s ability to produce the hormones and chemicals in the body that prevent post-partum depression, as well as negatively affecting the child’s ability to latch on and breastfeed, sealing the mother-child bond. Nowadays it is “in” and “cool” for celebrities, and the rich in America, to schedule their birth by opting for elective cesarean section surgery (often followed by a tummy tuck, to take off the “baby weight”) so they can get in and out of birth in a few days, and forget it ever happened. Isn’t that a terrible way to view what should be a wondrous, beautiful, and exciting surprise?

Free Love Isn’t Free

Second wave feminist and free love hippies once again crossed paths with the medical industry when, as a result of losing the midwife’s knowledge of fertility control, women demanded the ability to love freely and openly without fear of unexpected pregnancy. Women were taught that they could be sexually active and open before marriage, as long as they could get a job and afford to pay doctors and pharmaceutical companies for that right (either through chemical birth control or mechanical abortions).

There is no danger in natural birth control. It is easy to do, and can even be sexy! It is an experience you can have alone or share with a partner. It not only helps prevent pregnancy when that is the desire, but helps plan and encourage pregnancy when the time is right… and if it is done regularly, and with knowledge of one’s own body, it is as effective as chemical alternatives. Most importantly, it is not poisonous…. which I can’t say for the expensive stuff.

The Xenoestrogen Complex

Xenoestrogens are everywhere. They are in our food, our water, our air, our birth control, our make up and hair products…. everywhere. Chemical byproducts and manufactured hormones leech from the plastic bags in which you pack your child’s lunch, and and the sex toys you keep in your tickle trunk, baby bottles and shower curtains, hormone-injected meat and pesticide-sprayed vegetables. Women (and men!) everywhere are suffering from this inundation of unnatural hormones that cling to fat cells and make them insoluble (stuck to your body), causing fibroid tumors, painful menstruation, infertility, sperm and egg mutation, ovarian cysts, and numerous other debilitating conditions. We are digging our own graves, and paying the groundskeeper for the opportunity.

The New Sex

The new Sex-Positive Revolution is still in its infancy. Sex educators have found a place to teach about the mechanics and experiences of love and sex, discovering a deep interest in the intricacies of the human body, the complexities of gender and the miracle of life. More and more, consumers (and those of us who loathe the “consumer” mentality but love sex toys, nonetheless) are demanding products that are safe and environmentally responsible, and retailers like EdenFantasys are responding by giving us what we need to make informed decisions. Corporate America stills seems to be struggling to catch up…. but that doesn’t mean they won’t.

The moral of the story? Be wary of any “revolutionary” who offers you the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to give up your responsibility for self-awareness and understanding of the nature of the universe, in exchange for the right to spend more money.

To cut or not to cut? It’s a question that, in North American hospital births especially, parents are faced with during some of the most emotional and traumatic moments of their lives. Circumcision is a hot button issue, and recently, in an attempt to encourage deeper insight and complex conversations on the issue, I really butted heads with some passionate people.

Unfortunately, nearly all the responses could be broken down into a few groups with similar responses. Overwhelmingly, responses came from women. Mothers either defended their right to make “medical” decisions on behalf of their infants, or abhorred the idea of mutilating their child. Lovers either adored the perfection of an intact man, or preferred genitals that didn’t require constant cleaning and were less susceptible to STDs. Let me clarify this right now – it is not safe to have unprotected casual sex with someone just because he is circumcised!

Men were as divided. Many of those who were cut, were happy to have had it done and “passed it on” to their sons. In fact, the most likely reason for an American boy to be circumcised is “to look like his father”. Others recognized ways that the experience had impaired them in some way physically, and regretted the experience forced upon them. A few men had adult circumcisions for medical reasons, and because of this, wished their parents had done it sooner. But if you came down with appendicitis as an adult, would you wish your parents had removed it when you were born as well? Most intact men were grateful, and several mentioned having thanked their parents for allowing the decision to be their own.

If my position isn’t clear, I think nature has done just fine on its own, and I don’t believe that anyone has the right to consent to cosmetic surgery on a child. No other preventative surgery to remove normal tissue exists! Many of the arguments used to defend male circumcision mimic arguments supporting cultural acts like letting a single drop of blood from a female infant’s clitoral hood, an act that is illegal in the US. I am in no way against medically necessary surgery done when it is necessary. And I don’t believe men are so weak that we need to change their genitalia in order to save them the difficulty of learning to clean themselves during puberty, and the potential pain of rare complications.

But this article isn’t about my position or yours, and I don’t want to start the same old argument. Today, I want to take the discussion one step further. I know the statistics, and my position is firm. I will not be swayed, and I don’t particularly expect to convince anyone else, one way or the other. Today, I want to stop talking about the penis. In fact, I want us to forget that we are talking about penises altogether.

Today, I want to talk about the brain. I want to know, what are the long-term psychological ramifications of removing approximately 20,000 nerve endings (about 1% of an adults dermal nerve endings) moments after birth?

Further to that, what are the long-term psychological repercussions for a child, when their parent’s first decision for them is one which denies their right to consent to unnecessary cosmetic surgery?

I have my own ideas about these questions, of course, but first I want to hear your ideas – I’m not asking for opinions, just theories and thoughts. I don’t care about your gender, or your genitalia. But if you can muse on the possible maladaptive psychological effects of this cultural phenomenon, or the adaptive effects if you believe there is psychological benefit, please share! I’m done with the he-said she-said pick-a-side bickering. I want to know what you really think! Let’s take this debate to the next level.

I’ve spoken before about what being “pansexual” means to me – negating the concept that gender is binary – but I understand that this doesn’t really translate well to most people. For most, gender is either male or female. And if given the opportunity to consider anyone in between, these individuals are usually seen as confused or deformed, by the medical community as much as society at large. I think it’s high time we explore gender and sexuality, and start getting these words out into common usage. I’ve seen this acronym LGBTQQI2SAA being thrown around a lot lately, and I think that unless it is fully explained, it serves to be more confusing for those existing in a vacuum where gender is still black and white…. so here it goes.

We are all fairly familiar with the term “LGBT”, and with the definition of at least the first three letters in this acronym, but let’s start here anyway for clarity’s sake.

L – lesbians are women who are only sexually attracted to other women.

G – gay, while it is often used to refer to both men and women, in this case, it’s defining men who are only sexually attracted to other men.

B – bisexuals are often thought of as “fence sitters”, lesbians or gays who can’t “make up their minds”, but the word itself simply refers to someone who is attracted to both of the standard typical genders, male and female.

These first three terms are really the only ones in this acronym that are about sexuality and sexual preference. So let’s get down to the nitty-gritty gender definitions. Many of these terms overlap in some capacity, but each has its own particular connotations and community.

T – transgender individuals are those who’s “assigned gender” (male, female or intersexed) do not match the gender they feel; whether that be one of the three mentioned above, or something entirely new, and yet defined.

Q – queer individuals are those who’s gender and sexuality tend to defy definition, sometimes encompassing “pansexuality”, as a desire for all genders and sexualities; other times playing out in non-traditional lesbian, gay or heterosexual relationships.

Q – questioning means just what it says – people who are questioning, are still unsure about their gender or sexuality, and exploring their options. They have yet to accept a label and claim it as their own.

I – intersexed individuals are those born with “ambiguous genitalia”. In other words, showing some physical traits of each binary gender due to developmental or chromosomal “anomalies”. Many are still given elective cosmetic surgery at birth to “decide” which gender they will become, though the practice is less common now than in the recent past.

2S – two-spirited is a translation of an Ojibwe word meant to describe a person who houses both masculine and feminine traits, or spirits, inside one body, and who generally performs tasks based on a mix of traditional gender roles. This gender identification is integral to the culture of every type of native community known on this continent, in more than 130 identified tribes.

A – androgynous is a word most people will recognize as meaning “without gender characteristics”, though the literal meaning of the word comes from the Greek for “man” (andro) and “woman” (gyne) combined. Unlike two-spirited, this word describes an air of ambiguity. Gender which is perhaps in a constant state of flux, or simply unable to define as either man or woman.

That brings us to our final letter in this extensive description of alternative gender/sex community members – friends, family and supportive folks alike, fill the final spot.

A – allies are the rest of us, if we are the supportive and accepting human beings I hope we can all one day strive to be. We are friends, lovers, activists, and conscious individuals who try to encourage a wider understanding of sexuality and gender in the world.

Do you identify with any of the words that described this large and growing community of sexually open and expressive individuals? Where on this gorgeous rainbow do you fall? Can you pick out one colour that is all you, or do you fall somewhere in the fuzzy bits in between? If you don’t see yourself in any of the alternative gender or sexual identities, do remember, even the most vanilla heterosexual man or woman can strive to be “Straight, but not narrow”…

In the Beginning

I’ve always been a sexual person, as long as I can remember back into my youth. I used to practice kissing my motorized Teddy Ruxpin doll when I was as young as 5 or 6 years old and soon after I realized that buzzing fuzzy mouth felt good other places too. Typically, talking about these young experiences is taboo – the last real taboo, perhaps – but they were formative. By age 8 or 9, Barbie and Ken had active sex lives, and often partner-swapped with my best friend’s equally active Mattel couple.

I was a smart kid and a total book worm. I devoured fiction to the point that my parents would deliver boxes of stories from church basement and garage sales and couldn’t keep up to monitor the content. In my preteens I devoured horror and thriller fiction and read through the age-appropriate titles available through my library before I started puberty at age nine.

I remember several stories that both excited and confused me – a series of British short horrors featuring a young woman with nipple piercings who enjoyed water sports on the beach (and I don’t mean windsurfing); a Dean Koontz novel about government mind control with at least one forced sex scene; a detention-center escape thriller with a graphic adult male boy-rape scene. The latter is the one that finally alerted my parents to the questionable content I was consuming. After that, my only access was the saucy romance in my father’s westerns, until the internet arrived in our home office.

I was young when I was first introduced to the concept of “fetish” – perhaps too young, but such is the nature of the modern age. I discovered kinky sex at a time very soon after discovering my first porno, found myself incredibly drawn to erotic stories (which took minutes rather than hours to download) of force, power and BDSM. Barely-a-teenage girl, who had never even kissed a boy let alone explored any of my masturbatory fantasies, these dark desires were like a secret realm that existed somewhere outside the world I knew.

The Cool Crowd

When I moved back to my hometown after University, significantly more enlightened, joyously bisexual, flamboyantly pagan and in search of the cool kids. I found them. While I put myself back together after what we will for now suffice to say was a bad breakup and worked at my normal job after nearly two years as a phone sex operator and adult web designer, I met up with some of the coolest kids I’ve known.

I developed social skills, made close friends with people who lived the life I dreamt of, outside the hum drum 9-5 bustle, not making apologies for their freakishness to anyone.  I partied, had a few good hookups and met a young deviant couple who introduced me to functional kink. I blossomed and the relationship ran it’s course. I started dating a good friend from University after a hallucinogen-induced birthday experience that left me bathed in morning light in an exhausted puddle on the floor…. quite literally.

The Fellowship of Fetish

Since being married, embarking on a continent-wide honeymoon road trip and once again returning home, we have taken the opportunity to engage with a wider community. Our experience with the local fetish groups have left us wanting. We are both shy and I found it impossible to locate and chat up the cute kinksters while feeling so intimidated by the lifestyle fetish crowd. I’m not sure if it’s the history of avoiding persecution, vetting members, keeping our deviance away from prying eyes. Perhaps the clique mentality develops from the pervading conservative sentiment in this city, where the local BDSM Munch has been relocated almost as many times as years it has been running (more than a decade). Maybe the atmosphere was pervaded by the oppression of the number of people who live in secret for fear of losing their livelihood by being outed.

I don’t judge – I believe that we are all free to do what makes us happy, with the consent of those whose lives we affect, but I find it difficult to relate to people from any walk of life who are able to maintain compartmentalized identities. I can’t imagine pretending to be someone else in order to live in a home and eat healthy food, and I am saddened that so many feel the need to live this way today. I’m filled with gratitude for my good fortune.

It seems that many of these cases involve players who come into their kinkiness after experiencing the rites of passage into spousal bliss and parenthood, or otherwise traveling the roads of adulthood. Did knowing early that I was a kinky freak somehow free me, allow me to design a life where I work for myself, live how I want and don’t make apologies for who I am? Could breaking the last taboo of the modern age lead to a future generation of freaks who wear their kinky proud and refuse to sacrifice their self-identity?