I am proudly autistic, asexual, and kinky.

In the last couple of posts on here, I discussed the idea of getting a vasectomy as a prerequisite to engaging in sexual activity.  I am now happy to say that the vasectomy is done, and I am now in the “purge” stage, where I am pushing out whatever sperm was already downstream from the surgery site.  And talk about an easy procedure: I was in and out of the building in about 45 minutes.

One thing that I was concerned about going into this was that my lack of sexual activity of any kind would cause some doctors to decline to perform the procedure, much like the stories that I have heard where doctors will sometimes decline to do the procedure on someone who they think is too young.  Fortunately, that sort of issue never came up, and the doctor never questioned anything with me.  I imagine that it was because I was over 40, and also that I brought my partner in with me, i.e. I am quite mature, and in a committed relationship.

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A few weeks ago, I had an “aha” moment when I was thinking about crossdressing and some of what makes it so pleasurable for me. I came to realize that Jennifer, in her own way, is a form of bondage.  I may not be physically restrained (though I have definitely done some scenes as Jennifer), but it’s more of a mental thing.  I typically go out without any option to easily change out of female attire, and now that I’ve started going into makeup, it’s far less straightforward than simply changing clothes.  Whenever I go out, there is almost always some element that is difficult to undo in the field, which de facto locks me into Jennifer until I get home.

How I accomplish that little bit of bondage that keeps me locked into Jennifer varies by adventure, but it’s usually something simple.  For my January trip to Pennsylvania, where I first started using makeup for Jennifer, it was the lipstick.  The lipstick locked me into Jennifer mode, because once applied, it wasn’t coming off easily, as I did not have makeup removal wipes on that outing.  In more recent cases, the bondage has been my nails.  I will typically paint my nails in a nice girly color, and that stuff is not coming off easily.  And that keeps me locked into Jennifer, since the nails would be a dead giveaway that something is up.

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As is typical for the holiday season, my workplace decorates its facility.  They put up a Christmas tree, they hung some garlands around the place, and they put this next to the entrance:

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I guess that you could say, “That escalated quickly.”  Since last we spoke, I have been going out as Jennifer quite a bit, and having a lot of fun with it.  On the days that I don’t have work, when I need to go out, I’ve been putting on the gold zentai and being Jennifer.  I’ve also put some renewed effort into it, getting some new outfits, as well as new boobs.  Recall that Jennifer’s original breasts were homemade, made out of nylon stockings and rice:

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The coronavirus pandemic has caused so many abrupt changes in our lives. Social distancing has eliminated dining out and many other fun activities.  Stay-at-home orders have strongly encouraged us to remain in our homes unless it is “essential” to go out.  In Maryland, Governor Larry Hogan has ordered all “non-essential” businesses to close.  Additionally, Governor Hogan has ordered that everyone is to wear a mask whenever they’re out in public, such as while shopping.  I find a lot of these new restrictions to be rather draconian, and I have been given no reason to think that these measures will actually accomplish the goals that officials are claiming that they will.  I get the sense that the true purpose of these measures, rather than actually accomplishing what they’re stated to accomplish, is “security theater” to make it appear that the government is doing something, even if the measures are totally ineffective.  Additionally, unlike other states, Maryland’s mandates have no expiration date, and therefore will continue until explicitly cancelled.

The mask order in particular has not sat well with me.  The stay-at-home order has holes in it that are big enough to drive a truck through them.  I also work in a so-called “essential” job, so I’m still going out on a regular basis to go to work.  However, the requirement to wear a mask or other sort of face covering is killing me.

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I was recently listening to a Stuff Mom Never Told You podcast about BDSM, and one topic that was discussed was safewords.  Among other things, the presenters characterized safewords as being less important than you might think that they otherwise might be.  That struck a chord with me.  In past experiences with BDSM education, it was always said that safewords were necessary because “no” or “stop” in a scene might not always mean what they mean on the street, depending on the context of the scene.  While this is true, it’s not always the case.

In my own scenes, I typically do not employ a safeword.  The reasoning is simple enough: if a scene is becoming too much, or something needs to be adjusted, we typically just say so.  But because of what I had learned both online and at various events about the necessity of having a safeword, I had always assumed that I was being a bit irresponsible by not having one, even though speaking in plain language instead of using a safeword worked.  With my girlfriend, we speak in plain language about how the other is doing in the scene.  When one of us is gagged, we speak through the gag to communicate.  However, if the top really can’t understand the different variations of “arglbargl” that are produced with the gag, we take the gag out to help facilitate communication.  Using plain language makes enough sense to me, and helps keep a certain playful mood about it, since in the end, it’s really just two people having fun together, and not a theatrical production or anything like that.  If we need to adjust the scene to ensure that everyone keeps having fun, we just say so.

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As I’ve gone through my thirties, I have really been more open to exploring my inner self.  When I was in my twenties, I was more concerned about what “other people” might think.  Now that I’m in my thirties, I have come to realize that said “other people” are too busy dealing with their own insecurities, and therefore aren’t paying close attention to me.  With that realization, there’s a certain level of “fuck it, let’s do it” that comes to mind, because, after all, you only live once.  I also love the freedom that we have as children to do and explore whatever we want in the name of child’s play, and it makes me sad the way society then pushes us into conformity with certain gender norms as we get older.  It raises our inhibitions, and makes us less willing to go outside those norms.

I generally go through life as a cisgendered male.  I have the male anatomy, I dress in men’s clothing, etc.  However, when I was growing up, I remember thinking how much more interesting the “girl” toys that were advertised on Saturday morning were than the “boy” toys.  I also secretly envied the far more exciting and fun outfits that women got to wear.  I loved the clothes, and I loved the shoes.  After all, men’s clothing is pretty formulaic, and the shoes aren’t that exciting, either.  Not much in the way of excitement there.  When I was around 12 years old, I secretly tried on some female clothing, and it actually felt pretty good.  However, at that age, I kept that side well hidden, because, you know, middle school and all.  Then I unconsciously put it away for quite some time.

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If you’ve been on FetLife for more than about ten minutes, you’ve probably seen a warning in various places on people’s profile pages.  It usually reads something like this:

WARNING to any institution or person using this site or any of its associated sites: You do not have my permission to use any of my pictures, information from my profile or discussions, or anything I post in any of the forums or groups on this website in any form or forum both current or future without prior written consent.  You do not have my permission to copy, save, print, or repost our pictures, discussions, or information without prior written consent.  If you have done or do any of the above, it will be considered a violation of my privacy and personal property and will be subject to all legal remedies.

To give you an idea about how pervasive this “warning” is, in order to look for a copy of the text, I went down my FetLife feed and opened up the profiles of my five most recent friend additions.  Four out the five had some variation of it on their profiles.  If you are one of those people that has this “warning” on your profile, my advice to you is to get rid of it.

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Like most people in the fetish community, I was shocked and saddened to learn about the demise of 824 North Calvert Street, the former home of the Baltimore Play House.  For those not familiar with what happened, the building at 824 North Calvert Street in Baltimore was the site of a major fire in the early morning of January 24 (more photos).  As I understand it, the building, already damaged (and never repaired) from the effects of Hurricane Sandy a few months prior, caught fire when the roof cracked under the weight of ice, which led to an electrical fire.  That more or less destroyed it, as the entire building went up, and there was a partial collapse of the roof.  There were no firefighter or civilian injuries related to the fire.  My understanding is that the Play House staff had vacated the building about two weeks prior, but it was later revealed that all of the contents of the Play House had not yet been removed, and were lost in the fire.  The loss of the building was one thing, but the loss of the contents of the building really made me sad.  After all, when a person moves their residence, putting all of one’s stuff into the new place makes the new place start to feel like “home”.  And the Play House had a lot of neat stuff in it that was different from that at The Crucible in DC and DCDungeon (now DC Speakeasy) in Rockville.

I had planned a trip up to Baltimore for April 5, where I was going to do some vanilla photography.  I am something of an accomplished photographer in my spare time, and was out shooting photos in a few neighborhoods in Baltimore.  So while I was already up in Baltimore, I made a stop over by the old Play House.  Since this was a vanilla trip, my official purpose of photographing the building was to document urban decay as exemplified by a burned out structure, or, as an employee at Iggie’s Pizza (the restaurant next door to the old Play House) described it, “ruin porn”.

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It was never my intention to take nearly four months off from this blog, but for a blog called Bondage Diaries, I suppose that one would need to have bondage to write about in the virtual diary before one can post.  And I’ve been more or less out of the scene since the incident in July where I was nonconsensually humiliated at DCDungeon, which left me unable to trust the person that I had been playing with up to that time.  I went to the Rockville Munch in September, where I had a good time, but otherwise, I’ve been out of things.  I haven’t played, I’ve only been to one munch, I’ve let the spoon sit up on a shelf in the closet collecting dust, and I’ve been pursuing other interests for a while.  I have been casually looking for a play partner/relationship/whatever lately, both on OKCupid and Collarme.com, but I haven’t had any success with it.  It will come with time, I’m sure.

I’m also not entirely sure yet about where I really “belong” in the fetish scene.  I’m sure that there’s a place for me, but I don’t think I’ve found it yet.  I am 31 years old, I identify as male, I play as a bottom, I list my orientation on FetLife as “heteroflexible”, and I am quite single.  And with what I’ve tried so far, I feel as though I’ve had difficulty relating to these folks.  I feel as though I’m too old for the DC TNG crowd, and it seemed that in that group, people weren’t as amazingly friendly as I would like, and it seemed that many people had their cliques.  However, I also felt somewhat out of place with the older crowd in the Rockville scene, as I felt that those folks had far more experience than I did – so much so that I felt somewhat inadequate by comparison because I lacked that experience.  Plus it’s far less intimidating to meet people when you’re meeting someone with someone else vs. doing so alone, and I was going to these things alone.  It is very possible to feel lonely amongst a crowd of people, and I got that distinct feeling of loneliness a number of times with both the Rockville scene and the DC TNG scene.

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