I am a terrible sleeper.

It’s true. I stay up too late and sleep in even later. My shift at work is 1-9:30, so it’s not like I really have to be up early in the morning. And sometimes (usually on weekends), I do this stupid thing where I don’t go to bed until the birds start their racket and the sun starts coming up.

But the hour before sunrise is a beautiful one. The grey light just feels so goddamn hopeful. I guess it feels like anything can happen, because the sun isn’t quite up yet, so the day hasn’t really started. I exist alone in a sleeping city and the sun isn’t even watching. I can do whatever I want and feel whatever I want and be whoever I want.

This hour makes me reminisce. I think about marching band practice and impromptu camping trips and waking up for just a moment to watch my sleeping lover. This hour makes me cry. I think of all the things I’ve lost and all the things I hope to find. This hour makes me ambitious. I think about changing the world.

I feel silly and young and lonely.

This is my favorite time of day, whether I meet it coming or going. But it’s almost over now.

It is time for me to sleep.

coming out as ‘kin

I’ve come out as queer. I’ve come out as genderfluid. I’ve come out as a diaper fetishist and I’ve come out as kinky. But there has been one thing that I have been holding back for years because I’ve been embarrassed and scared of what people might think. I allude to it every so often, but I’ve never come out and said it.

And I’m probably going to put off saying it until the end of this post. Beating around the bush is a specialty of mine.

You see, I was born loving dogs. Dogs of any shape, size, breed — as long as it was canine, I liked it. My older brother had a dog very briefly (like a few months) when I was three years old or so, but other than that, I wasn’t around dogs. I just knew I wanted one. And I knew I wanted to be one. When my friends and I would play house, I was the dog. When we played a game called “Horses” (I know this game involved us splitting into pairs and using jump ropes around our waists as reins, but I’m not sure what the point was beyond that), I was never a horse, I was a dog on a leash. When my best friend and I played pretend, I was constantly trying to convince him that we were puppies, not superheroes or whatever the hell he wanted to be. I always tried to shoehorn a dog into any playground game, and I’m pretty sure most of my schoolmates thought I was weird.

Well, I am weird, but that’s beside the point.

Finally, when I was eight, my family got me a puppy. I named her Doughnut (for no real reason other than being eight years old and having a loose grasp on what was acceptable as a name) and from that point on, I knew I could never not have a dog somewhere in my life.

I never really grew out of playing at being a dog, I just had to pretend that I had. When I was twelve or thirteen, I wanted to be a werewolf. I wrote story after story about werewolves and shapeshifters and transformations of all sorts. I looked up ways to become a werewolf online, but to my dismay, none worked. Obviously.

After I decided that becoming a werewolf was a no-go, I floundered for a while. I considered myself part of the furry community, but never felt like it was a perfect fit for me. Sure, there were a few people that felt like I did, but I knew that we were the exception, certainly not the rule.

All through this period, I heard terms that I pretended didn’t apply to me: species dysphoria, therianthropy, Otherkin. I didn’t want to be lumped into that category of “Oh, you’re one of them.” While I respect people like Stalking Cat (because goddamn, he hit the ground running), I want to perceived by people as generally “normal.” Not that I am normal, really, I just like blending in with the Muggles, for the most part.

Fast-forward to me finding the BDSM community. When I found out that puppy play existed, I was overjoyed. This was what I had been looking for my whole life. I dove right in and found my groove. I realized, however, that I took puppy play a little more seriously than most of the other players I encountered. But what the hell, I found what I loved. It was finally okay for me to talk about being a puppy. It was finally okay to get on all fours and bark and shamelessly beg for scritches and belly rubs. This was it, right?

Not quite. On Sunday, I attended a puppy play class taught by Liliane Hunt at Rocky Mountain Olympus Leather. I was excited to be there, simply because I’ve never actually been to a real class on puppy play, I’ve just been playing this all by ear. While talking about puppy players, she mentioned therianthropy and looked me right in the eye. The moment was quick, but Otherkin and therians have been on my mind recently. What a coincidence.

So here it is. I’m coming out again. This time as a therian. Although my body and my brain are human, my soul has a more canine shape. Maybe in a past life I was a dog. Maybe the Universe made a mistake and misbottled me. Maybe this was just the way I was made. I dunno, and that’s not really the important part.

I love being human; I love being dog. I love that there is a place for me to express my dog side in a safe and supportive environment. I love feeling my tail wag and my ears twitch. I love curling up at the feet of a person I love, but I also love being able to hold their hand in mine. I love being able to type with my fingers in order to tell you about my dog soul. I have been blessed with so much fluidity in my life, and it seems that even my species is just as mutable as my gender.

So, uh, there it is.

And I’m sure that a bunch of you will react the way my best friend did when I came out queer to him.

“Oh, yeah. I knew that.”

being boy

I am female-bodied. I have tits and a cunt. Up until about a year ago, I identified as strictly female. This past year, I’ve put a lot of thought into gender constructs and stereotypes and where I fit on the gender spectrum. Generally, I float somewhere between male and female, although I’m usually leaning toward female. I use female pronouns 98% of the time, but I am usually delighted when someone reads me as male. I dig being androgynous, you see.

But I also dig being one or the other too. I love being a girl. I love feminine energy and I love love love to be my Ma’am’s “good girl.” But since embracing my genderfluidity, I’ve wondered what it would be like to be a boy to a Sir. You see, I’m so queer that the female part of me is a dyke, and the male part of me is a fag.

This past weekend, I got to do something that I’d never done before (but always wanted to). I was a boy in service to Sir on Saturday. Now, I’ve been “puppy” to someone before, and I’m currently “girl” to my Ma’am. Being “boy” was different, but goddamn, did it make my cock hard. My time in service to him began with him teaching me how to take care of and polish boots (I’d just received my first pair that day), which is a skill I’ve been wanting to learn for a while now. After that, Sir took his boy (and his boy’s shiny new boots) to a play party.

We scened on a St. Andrew’s cross, me in nothing but a jock strap, boots, and a clever rope harness that kept a Hitachi right on my clit. Sir started flogging me and turned the Hitachi on. He leaned close at one point and told me that I could cum as much as I liked. Of course, being a “greedy little bastard” (as Sir put it, and he’s completely right), I got right to work on those orgasms. Writhing on that cross while he flogged me and punched me and yanked my hips back to meet his crotch was, to put it simply, fucking hot. Sir is a big guy, just the kind of bear that queer little Eli likes. At one point, he flipped me over to face him. I had cum a handful of times by then, and I was floating. Hearing him growl was enough to get me close to orgasm by then, and looking him in the eye while he told me to “Cum for me, boy.” was euphoric. I couldn’t stop grinning and laughing and whimpering and moaning. The boy inside me that has been desperately begging to come out for years was finally having his way.

I came 13 times over the course of the scene, and by the time he pulled me off the cross, I was exhausted, but in that good “just got fucked” kind of way. I was over the fucking moon.

There is something that just feels so right about being boy. Just like there is something that is so beautiful in being girl. I feel so goddamn lucky that I can be both.

Because I am a greedy little bastard. :)

curve balls from the universe

My life always surprises me.

A little more than a year ago, I met a couple in the community who I immediately liked. They both felt genuine and honest to me, and even though I spent a lot of time hiding behind my dominant’s skirts and not doing a whole lot of talking, I liked seeing the couple at events and listening to them talk. I harbored a pretty huge crush on the girl, and I was so flattered when I learned that the guy had read my blog and my erotica and liked them both. But I had a lot of shit on my plate and never got to know either of them any better. And I was shy as hell.

Now I call them Sir and Ma’am and I spend a lot of time sitting at their feet. Now I wear a cuff that shows I am in service to Ma’am. Now I love them.

I feel like I have had a growth spurt of the soul. I look in the mirror and I like myself. I am becoming the Elliot I’ve wanted to be. I may not have all my shit together, but I’m constantly moving forward.

Just in the past couple days, I’ve started to get over a pair of hangups that have been plaguing me for years. First, dancing. I got drunk enough to dance last Friday and had a grand time of it. There was no pressure and I wasn’t forced onto the dance floor, it was all up to me. And it all started with The Cha-Cha Slide. Nothing like a little structured dancing to get me to shake my ass. ;D I’ve even set up a dancing date for this Friday with a lovely lady I’ve been seeing (let’s call her my paramour, shall we?). Sure, I need some alcohol in me to grease the wheels a bit, but I am excited to get all glammed up and request some Lady Gaga to move to.

And second, diapers. I’ve been aware of my diaper fetish for going on four years now, but I’ve always felt a massive amount of guilt/shame/disgust about it. I’ve self-deprecated and apologized and have never been willing to really accept it as a part of me. It’s always just been a weird thing that I do. I’ve wondered why the universe saw fit to give me such an odd fetish, and even been angry that I was stuck with it. I am no stranger to the binge-purge cycle (buy a ton of fetish stuff, indulge, feel guilty/gross, throw it all out, lather, rinse, repeat). Ma’am and Sir have refused to let me be ashamed of my fetish, and have been extremely supportive of it. After all, as Ma’am would ask me, “Does it make you happy? Then there’s nothing wrong with it.”

I hadn’t done much diaper play with Ma’am before. She’d given me assignments involving diapers, but at the play party this last Saturday, we did the fuck out of some diaper play. I have only played with dips at a party once before, about a year ago, and it was still pretty private. The two tops and I were squirreled away in a tiny room for most of it, and most people weren’t paying attention to it. This time, I was in the corner of a room filled with people.

I was wearing a diaper underneath a short dress, but soon, I wasn’t even wearing that dress. Ma’am had cut it off of me and wrote “I’m a dirty little girl” on one tit, “Diapers make my cunt wet” on the other, and “I like to piss in my diapers” on my back. And off we went. Body punching, gas masks, face slapping, and a nice big helping of humiliation. She would punch the phrase she’d written and have me say it. I finally ended up screaming out “Diapers make my cunt wet.” There were at least 20 people in the room.

And goddamn, was my cunt wet. I was being pushed harder than I’ve ever been pushed before, in a very tender spot, but I was enjoying all of it. I found that I didn’t care what all those people thought. We were at a fetish party, for chrissakes. They probably had some deep, dark, secret fetishes that they were ashamed of. And here I was, showing mine off and getting an intense amount of pleasure from it.

I’m proud of that scene. I’m glad that Ma’am pushed me so hard, because I’m finally accepting my fetish. I have a diaper fetish. Sure, it’s a little odd, but it makes me damn happy. It makes my cunt wet and gives me amazing orgasms.

I am a dirty little girl and that puts a sly little grin on my face.

mother monster & me

I’m not sure how it comes across online, but if you know me in real life, you know I have an extreme obsession with Lady Gaga. I have one whole wall covered in posters and photos of her, and it’s started to spread to the other walls. I watch her music videos on a pretty regular basis and always get a little emotional about something in them. I’m always interested in live performances or TV specials or late night TV interviews, and I always get all reverent when she’s speaking. When the music started and I saw her silhouette at the Monster Ball, I cried like a small child because it felt like I was finally meeting god. Every time I see her, I smile. Every time I hear her speak, I get a little fluttery in my stomach. I think she’s beautiful, adorable, amazing, divine. I’m in love.

Like I said, it’s a serious obession.

So why do I feel this way about a pop star, of all people? Why don’t I hitch my wagon to someone “more serious,” someone who doesn’t sing about love glue-gunning or unicorns or disco sticks, someone who doesn’t wear meat or bubbles or teal wigs?

Because Lady Gaga saved my life. No, she didn’t swoop in to rescue me from an oncoming train, but over the past couple years, I was having a lot of trouble coming to terms with a lot of things about myself. Finding out I had some very unique fetishes was devastating. It made me feel ugly and undesirable. I’ve been struggling with my sexuality for years, but I never wanted to face it head on because I knew I would face discrimination from friends and family. I needed someone who understood what I was facing. I needed someone who told me it was okay to be who I was inside and someone who loved me for all my quirks.

Enter this five-foot-one, insanely-high-heeled, no-pants-wearing, crazy-headgear-sporting Italian woman who had an amazing set of pipes and preached a gospel I desperately needed to hear.

ch-ch-changes

So my life has been pretty busy lately. New experiences and new friends abound! I got a cushy new job with the postal service which means that I’m finally going to be able to pay off a few debts and start saving money for school. Honestly, this job was a godsend. I already feel so much better about my future. For the longest time I’ve been worried about school and wondered if I would ever be able to go back, and I honestly felt like a failure because I was always that kid who was going to go to college and get started on her career right out of the gate. Obviously, shit got in the way and I had to face some obstacles before I was really ready for school, but now I finally feel ready. I finally feel as if I’m not just a kid anymore. I’m certainly not a full-fledged adult, but at least I don’t feel like a little girl.

And hey look, I got another hole in my face! :D

Besides getting my nose perforated, I’ve recently started pursuing a D/s relationship with a beautiful, amazing, marvelous (and did I mention attractive?) woman. It’s quite different from the D/s I’ve engaged in before, but I’m enjoying myself a lot. It’s more service-oriented than I’ve had in the past, and although I have mentioned how lazy I am (because I am), it is bringing me joy and I am learning and growing so much already.

I know I said I wouldn’t do poly again. I know I swore it off and said that it just wasn’t for me. But opportunity opened a door. And when a door is opened for you, you walk through it. Ma’am is the girl of a man that I respect and admire. My relationship with her is going to be part-time, and honestly, that’s great. I’m not ready for a full-time D/s relationship, nor do I want one.

I feel as though I finally understand the importance of independence. I have been so guilty of becoming dependent on others in the past. It’s not cool. I am 21 (coming up on 22, holy shit) and my life is finally starting to realign again. This past year has been really hard on me. My life was in a constant state of flux (realizing I was a flaming homo, coming out to my parents, losing my parents’ support, having no money, a constant fear of becoming homeless, failing at school, realizing I was genderfluid, learning to be okay with kink, and to top it all off, a break-up). Now I’m living in my own (tiny) apartment, I have a good full-time job, I’m saving money for school, I’m moving forward and upward and it feels really good. Of course I still have troubles and insecurities, but I’m also working to break down those walls.

The other night Ma’am and I played. I’ve never played quite so hard. I won’t share details because it was a sacred experience for me, but heavy bondage + intense flogging/punching = catharsis. My physical limits were pushed farther than they’ve ever been pushed before and I feel as though a lot of negativity was purged from me that night. For the first time in my life, I looked myself in the eye, said “I am strong, I am beautiful,” and believed it.

I am strong.
I am beautiful.
My heart beats for me.
The sun in my chest burns for me.

a dog’s purpose

Last night I burned through a book I’ve been meaning to read for a while, called A Dog’s Purpose. It’s a novel about a dog who keeps being reborn to learn its purpose in life.

Because I am someone who identifies closely with dogs and am also searching for my purpose, this book was a very emotional trip for me. I was reminded of my relationship with my ex a lot, simply because that was part of our D/s dynamic, and a part that I enjoyed very much.

In the book, the dog’s first life is very short. But its second life as a golden retriever named Bailey, is when he starts to understand his purpose. “This was, I decided, my purpose as a dog, to comfort the boy whenever he needed me.” He and his boy get lost in the woods for a while and he protects the boy. “What mattered was not what I wanted; what mattered was that I was there in the woods when Ethan was cold and hungry, keeping him warm at nights, being his companion.”

I feel a lot like this dog, trying to understand my purpose in life. I thought my purpose was to comfort my owner whenever she needed me. I thought my feelings didn’t matter as much as hers did. After all, that is a dog’s purpose.

But I forgot one very important thing.

I am a human being.

No matter what I want to be, no matter what I see myself as, I am, first and foremost, a human being with human emotions and human desires. If I try to stuff myself into one little box, it will hurt. I must remember that I am a human adult, and that I need to take care of myself as such. Of course, it’s fun to be a puppy. I love being a puppy. But that is only one part of me.

My purpose is not a dog’s purpose.

Of course, the puppy inside me wants nothing more than to be herself and give freely of everything she can. But I’ve realized that’s dangerous for me. Perhaps in my next life, I can be the puppy I so badly wish to be. But right now, I am a human named Elliot, and I have to honor that first.

When the dog’s life as Bailey comes to a close, the vet comforts him, saying: “You can let go, Bailey. You did a good job; you took care of the boy. That was your job, Bailey, and you did a good job; you are a good dog, a good dog.”

In a way, I feel like part of me has died and been reborn. I’ve left the names that Misha gave me behind. Those dogs have died. They’re not gone; they’ve pulled themselves out of the ashes with me. But just like newborn puppies, I’m not quite ready to find them an owner yet.

Chloe and Axle did their best. They were good dogs. Like Bailey, I thought I had found my ultimate purpose in life. But there is a long life ahead of me. I’m gathering up this little girlpup and boypup and we’ll see what happens next. <3