When you lose a family member

For me, my urban family is probably closer to me than my actual family and losing one of them so harshly 5 years ago today hasn’t made this date any easier to bear.

I miss her face. I miss her cheeky smile and most of all, I miss her bear hugs and wit. I miss the way she made me dance with my eyes closed for hours without trying.

Hold onto those you love, whisper what they mean to you because sometimes you just don’t know when they will be gone.

Carpe diem my dears, carpe diem.

Here’s what I wrote last year …

Mental health services available:

Twenty 10 – GLBTIQ youth counselling and other services

Reach Out

Mental health services Australia

Mental Health Services NSW

Beyond Blue – mental health support


Whore-phobia – Waving the red flag.

I’ve been through a really emotionally draining yet uplifting weekend. However something I came across through my travels that made me sit up and get a bit cranky was this belief that sex workers, hookers, whores… they are somehow less than human. What they do is degrading.. well no, it’s not actually.

Now being that I’m a slut positive and anti-shaming anything kinda gal, I decided I needed to have a rant about it.

Since I live in Australia, prostitution is legal here. Yes I thank the many gods about this fact daily too. What that means is that if I wanted, it is a viable and very profitable way to earn a living. I have friends that earn upwards of $300 an hour for their services.

I have many many friends who are sex workers. They are intelligent, funny, sassy, amazing women and men with degrees from universities all across the country. Does that they get paid hourly to fuck people somehow detract from that? Being that they spend their time being paid to supply sex, does this somehow now make them inferior? Damaged goods? Unwanted because they are used already?

A lot of this ties into slut shaming. And we all know how I feel about that – basically what it comes down to is that as humans we all love sex. Yes, even those people who have a low sex drive and enjoy maybe once every 6 months to those like me who would be having sex every minute of every hour if I could except Cern may just override that and tie me up in a corner to make sure I die from the horny while he tortures me a bit more by sexually frustrating me. Yes I whine, but secretly I love it.

That’s beside the point however.

The point I’m trying to make here is that just because someone has chosen to do sex work doesn’t mean that they are doing it because they have a drug habit, or are sold off in the sex trade, or forced into prostitution. Don’t get me wrong, these things do happen and they are a blight upon sex workers all over the world. It’s unjust, inhumane and shouldn’t be tolerated at all. However, on the flip side, there are also a lot of sex workers in Australia who chose this job for a myriad of reasons which are positive.

I’ve heard some people say that they would never date a sex worker. I never understood this concept. Maybe because the way I view sex and intimacy is really rather different to everyone else. I mean you can totally have sex with someone without caring deeply for them. There doesn’t have to be a connection of any kind apart from the physical act of shagging each other. And when I talk to my friends about their personal relationships with others I came to the realisation that just because they get paid to have sex with people, doesn’t mean that at home they can’t have a fulfilling and loving relationship with someone else. Sex doesn’t equate to love. A loving sexual relationship is so much more. Yet when my friends take on a client that is one of their regulars there’s a level of intimacy there, yet it’s still professional and its still work.

I think sex workers get such a bad rap because people believe that somehow sex makes you dirty. If you’ve been with a lot of people or you take payment for sex then it means you’re tainted goods. I blame the men who wrote those stupid religious texts for these misconceptions and the belief that somehow working as a sex worker is a bad thing.

I once applied and nearly worked at a brothel. Granted it wasn’t a full service house, it was part service or what I like to call a “rub and tug”. You got dressed up in pretty lingerie and massaged people with a happy ending included. No penetration. Only they wanted me to take out all my piercings to work there so I said no. As they say, don’t get between a girl and her piercings man. Which is a shame really, because I think I would have had a ball at the rub and tug.

Basically, I think, it all comes down to sex workers just being like the rest of us. Some have families that they are supporting by being sex workers, other’s are putting themselves through university or just earning a living. Thankfully we live in a country where brothel’s have stringent rules and regulations for all workers including safe sex practices and regular testing and checks.

Maybe I’m just a bit weird but I honestly don’t get the anti-whore-ism that seems to be prevalent in society. Sex workers are amazing people who contribute something amazing to the community, even if you don’t agree with it, it’s an important service that other’s do appreciate and do support.

Myself included.

So when I read or hear anything anti-sex workers I take a stand. I have marched with Scarlet Alliance for worker rights, acceptance and to stop the government from deregulating the sex work industry. I’ve put my hat in the bag and supported friends and other’s I deem family in what they do, their right to do it and the fact that it doesn’t make them less of a person or unable to be a loving partner.

So where do you stand on dating a sex worker? Does it bother you? Would it bother you? Why?


Sex worker positive sites that have some interesting information and links:

SWOP – Sex Workers Outreach Project
Scarlet Alliance – Australian Sex Workers Association



Friends, fucking and love contemplations

Today I read a quote that I had to share because I’ve asked myself some of these questions while I take the time to heal myself:

“I asked my ex, now good friend, if she would ever have an open relationship and she said, ‘No, I don’t think I could do that’ then after a pause and a smile, ‘but what about love affair friendships?’

She went on to describe an impenetrable fortress of female friendship, her own group of best mates who’d known each other since school and had supported and loved each other through almost all of their lifetimes. They sounded far more bonded to, and in love with one another, than their respective husbands.

It struck me that we don’t have the language to reflect the diversity and breadth of connections we experience.

Why is sex the thing we tend to define a relationship by, when in fact it can be simple casual fun without a deep emotional transaction?

Why do we say ‘just friends’ when, for some of us, a friendship goes deeper?

Can we define a new currency of commitment that celebrates and values this?

Instead of having multiple confusing interpretations of the same word, could we have different words?

What if we viewed our relationships as a pyramid structure with our primary partner at the top and a host of lovers, friends, spiritual soul mates, colleagues, and acquaintances beneath that?”

—Rosie Wilby, “You’re More Polyamorous Than You Think”

I think there’s a whole host of relationships that we have with other people and this quote has made me sit and think about these friendships, relationships, loves. For some friends who I love with all my heart and I’m totally in love with them as people.

I believe there’s a whole other world out there that could explain that we all do lead poly lifestyles in a way without even realising it. We give our love without thought to those we hold dear but don’t fuck. So why does only the ones we fuck count as loves of our lives? I’ve had more deep and meaningful relationships with some friends than I’ve ever had with partners.

So why do we focus on fucking for meaning when there’s meaning in so many other areas? How does this all tie in to me though? Sex is really important to me, but it’s not the be all of me and how I relate to people.

But I had to put this here to remember to think outside the box while I keep working on myself.


Do I have to? Realisations in dating

For a long time I’ve wondered why I’ve thrown up walls and excuses for men and women that message me who seem suitable to date.

The other night I had an epiphany from talking a lot with another blogger friend in email has helped me come to some realisations myself.

I’m not ready to date.

I’m not ready to even contemplate anything romantic or heart warming. I’m still in a pretty horrible place mentally, I don’t have the energy to pursue anything because believe me I think there’s some that might be a lot of fun if I did pursue, but I can’t seem to. I think this relates back to the post I wrote about mental health and my health. The fact that after my ex broke up with earlier this year I’ve fallen into a downward spiral of distancing myself from a lot of my friends because that’s what depression does. I’ve isolated myself and I’m clawing my way back out slowly, but this will take time.

So instead of pushing myself to date, I put the brakes on it. It’s not fair on anyone I date. The fact that I wouldn’t be able to wholly commit coupled with the fact that I don’t plan on staying in Australia for more than another 4 years means dating and committing to someone is out of the question.

Because that decision is actually fair on me and it’s fair on a person that I might meet who wants more.

What I did at this point was change my profile to say I’m looking for a FWB arrangement, hence my previous post, to indicate that I would be open to men & women approaching me in regards to this type of arrangement. I was hoping that it would open the world up to those guys & gals that are in relationships so they don’t need me to invest but are happy to see me once or twice a week and be friends outside of that.

What’s wrong with this picture you say?

Well here’s the thing. Usually I am very free in my love and loving. Where, who and what the person in question has done previously wouldn’t be an issue. So this has then made me question why, after years and years of free loving with friends, with acquaintances and with relative strangers have I now made the jump to feeling a bit grossed out by the share factor.

This isn’t the share factor with anyone else on a greater scale – with this I still have no issue, this is the share factor within the Sydney Kink Community.

What’s changed that’s made me not want to explore people sexually that have gotten around a bit? Partly it’s to do with 60% of the Sydney Kink Community I think is full of twatburgers. People and their twue wayisms that are blind to anything outside of how they think this lifestyle should be led. People who think that because you don’t do things their way that your kink is somehow less than what they do. People who are brash, sexist, misogynistic and downright assholes.

I’ve dabbled in this lifestyle and within the community for well over 10 years. I’ve given most of those years performing at Hellfire on stage with my kinky family. The other years I did performances at Inquisition, at various kink nights, at Penrith Panthers once too. I’ve been to Darwin to perform at their Sexxxpo. We’ve been to New Zealand to perform at their annual Kink even in Christchurch. We’ve been to Melbourne to perform at the re-opening of Hellfire Melbourne. I’ve been with people who are long gone that I’ve seen again and haven’t seen again. I used to be part of a house where we opened it up once a month and had people over who used our dungeon, our furniture, our space to drink, eat, make merry… I’ve witnessed kinky marriages, court cases and hate rampages. I’ve had stalkers, falling out with friends, and my own many mistakes over the years.

How did I get to where I am now? How have I changed? Why did I change?

Continue Reading


Bless, the blog loving.

I just wanted to write a quick note to those of you who reached out to me privately & in my comments section about my last post, thank you.

I wanted to say you made my day and reminded me that what we put out we get back and that making yourself vulnerable and open about mental illness doesn’t make you weak. You all helped to make me stronger when I was feeling a bit wobbly.

All the love to you, we may have never met but your words all touched me in the little place behind my left boob.


From the promises of meeting for tea, the cheeky spanks, the pictures and just your words.

Y’all are the best.

So this post was bought to you by the blog love. I’m sharing.



The ex factor. With added friend equation.

The last few days have seen me in a weird place.

You see I found out one of my friends is dating an ex of mine from years ago. Do I care? Not really, except I guess I do because I would have expected her to tell me or say something to me herself.

Instead I hear about it down the grapevine 2 months after the fact.

In a perfect world she would have mentioned it to me, I would have gone oh, but I thought you hated him and he definitely hated you? But you know, hey whatever. But obviously we don’t live in a perfect world and for some reason she never mentioned it.

Our breakup was one of the messiest in my life, it took months of drug therapy in my friends’ hot tub. Not to mention the thought that I had some horrible sexual disease that might kill me in the meantime – back in the days where HIV tests took 6 months. The fact that he not only cheated on me but was a baby-daddy 3 months after we broke up was just a big a slap in the face as any.

Yes, cheers for that matey. But it’s one of those things that I’ve forgiven and every so often the baggage comes back to bite me in the ass even though I think I’ve worked through it.

So on one hand I really truly don’t give a toss about it yet at the same time I’m pissed off that she didn’t say anything.

It’s a very weird place to be.

I find this whole situation really bloody bizarre. Did I slip into an alternate reality? If so where the hell is my Jason Momoa? Who, by the way, I met at the Oz Comic Con in Sydney last weekend. He’s a mountain of a furry man who I’d climb any day. Oh yes. PHWOAR!

Getting back to the point though, am I making this out to be something it’s not? Should I even care? It’s not like it affects my life one way or another.

In keeping with this thought process I believe I’ll just cut it loose. I’m similar in my relationships as I am in my friendships. If my friends can’t be honest and upfront with me then why should they remain my friends?

And to end on a nice bright note, mountain of a man. Furry. Tattoo’s. HAWWWT. Please apply within.


Here’s a picture of us stalking Jason Momoa @OzComicCon – Sydney. You’re welcome.


Blogaversary – the big 5!

WordPress just informed me rather unceremoniously that it’s 5 years since I started blogging with wordpress today. blogiversaryI wish I had the old content from my previous blog that I had on wordpress, it would have complimented what I write here so well. Granted I was slutting around a lot more at that stage so I’m sure it was probably a bit more XXX rated. Still, I had a look at the history in another journal I kept and 5 years ago today I got my wrist tattoo. It was for a landmark year. I’d made it to 30. I never thought I would. I partied so hard in my 20’s – I always thought I’d have killed myself by 30. But I didn’t. So I got this tattoo to remind myself that sometimes life has a different path for us than what we believed. My best friend and my girlfriend at the time accompanied me to my tattoo parlour with me. My best friend refusing to budge because she enjoys watching me giggle in pain, especially when I’m pinned down with a tattoo gun. And fuck me, did I giggle – especially over my wrist bone. I could feel my bone vibrating all the way up my arm. It wasn’t as bad as my tramp stamp I got back back when I was a wee teen before tramp stamps were popular, but it was interesting.

I didn’t know it at the time but it was going to be the last year that I was actually truly happy without a care in the world in my then relationship. Before the black birds started circling, the world got darker before it got brighter. I’d given up being kinky for my partner. I was vanilla and it was slowly killing me.

Things did eventually change, they changed for the better. I went on a my first American rampage a few years after this tattoo. I found myself.

And I remembered to tell people the following on occasion, just for my own sanity.


But happy 5 years wordpress blog!! Happy freaking 5 years, how far we’ve come, yet it feels like we haven’t come far at all.

It’s only when we truly know and understand that we have a limited time on earth — and that we have no way of knowing when our time is up — that we will begin to live each day to the fullest, as if it was the only one we had.

– Elisabeth Kubler-Ross