4

Pride Festival – Istanbul 2016

You know, I was walking around Istanbul on Sunday – Taksim to be precise – when my friend and I noticed something a bit different. There were riot police everywhere. In groups of 5 – 10, 20-50, with gas masks on top of their heads, their machine guns in their arms and a searching expression on their faces as they sized you up as you walked past.

As we walked some more towards the main drag of Taksim, we noticed that there weren’t just riot police, but regular police, water tanks, riot vans, something looking like a tank and a whole bunch of vehicles and men in uniform everywhere. Being that this is Turkey in 2016, we got a bit worried about what might be about to go down. Was there a bomb threat? Should we be clearing out? But it didn’t look like anyone else was moving out of the way, so we trundled along and tried to take “sneaky” picture of the police without them realising as they had filled every side street along the main drag with police vehicles and actual officers.

We walked some more and got a bit more worried as we were pretty sure that the entire Istanbul police force were here. In full regalia. We thought the worst. Instead my friend decided to call her cousin who, bless her, was like the gossip spring of Istanbul. We asked what was going down, do we need to clear out ASAP? Are we in danger?

Her reply was rather a shock to me…

Oh no. Today is meant to be the Pride march and they are all there because the government has told the queers they aren’t allowed to march. I stood still for a minute and did a 360 degree turn. Just to take in the amount of police presence to stop a pride march.

I took a deep breath. And I let it out again.

Mardi Gras at home is so liberating. It’s so full of love, light and laughter. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be in the middle of a march for my fellow queer people and have to go up against so many police officers who were given the right to use gas, water and anything else they could get their hands on to stop you from marching.

This is the police presence in Sydney during Mardi Gras, they actually march in the parade to show solidarity, queer or not –

Police Mardi Gras

2016 – Sydney Police Force marching in GLBTIQ Mardi Gras

And yet, in Taksim, this is the reality of the police presence

#Pride2016 Yasak Ne Ayol! LGBTİ Onur Yürüyüşü#Taksim#Polissaldırı

A photo posted by EYLEM NAZLIER (@eylem.nzlr) on

I tried to comprehend why, why a bunch of queers warranted such a heavy presence. Were these people harming others? Were they stealing? Were they tearing the fabric of reality apart? What could they have possibly done, apart from be who they are, that could garner such a harsh reaction from the people that are meant to be protecting the citizens – not terrorising them?

It brought tears to my eyes to look up and see people stealthily hanging pride flags from their windows. There were rainbows slowly popping up everywhere and still the crowd didn’t really hold many queers.

To our surprise out of nowhere a bunch of people started to walk with rainbow flags, standing tall, standing strong – and I thought. Fuck. The whole police force of Istanbul against 20 young gay youths.

I’m not sure if there were more people that marched in different groups all along the Taksim main thoroughfare, but we only saw these guys before we decided to keep walking.

It breaks my heart that LGBTIQ pride marches around the world are still subject to this form of harassment and intimidation. That gay kids around the world would still rather commit suicide than come out to their religious leaning parents. That anyone would or could harm someone else because of who they fall in love with.

This was not the Istanbul that I was expecting to confront of this day. It wasn’t the Istanbul that I wanted to see. What I wanted to see was an Istanbul that was all inclusive. That didn’t march to the beat of Erdogan’s drum. That let pride marches go freely without gassing, water cannoning or beating my fellow queers up with batons.

Instead what I found myself in was a huge pile of doo-doo that pulled my heart strings, that made me realise how lucky I am as an Australian Turk that I can march without fear of getting a baton to the face for just being in the street during a pride march – let alone because I’m queer.

What I am going to focus on is that the new batch of children that are growing up will eventually replace these dinosaurs that are in power. They will start to run our governments and make laws that are progressive instead of divisive & hate fuelled.

And until that day I’m going to try not to weep for my fellow queers, that despite the resistance and unlawfulness of being who they are, that they keep on marching.

Chin up. Tits out.

March my loves, march.

<3

istanbul-pride-EN

2

The Duke of Burgundy – A peek into a kinky lesbian relationship

As you may or may not be aware, it’s the Sydney Film Festival at the moment and they have some whopper of screenings available to view. This was but one of many that perked my interest and it was a moofie date with one of my most favouritest women.

So off we bounded into the cold and got seated in the State Theatre for our viewing. Now, me being me, I refused to look up anything to do with the film before I saw it so that I didn’t have any assumptions or expectations of it that would leave me feeling like I was let down by the end because it wasn’t what I was expecting. All I know from my friend was that it was about a kinky lesbian relationship.

We snuggled into the soft old style seats of the theatre that were cushioned (my arse thanks you State!!!) and giggled as the movie started up and we whispered.

Not too long into it we both shut up to watch what was going on.

The film itself was a somewhat arty thing. I mean it did start with the “sub”, Evelyn, kneeling beside a river or brook that tinkled loudly on the screen and made me want to rush to the bathroom to wee.

In some ways I think I was captivated by the movie and in other ways it made me question and confirm certain things I know about the lifestyle from my experience.

The Duke of Burgundy is basically about 2 entomologists who are in a lesbian relationship. However one of them is a bit kinky and basically writes on speech cards for her partner about “scenes” she would like played out and when. It kind of reminded me of Pro-Domming in a way, you get told how to behave, what the scene will entail and how long certain things will go for.

And that’s exactly what this woman was doing to her partner. It’s not ever discussed in the film about if the partner is a willing participant, but soon into the film you come across a scene in the bed when they both awake and the non-kinky Cynthia is stroking Evelyn’s face and explaining all the things she loves about her when Evelyn stops her and asks her to tell her of other things instead as her hand reaches down the sheets to start masturbating. Cynthia helps her out with her own hand and starts to tell her things that make her face go neutral as she stares out into space and when she runs out of things to say before Evelyn has come, Evelyn impatiently tells her to start at the beginning. And so Cynthia,  with a roll of her eyes,  says exactly the same things in monotone.

I believe this is the point where you realise that Cynthia isn’t that into all this kinky stuff. But she does it to please Evelyn.

As the movie progresses you realise that Cynthia is also afraid of losing Evelyn because she’s older and with back problems feels that she can’t give Evelyn what she wants.

The plot keeps going, with various “punishments” meted out for transgressions that a maid may have made. However what you realise is that the scenes are repeated is that there’s nothing new. And from what I got from Cynthia was that she was starting to feel the strain that her “acting” was putting on their relationship. There’s only so much one can do something to please their partner before it starts becoming a chore and you start to resent the other person for putting you in a position where you feel that you have to do something in order to keep them in your life.

From what I can see there isn’t much negotiation of these scenes. Evelyn writes on a piece of paper that she will scrub boots outside for a certain period of time at which point Cynthia will come out and find her slacking off and punish her for it. Evelyn washes Cynthia’s underwear with her hands and forgets a piece of underwear. Cynthia “checks” her work and finds said underwear and repeats the same lines from the beginning of the movie. Throughout you see Cynthia drinking lots and lots of water. You see, one of her punishments was to be a human toilet for not washing the underwear. So as she drank more and more, we giggled. Towards the end I started wincing.

However Evelyn polished another lecturers boots and caused a rift. And as their relationship got more strained and the kinky stuff stopped as they rediscovered what they wanted from each other and loved about each other before it was all about the kinky things and you saw their love blossom. Yet at the end of the movie you see Cynthia don her “mistress” attire and say the same lines you saw her repeat at the beginning of the movie.

I think we all have a part to play in kinky relationships. It’s easy to get caught up in the “me, do me” syndrome and not take into consideration what your partner wants or needs from your interactions as well. I guess that’s why negotiation is a high priority. Talking about what you both need and how to go about getting that without pushing the other person into a place where they are a service top or a rent a dom to your needs or desires. BDSM is a two way street and it works perfectly when you are both aligned in what you desire and need from each other in that space.

I’ve said it before and it’s still true. BDSM doth not a relationship make. If you’re in an intimate relationship with someone it’s icing on the cake. It’s not the be all and end all of your relationship. At least it shouldn’t be, not in an intimate romantic relationship. Sure there are relationships where it’s pure S&M or D/S – however those don’t tend to include building a life together outside of the play space. So that’s not what I’m talking about here.

I remember one scene that had me cheering – Cynthia, for Evelyn’s birthday, wanted to order her a bed with a lockable compartment underneath so she could lock her in there. However when the bed maker couldn’t deliver the bed within the time it would take for her birthday Evelyn pouted and wanted to know if they could give her more money to make it arrive quicker. The answer was no, they couldn’t. So Cynthia blindfolds Evelyn on the night of her birthday and takes her into the kitchen where there is an empty cake stand and all the ingredients laid out. She takes off her blindfold and Evelyn falters. She looks confused and asks where her cake is. Cynthia replies, “It’s right in front of you” as she pushes the recipe onto the cake stand in front of Evelyn and continues on, “you will be making the cake.” Evelyn looks shocked and then confused. “But I never made a cake before” she stutters. This is after the betrayal from Evelyn of polishing someone else’s boots and getting punished. Cynthia, dressed in tights and a frilly top shrugs and leaves her to it in the kitchen as she says she is going to go change into something more comfortable. We then pan to Cynthia sitting in a high-backed chair in her pyjama’s – the significance of this is the last time Cynthia wore pyjama’s Evelyn turned down her advances saying that she looked horrible and wasn’t dressed in anything that inspired her to be sexual – Evelyn starts when she realises what Cynthia is wearing. She hands her the cake and is told to lay down on the floor. Cynthia then puts her sock covered foot on Evelyn’s chest. When Evelyn protests Cynthia puts her socked foot over her mouth as you see a tear fall out of Evelyn’s eye as she said her safeword which is ignored. I cheered for the woman who stepped up and took back the power in the relationship. I cheered for the woman who finally got to understand what submission means.

I cheered because… well…

… sometimes D/s isn’t fun. It’s not about what you want. It’s about what they want. It’s about giving up a part of yourself to serve someone else. Sure you can act these bits out now and then in the bedroom or over a weekend, but ultimately, I’ve done 24/7 before and I lost myself. That path leads to darkness and uncertainty. My brand of D/s now flourishes when I’m left to my own devices, when I have some set boundaries in place regards to play, relationships, my access to my body for certain things, etc. I hate being micro managed. I hate and baulk at someone telling me what to do. Sometimes when Cern says something that gets my back up I have to remind myself to back down and acquiesce. And sometimes I don’t. But with a power exchange comes some understanding of what you’ve agreed to and signed up for. And that’s that sometimes I don’t get to do what I want when I want and that sometimes what he says goes. Even if it sets my teeth on edge to comply.

The challenge and triumph of a successful relationship, especially in a kinky sense, is one where you both communicate what you desire and negotiate how to achieve your goals – much like a normal relationship. However I’ve found that this works better on a foundation of love, trust and mutual respect first. Kinky stuff is fun, its great fun, I totally love it… but it’s not all of who I am.

I am more than my love of pain. Of leather. Of rope. I’m multifaceted and BDSM is just one side of me.

62

Breasts – a public entitlement rant.

I have boobs.

The hyperlink here is to my other rant on objectification by random strangers on OKC if you wanted to read about me going off my chops in a different kind of way.

Yes, yes I do. They are on my chest and are quite the size. They are out there and it doesn’t matter what I wear, you’re going to notice that they are there.

Now usually I go about my business and not get hassled at all. But I’ve recently noticed that not only are certain strangers feeling that because I have a dress on that has the girls on display but especially when I’m in a corset – these same people think that they can waltz straight up and stick their hands all over my cleavage.

So let’s start with a cafe that I went to not that long ago. The waiter, whom I didn’t know from the next waiter that worked there, thought it would be awesome to wrap his hand around my waist as he gripped my arse and told me I had a great rack. But not to worry, he’s gay!

Oh, I thought. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that being gay meant that anyone was entitled full access to my body. I must have been hiding behind the couch the day that memo was distributed!

To be fair, I was rather shocked by this man telling me he’s gay – yet at the same time objectifying me to the point where I wanted to punch him. I just wanted a fucking cup of coffee not to feel like my self worth had been trampled all over but then told to not say anything because well, you know, he’s gay!

So I left the place feeling confused and somewhat affronted. I was confused because I didn’t say anything, which is so unlike me it’s not funny. However I came to the realisation that being that I know so many gay men, I have been giving them a free pass when it comes to perpetrating behaviours that make women uncomfortable because they are gay and somehow that makes it ok.

Cue to a play party I went to at a place where all the staff should know better. There was this younger lass I’d seen around but had never introduced myself to in my travels who beelined for me as soon as we got in the door and stopped to say hello to some people we knew. As she was coming at me like a great white shark for the kill, I may have looked at her confused, but that didn’t stop her attack. Her hands started to raise and I thought, oh, this strange young lady is going to give me a hug, why is a total stranger about to hug me? She better not hug me!!! PERSONAL SPACE ALERT!!! But no. Oh no. Her hands smacked straight down on a tit each as she beamed at me and said “I hope you don’t mind, but they look so fantastic in your corset that I just had to race over and touch them”.

I was there with my partner at the time who was meant to be dominant and thought that he may pull her aside to have a quiet word with her but he didn’t. So instead she got faced with bitch queen, I will tear strips out of you with a sweet smile still plastered on my face – working the door at Hellfire for so many years has taught me a lot. Let’s just say she won’t be touching anyone she doesn’t know without asking first ever again.

Well what all these incidents have cemented for me is that it doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, bisexual or a fluffy fucking unicorn filled with sweet and sour lollies – you just DO NOT TOUCH PEOPLE WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION!

Why yes, yes sir, I am feeling a bit ranty at the moment because for a long time I’ve put up with people wondering over and coping a feel of my breasts while they simultaneously tell me it’s ok because;

a) they are gay
b) my boobs were talking to them
c) they had to feel if they were real or not
d) that they really were as soft as they looked
e) they didn’t realise boobs came in this size
f) could they please also stick their face in there?

So that got me wondering at which point do we draw the line? Which point do we say, no, this is unacceptable behaviour. Not only from the gay community but the straight community. It’s like strangers walking up to overweight people in the street and telling them that they need to lose weight for their own health. You think that poor person isn’t aware of their situation? Just like they must think that I magically get up every morning and not see how big my boobs are. Dude, I haven’t seen my feet when I looked down since I was 12!!!

Well I will be quiet no longer. The last guy that tried to walk up to me on Oxford Street after a night at Hellfire with his hands held out like he wanted to smother my cleavage in them ended up bouncing down the street on his arse. Granted he was also being an absolute cuntmonkey with his comments to my wife too – you don’t talk to ladies that way, otherwise ladies get pissed off and you end up looking like a knob. No more free rides people!

Touch my girls at your own peril. I will be suitably violent first and ask questions later.

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♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Don’t forget to send me any Kinky Q & A questions you may have at spankalicious.co@gmail.com or through my contact me page! No question is too silly and if you want to remain anonymous just let me know.

1

The Shame Files: Bathroom Mortification

boy_oh_boy_195x

You know those stories, the ones that you only tell if you’re really really really shit faced drunk? And even then you slur and murmur it to the best of your ability so that no one else can decipher what you said?

Well, today that’s what we’re going to talk about since the other night on the twat (twitter) I lamented that I had the worst writers block and Aussa, being such a lovely, kind and giving kind of woman piped up with how I should tell about something mortifying that has happened to me.

After I giggled at this in bed, it was about midnight Australian time after all… I said yes. Ok, I will. And without further ado; here’s the story. Minus the 3 bottles of tequila. Ooooooooooh boy.

Sydney has one of the most joyous of celebrations… The Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras I thought going dressed as a kinky fairy would be fun. Because kinky any things are fun right? Right.

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30

Morning tears for humanity

Yesterday I started the day by crying, in bed whilst scrolling through Facebook. My cat thought I was a wee bit insane but snuggled up to my mopey self anyway.

It was this video that had me crying.

I was teary all morning due to this and it wasn’t until I stopped to question myself why this video had affected me the way it had.

And I think it’s because I’ve been there. I’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of hatred before, unjustifiable, unreasoning, un-containable hatred. For loving someone of the same gender. I can’t and don’t understand the blatant anger, hatred and blind rage that it causes in people.

Why does what and who I do in the bedroom matter? Why do people feel the need to tell me that I’m going to a hell that was concocted just for the very reason that people could be subjugated? Why is it ok for people to feel that they have the right to scream abuse at me and my partner while they drive past in their cars? To spit at our feet as they pass us in the street because we were holding hands? To tell us that we’re less than human because we’re in love…

I don’t get it. I don’t want to get it. I refuse to get it.

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7

Reformed lesbianism? Is that even a *thing*?!

Reformed what?

I’ve written before about monosexism & my bisexuality.

As mentioned in that post, I was a lesbian before I became bisexual. I’m not going to go into that again with this post. What I did want to talk about was my transition. My journey. My experience.

And my love of women. And men. And possibly some of my relationship epiphanies.

It started young you know, I was kissing girls behind the school toilets when I was 7.

We started experimenting with more than just kissing in the long grass at primary school, possibly about age 10.

I got very familiar with vagina’s during this experimentation period. Don’t get me wrong, they were very confusing, yet endlessly fascinating to me.

Look at that YUMMYNESS!!!!!

Sure I experimented with girls, but I didn’t really have a girlfriend until my late 20’s. Like a proper girlfriend. Move in together and be monogamous kind.

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0

The Gloria Jeans Boycott; where you go to get your coffee served up with a side of homophobia.

And today we look at my love of coffee… and boycott of Gloria Jeans.

Which is unfortunate because they do a mean caramel maccihiato.

It all started about 5 years ago, when my friend told me that Gloria Jeans was owned by the Hillsong Church. I mournfully waved good-bye to my Gloria Jeans frequent sippers card and had a bit of a sob. You see, the Hillsong Church to me, symbolises all that is wrong with religion today. They take a cut of your pay check, they preach hatred and discrimination (homophobia, intolerance of other religions, peoples, etc) and they want to build some holy monolithic structure out west where they can have weekend hoe downs ending in mass orgies.

Well ok, that last bit I made up, but I’m sure if they did have mass orgies they would be less hateful.

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