They say you get more conservative as you get older. 

Some people might. My parents certainly have. But me? I've done nothing but attempt to unlearn all the conservative horse shit I was raised with. From narrow-minded views on sexuality and gender, to generalizations around race, it was all there. And it is all slowly being erased. 

Throughout the entire process, there have been a couple of points that have stood out in particular. 

The first is to listen. Just shut the fuck up and listen to marginalized communities and basically anyone with a different perspective from yours. It's not always easy, and you will definitely be uncomfortable (at the very least) but it's worth every bit in order to gain even a little empathy. And once you start to see things from other sides, you can't unsee it. Absolutely earthshattering. 

The second is a simple enough phrase but it opened up EVERYTHING for me. It's that intention does not equal impact. 

Think about that. What you intend with your words and actions actually means very little. If someone else is in pain, is in fact damaged or harmed, because of your actions? It fixes nothing to say, "but I didn',t mean it!" 

And yet, every day, I see someone defend themselves by using the phrase, "it wasn't my intention to..." I've seen people claim that accidents weren't their fault because they didn't intend what happened. Okay, but the thing still happened. The impact is that property was damaged or destroyed - you can't undo that just by saying you didn't intend it to happen. This is not a personal example, by the way, only something I saw online and was floored by. 

There's nothing inherently wrong with the phrase either. There are even times when it can be used to strengthen an apology, but by itself? By itself, I hear it more often as an excuse, as if those words alone should be enough to absolve someone. 

They're not. 

Worse is when this phrase - or something like it - is followed by a "but." We've all heard it - "I don't mean to be racist but..." "I'm not trying to be sexist but..." The but negates everything that comes before it. Yes, every time. 

I've done it. I know I have. And I've come a long way in eliminating these phrases. For me, however, just seeing the words "intention is not the same as impact" was a game changer. It absolutely affected how I saw most interactions. Now, I find myself using it with others on a regular basis. 

Maybe now you can too. 

I'm not sure why asking for help is one of the hardest things to do in life, but it is. 

Is it that it feels like admitting defeat? Is it the feeling of failure? Something else? 

Personally, I'm an only child who has lived on my own for most of my life. I'm used to doing everything on my own and I am more or less good with it. Also, I have trust issues. If I do it, I know it's getting done the way I want it to get done. 

But as I write this, there is a stranger cleaning my kitchen. I hired her from an app and immediately started second-guessing the decision. What did it mean to say I needed help? 

I flashed to my female elders. My mother - the perpetual stay-at-home mom who rarely worked outside the home while I was growing up. She would tell you that that's simply how it's supposed to be. She would call herself "traditional" and "a rule follower." 

And then there's my grandmother - the Italian one who barely cleared five feet in height but almost single-handedly took care of her husband through years of illness and his eventual death that came almost 20 years before her own. She lived alone those last years and died at the age of 97. She didn't even stop driving until a year or so before she died.  She did everything herself.
The first sign that anything was wrong, that her health just might be declining, was that she accepted help around the house from one of my aunts. 

Is that who I was becoming by hiring a professional cleaner? 

I could see my mother tsking and shaking her head. Maybe even offering to help herself. As if that wouldn't be even more humiliating than hiring a stranger. 

Fundamentally, I know this is different. I work full time. I have a busy vending schedule that is starting to heat up. Earlier this year, both my partner and I had minor surgeries within a month of each other. We both needed to heal. The end of last year was also extremely busy for me.

All of that to say that I haven't had the spoons or the energy to clean well in months. I've done the basics - laundry, dishes, that sort of thing. Everything else has just sort of piled up. 

So in preparation for this stranger from an app, I started organizing in earnest. There were certain tasks I simply could not leave to someone else. They wouldn't know what to do with all the junk on my dining room table, or my craft supplies. So much of the past week has been spent getting ready to have someone else clean. 

That feels weirder than hiring this woman in the first place. But I maintain that I wasn't cleaning exactly - I was organizing and making things easier for her. 

When this is over, I know I will feel better. The place will look good and I will be happy. Certainly, if this was anyone else, I would be supportive and tell them that of course there's nothing wrong with asking for help. I might even say I was proud of them. 

So why can't I say that to myself? Why must the self-talk always be so negative? Why can't I offer myself the same grace I would offer anyone else?  If I could answer that, I could probably solve all the world's problems. 

Anyway, this is my reminder to be kind to yourself. Give yourself that grace and that support. You deserve it. As do I.

I've been pretty openly queer for about 15 years now. I entered the kink community in 2007 and it didn't take me long to discover there were more possibilities than gay and straight. Or to figure out that I was neither. 

But I just couldn't embrace the glitter and rainbows right away. I could appreciate that they worked for other people, and I never had a problem with that. But I am a dark, broody Scorpio dammit. Like my favorite vampires, I do not sparkle. 

These bigots today though. I tell ya - they really know how to radicalize a person. 

The decision to snuggle up to the shinies wasn't a conscious one. I never said, "I need more rainbows in my life." They just sort of appeared. At first, it just made sense to add a few pride pieces to the crafts I was vending. And then, I swear they multiplied on their own. Bam! Rainbows everywhere! I now have a rainbow plushy on display in my home, along with a sun catcher. Even a tattoo of said sun catcher. 

So what really happened?

The short version is that the bigots got louder. And the louder they got, the more determined I was to stand up against them. Have I mentioned I'm a little stubborn? Yeah, blame the German/Irish/Italian genes - there was no escaping it.

After the 2016 election, I remember how utterly pointless both my crafts and my writing felt. Who needs smut or silly art when we might enter World War 3 over Twitter at any moment? Why bother when so much about life as we knew it was thrown into disarray and chaos? 

I continued making art and writing because I needed the escape. I needed my characters and the world I had created because it felt sane. Later, my favorite character to date would inject some much needed gentleness and kindness. No wonder I love him so much. 

And if I needed these things, it was a sure bet that others did too. At some point, my art also became a sort of beacon, a signal to others under the LGBTQ+ umbrella that I was one of them. The result? I was recently told by a fellow vendor that they felt safe with me. That seeing me and my partner meant that someone would be in their corner. 

Melted my cold, Gen-X heart, let me tell you. I'm still processing what that meant and how to live up to it. 

Every now and then, a meme comes along with the advice to "be the person you needed when you were younger." 

The first time I saw it, it was a nice platitude. The older I get, however, the more I hope to live up to it. I know I'm working on it. I know I don't judge people's sexualities or identities. I judge on more important things like how you treat people in the service industry and whether you drive too slowly in the passing lane. 

Otherwise, I hope to be that safe, non-judgmental place where you feel free to be your authentic self that I didn't have. 

And it occurs to me that maybe that's how I actually break the cycle of generational trauma. I didn't need to have kids of my own. I need to help take care of the kids coming up behind me. I need to let them know that some of us X-ers do care. 

I'm in a few writing groups on Facebook. Some are purely for marketing, others are for writers to help and support each other. Writing has been on the back burner for me lately, so I'm not often involved in many discussions. 

But a recent one got my attention. A man said he wanted to write a story set in a particular ethnic part of a city and asked if people really thought it was necessary for him to research more before writing it. After all, he grew up with friends of this ethnicity, so he already knew quite a bit. 

I was pretty sure he already had his mind made up, but I answered anyway. In fact, a lot of people tried to advise him. He ignored most of us, and I was left wondering why he had bothered. 

I'm not saying you should only write what you know - people with your background, in your city, with your sort of experiences. But I will say to tread carefully when venturing too far away from yourself, particularly when marginalized communities are involved. 

The example I gave in my answer was that I wrote a trans woman as a key character a couple of books back. I have plenty of trans friends and acquaintances, but I still did research into some specific areas that I wasn't knowledgeable about. I also found a sensitivity reader to go over the chapters my character was in and offer advice. She was extremely helpful.

I wanted to get this right. I had written another trans character earlier in the series and regretted how I had treated her. I had to make up for that, and I feel I did as much as I could. But, interesting as this new character was, I would never write an entire book from her perspective. That's not my story to tell, and I wouldn't want to center myself or my cis-ness.

In my last book, my main character was Irish American and comes from a typically large family. My only child self realized quickly how much help I needed in telling his story. The difference here is that Irish Americans can no longer be classified as marginalized. No one is targeting them en masse. Further, there was enough commonality with my own ethnic background, that parts of the story felt very familiar indeed.

Sometimes, crowdsourcing is enough. My friends group is diverse and knowledgeable about a wide variety of topics. I've gotten invaluable input from them. Other times, I've had to turn to the internet. Regardless, I always want to get it right, and I never assume I know everything. I've gotten compliments on this approach. Compliments I value because, to me, it says I'm doing something right. 

I know where I've drawn the lines for myself - mainly, that I will not try to tell a marginalized community's story. They will be included because they exist, and I want them to be represented, but I wouldn't want to speak for them. Other writers will draw their own lines in different ways. But I'd rather read those stories from the perspectives of people who have lived them. 

Not another old white guy. 

Except for that part where I don't want to fuck him immediately. Apparently. 

Welcome back to my series dedicated to the crap I find in my private messages. I've had a few recently so let's explore, shall we?

This first one seems really confused. He was about half my age and, when I went through the history on his FL profile, I found he'd been on the site for just over two years. He has spent much of that time loving titty pictures and complaining about how he can't find a play partner. Naturally, he hasn't participated much in groups or done much to advertise. Apparently, his repeated statuses regarding his search should suffice. Spoiler alert - they haven't. I guess it's just too much work to figure out what he might be doing wrong or to actually get to know a woman first. 

Exhibit A - I'll call him Immature.

Immature: Greetings Daphne :) I must say you are absolutely gorgeous ❤ you interested in playing with or dating a younger man by chance? Hope to hear back from you :)
Me: What drew you to my profile? Besides the pretty pictures, that is :)
Immature: I love the way that you carry yourself with your words and your appearance :) you're older, older women are absolute gems ❤, I see you have a very wide range of interests on here so it seems. You just caught my eye
Immature (again): You also seem to have quite a bit of experience with different things as I'm just slowly learning :)
Me: Your profile doesn't tell me much except that you're into older women. Was there something more specific we have in common? I don't mind younger, but we are going to need common interests 🙂
Immature: Well, I love incest roleplay, I love being in control and doing what I want most of the time but I also love to please as well
Immature (again): Like I said, I'm still learning quite a bit
Me: And I have zero interest in incest role play ...as you might have guessed given that it is not mentioned anywhere in my profile. There is plenty there though if you actually want to talk about any of it.
Immature: I see you're interested potentially In being fisted ;) that really turns me on. I also see you bought yourself a cage which is really hot 🥵🔥
Immature (again): I'd love to fill all your holes ❤
Immature (yet again): I'd love to lock you in the cage and use you at my leisure 😘
Me: I also list myself as demisexual which means I need a connection before talking about any of that.
Immature: That I also respect :) no worries
Me: And you're not actually interested in me as a person. Good to know.
Immature: I never once said that?
Me: You didn't have to. I gave you multiple chances to actually read my profile and find something you wanted to discuss. You still haven't done that.

Aaaand....crickets. I'm tempted to message him again and try to teach him how to use Fetlife, explain that it's not set up to be a dating site, yadda yadda yadda. But somehow I doubt that's the education he's after.

A few weeks ago, I decided to take myself grocery shopping. I was feeling out of sorts and very much like I could just sit and watch stupid cat videos on my phone all day. But I also needed a few things, and I knew that getting up and moving around would improve my mood. My compromise to myself was that I would indulge in a few comfort foods such as quality cheeses and a small ice cream cake. 

The cheeses felt like a mature decision. I know what I like and I'm able to spend a few extra dollars to get better than store brand blocks of the basics. Nothing against store brands - they've gotten me through a lot of days and are always an option. But on this night, I felt like branching out. Hell, if I drank more, I might have even paired my choices with some decent wine. 

But I didn't. Instead, I went for the frozen confections. It wasn't my first trip to this particular aisle, but it was the first time that it felt ... weird. Almost like I was doing something naughty. Or at least something I shouldn't be doing. As if the cashier might know that I was buying it just for me and didn't have children or a special occasion. I didn't even have company to share it with.

Later in the week, I mentioned this to my therapist. I told her my choice felt childish. Her response? "There is no age limit on ice cream cake." 

I've been thinking about that a lot since then. It's come to mind as I've decided to indulge a few other pursuits that might be considered immature. 

First off, I went a little overboard regarding Valentine's Day. This one is new for me. I've never been about cutesy stuff, or hearts and flowers. And yet, in the past few years, I have myself collecting stuffies and blankets and reveling in the comfort of it all. 

Plus, I am surrounded by amazing women so why not share the love a little? Target has so much fun stuff in their $1 aisle and in the holiday section that I bought a bunch of candy and small toys and put together little gift bags for those closest to me.  Those farther away got cards and stickers. 

God, that was fun. It may seem silly and inconsequential, but I had fun. And based on the reactions, people are enjoying their little gifts. 

I have also decided to indulge my love of stickers - going so far as to buy special books to put them in and then spending far too much on Etsy for some really fun designs. I was an 80s kid. I used to fill photo albums with the things. It's what we had. Until recently, I had no idea there were options for adults. But again, I could afford to and I did. 

I could probably dig pretty far into why I'm only now starting to feel like comfortable in letting out my inner child. I was "gifted," "mature for my age" and had more adult friends than ones my own age growing up. In a lot of ways, I barely ever felt like a kid. But that's for my next therapy session. Possibly several therapy sessions. 

My point is - I'm able to afford childish things and enjoy them. There's literally nothing stopping me. Nor should it. I'm a big believer in the idea that there are no "guilty pleasure." There are just things you like. And don't we all need things that give us comfort and make us happy?

Apparently, it's time to start applying that to myself. 

You were among the first people I met in the kink community. You explained sub drop to me and comforted me when I didn't yet understand what I was feeling. 

You welcomed me into your home, treated me like Family. How many laughs around that pool? How many scenes in that basement? I remember one where bottoms walked around in a circle in a perverted type of musical chairs while tops hit us with riding crops. I think that was the first time S kissed me. 

I based one of my favorite early characters on you. Including so many of my favorite personalities was my way of honoring the community that had welcomed me. How could I resist portraying someone who could turn men's balls into pin cushions with such glee? 

We had similar backgrounds with restrictive religions. As a result, we had each come into kink a little later than others. I felt seen. I felt validated. You understood, you listened, and reassured me that I wasn't alone. 

I also remember when the scenes got darker. A few even took some left turns. I chalked it all up to you having a bad night, an error in judgment. Certainly forgivable. And yet, the shine was starting to wear off our friendship.

And then things really started to fall apart. A schism in our formerly close-knit community. I remember you leading the charge. I remember the deliberate antagonism and lies. I remember you choosing the side of a predator and the sense of betrayal some of us felt. By the time you were actually gone, it was a relief. 

I think I've seen you once since? A funeral for a mutual friend. We barely acknowledged each other. I was distracted by the loss and barely registered that you were there. 

This past weekend, I could no longer ignore you so easily. So weird to come face to face with you and feel ... nothing. None of the former affection, none of the love. I could only go cold and numb. I realize now that it was a defense mechanism against your own frostiness. 

I wonder now what was the point? What were you hoping to achieve? Maybe you were hoping no one would be left who would remember you and what you did. Maybe you came to compare us to your new group. Maybe you thought we couldn't succeed without you. Or that you would be welcomed back with whatever the kink equivalent is to a fatted calf. 

Were you disappointed? Is that why you fled so quickly? Maybe you got some of the same flashbacks I did. 

Actually, I hope I am lingering in your mind the same way you're lingering in mine. I hope you remember and I hope you are aware of what you've lost. Because I'm good. I have actual supportive people around me who I cherish. 

I'm not sorry you're no longer one of them. 

I first watched the film Girl, Interrupted shortly after it came out in 1999. But until this past weekend, I hadn't revisited it in probably 20 years.
 
In 1999, I was married, something that seemed like the right thing. The natural thing. It’s what was supposed to happen, right? Settle down, move to suburbia, have a grill in the backyard, and maybe have a kid or two.
 
Spoiler alert – none of that happened. The marriage itself only lasted about three years. And devastated as I was to see it end, I would come to realize that ending it was the actual right thing. For me, marriage to a man – especially a vanilla man who only reinforced my belief that wanting to be tied up was weird – was not natural.
 
And one of the first clues, looking back, was my response to a scene in Girl, Interrupted. In my memory, Angelina Jolie leans over and places a passionate kiss on Wynona Ryder while they’re passengers in a van. The reality, I was rather shocked to discover, was that it was Ryder who leaned over and placed a quick, almost chaste peck on Jolie’s lips.
 
Huh, I thought. This seemed like a bigger deal at the time.
 
Because it was a bigger deal then. That is, it was to me. I got pants feelings. For the first time. About women.
 
I remember mentioning it to my then husband though I doubt I expressed quite how big a deal it was for me. I'm not sure I could have explained it to anyone else then. I barely understood it myself. All I knew was that there was a stirring that had never happened without a man being involved - or some type of bondage. I also remember him shrugging it off, possibly laughing. Because of course he did. He had probably gotten pants feelings too. He probably found my response cute.
 
It wasn’t cute.
 
All my life, I’d been told that the worst thing you could turn out to be was gay. And even at the age of 27, I didn’t yet realize that bisexuality was a real thing. Of course I’d heard the word, but it always felt the first step in coming out as gay. Elton John had come out as bisexual and look how that turned out. Only weirdos claimed to be bisexual and then it was just safer than saying you were gay.
 
It would take me several more years to realize that being bi was a very real, very valid sexuality.
 
My immediate response, however, was to compose a list. I called it my “If List.” That is to say, if I were a lesbian, I’d totally want to bang…these women.
 
First on it was Angelina Jolie. She held the top spot right up until the list was dissolved. Shakira, Salma Hayek, and others were all added in short order. Funny that now I can barely remember who all I included. Pretty sure Gina Torres got added eventually though, possibly Sara Ramirez. All I am sure of is that my type seemed to be petite, curvy women. Preferably of Latin descent.
 
Like so much about me, however, my type in women would evolve too. It wasn’t long before I also became attracted to more androgynous, even butch, women. Early in 2007, I would meet someone who would shatter everything I had ever believed about gender and what I was attracted to. They presented mostly female at the time despite an androgynous build and height of just over six feet. I have watched them dance with gender ever since, playing with it, defying people’s expectations of it, and reveling in the confusion they cause.
 
They went on the list too. Along with a couple of other women I met in the kink community. Adding people I had actually met felt odd but not wrong. I remember being surprised when the list approached double digits though.
 
S was different. They weren't like anyone else on the list. Even now, I find it difficult to make accurate comparisons where they are concerned. There are reasons that I have built two central characters around them - one male, one female.

Eventually, not only did they cement their place on the list, I was able to cross them off of it. And it was only then that the list began to feel irrelevant, outdated, and unnecessary. For if I could cross people off the list, there was no “if” about my sexuality. I'd gotten an inkling of it when I flirted with another woman (a *gasp* lesbian!) at my first dungeon party. But now it was clear. It was real and it was undeniable. I could be attracted to multiple genders.
 
It absolutely took some time for me to process that, come to terms with it, and finally own it. I was doing a lot of that at the time though, so it just seemed like one more thing. Groundbreaking as those changes were for me, I can trace many of them back to a single moment.
 
A single kiss that most people probably didn’t even notice. A single kiss that seemed to be aimed directly at me. 

I love my nerds.

There are few places I feel more at home, more at ease, than when I'm surrounded by cosplayers, gamers, and comic book experts. I am none of these things, but I do have my fandoms and we just seem to get each other. 

One of the reasons for this is that the Venn diagram of nerds and kinky people is practically a circle. I can put my books out at a geeky event and barely anyone bats an eyelash. Equally important is that you can assume a certain level of awkwardness among us nerds. If you measured awkwardness on a scale of 1-10, most of us operate at a 2-3. 

And that's on good days.

The point being that we all understand. When we're together, we're not judged, no one looks at you askance for minor verbal missteps or badly timed silences. It's all good because we're all on the same team(s).

However. There is a very fine line where socially awkward becomes creepy. Unfortunately, it's not always clear where that line is. I've been known to stare off into the distance when I'm writing and realize too late that another vendor or attendee is in my line of vision. When I'm in that zone, I can completely block out the flesh and blood people in front of me in favor of the imaginary people talking to me in my head. When that happens, I apologize and try to get my awkward levels back down to an acceptable place. 

There are perpetually one or two people around who set off my creepy radar though. And it can be difficult to know what, if anything, to do about them. Do I warn others, including organizers, based on a suspicion? What do you do when the line is so blurred you can barely see it?

Here's an example. There's a guy I see maybe once a year. I'll call him P. I've known him since my early kink days because we got together a couple of times. And yes, by got together, I mean he came over and we played with rope and pain. I don't think there was actual sex, but we did a lot. Enough that he was utterly convinced that, because I enjoy being held down and overpowered, I had rape fantasies. 

I assure you, I do not. It's fine if you do, but the fact that I couldn't convince him that I knew myself better than he did was one of the reasons I quit seeing him. He was also unreliable and flaky.

And this was about the time I started to see someone who would become an actual predator in the community. I was a long way from knowing that, but he was. I'll call him J. We would develop an actual relationship and be together about a year. 

Early on when I was with J, I heard from more than one person that P had said he had "let J have me because he decided we were no longer compatible." 

Let's break down how much is wrong with this sentence, shall we?

First of all, I am not an auction item to be bid on. 

Second, P didn't end anything. If anyone did, it was me though we weren't serious enough for there to be anything to actually end. 

Finally, in light of what would eventually come out about J, this is a really bad take in retrospect. Hindsight being what it is, I can't blame P for that one but it does leave a bad taste in one's mouth.

I didn't see P around for probably a couple of years. But when I started vending, I noticed him coming out more regularly. He would come by, try to chat me up about this or that, and I would engage only as much as I had to so he would leave me alone. 

Eventually, he got the hint. Now, he barely acknowledges me and I am good with that as he seems to be blissfully unaware of how much he dances on that line between awkward and creepy. For one thing, his current partner - who he's been with for many years - is significantly younger than him. Like young enough to be his daughter. They've been together long enough that it is less weird than it is used to be, but again...it checks a couple of creepy boxes for me. 

But that's really about it. He's bad about social boundaries and clearly has an age-gap fetish (hey, if he can make assumptions, so can I). That's all I got. It's not enough to tell anyone, "don't let him into your event." 

I can talk to others who know him, talk to my friend who was vending near him, and I can rant here. In the time since I first started thinking about this, some of my fears about him have been assuaged. Doesn't mean I have to like him personally. And it doesn't mean I won't commiserate when others find him creepy too.

Because lots of times? Lots of times those red flags pop up for a reason.