You Can Have My Isolation

Note to those who popped by earlier, I didn't know I had subscribers, sweet. You really should leave a message below, let me know who you are. The version that went live this morning was a draft, accidentally shared when I only intended to pause. Blogger, as far as I can tell, doesn't allow unpublishing a post unless you delete completely. Much too close to what I intended to say to toss & start over, know what I mean? 

Now then, this is the final draft. 

I think.

Where were you the first time you heard Closer by NIN? The first time I heard it I was at a bachelor party for Chuck's friend. I no longer recall his friend's name, but Chuck was a tall strawberry blonde with hair longer than mine and tattoo of a topless woman on horseback. My BFF Tabitha and I were the entertainment at Chuck's friend's bachelor party, and our music ran out. Chuck stopped us from grabbing another of our CDs and said, I have something you're really going to like. 

He was right. On another timeline, I am certain I broke my self-imposed rules with Chuck, and lived out some you look so much like me narcistic taboo fantasies. On this one, I left with his copy of Downward Spiral and let him keep his soul. 

There was something familiar in the porn-pop bass, but the way every space is filled with sound, if you heard it for the first time in the 90s, you had never heard anything like that before. If you weren't introduced to the album version, if you were so unfortunate to hear the radio edit first you didn't actually hear, I want to fuck you like an animal. But you knew that's what Reznor wanted, because while they censored out the profane fuck, they left in the profound .... you let me violate you, you let me desecrate you, you let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you.  

Help me get away from myself

Most recently I heard it on Beltane, while grinding on the dance floor of Manrays. Hundreds of bodies rocking Doc Martens, fishnets, latex, electrical tape nip covers, just flowing and sharing a vibe. While contemplating how special yet appropriate it was to find myself there in that moment on the night celebrating the fertility rites of spring, it occurred to me some of these souls may very well been conceived while Nine Inch Nails provided the mood music for their ancestors. Then I blushed when I realized perhaps Trent was spinning while one or two or maybe more of my descendants sparked into being too. 

I broke apart my insides, I've got no soul to sell. 

Yesterday was 3 Mother's days without my mother. That isn't the whole truth though, we didn't spend 2023 together either. That last year, on the Wednesday following I called, I said I left you a message on Sunday. She said I know, I was busy, what did you want? Imagine any infliction you wish, I have intentionally erased the tone from my memory bank. Two weeks later she was admitted to the ICU, and I still haven't found the rewind button. Shortly after my mother passed, I had a dream, I think I may even have already shared it here, she told me now that she lives in my imagination, we'll get along so much better. That wasn't entirely true either. I'm currently pissed at her and not speaking to her at all. 

I invited her to Manray once. Not this incarnation, the original back in 2000. She was 48 then, younger than I am now. I must have been going with Mistress Lisa that night, not my sane Ex or that new guy I was lusting over. You know the artist that often rocked a Bowie in Labyrinth look. It must have been with Mistress Lisa. Mistress Lisa was the dad of a kid my little sister dated, and while I enjoyed her company, I was hoping to pawn her off on my mom. He was cool enough, but not my type. My mom however has always loved a man in uniform, and hetero cross-dressers in the 90s really were just dudes in alt uniforms. 

It's really easy to imagine an alternate timeline where she didn't say she was too old to go to a club that opened at 9p. I can see myself taking her by the hand, making her try on my latex skirts, convincing her that she looks great in fishnets. Come on, try the black lipstick, it'll be fun.  Why not go out to a club that opens at 9p, we can bail if you're not having fun. How would that timeline unfold? If the sane ex was there that night, would my mom had acted like a high school bestie? Gotten all up in his face,dude you're breaking my daughter's heart? If the new crush were there would the objections she had to him later have come sooner? It wouldn't have mattered, I wouldn't have listened. I have always held the opinion that my mother had terrible taste in men. Her objections would have made him even more irresistible to me. But I can see so many possibilities. While grabbing post club breakfast would she have said, whatever happened to the boy that was moving to Florida, you should see if he's on that MySpace. My imagination holds no timeline that lacks the souls that sprung from that window in time. Fate had them lined up for me long before that weekend. But maybe had she gone Mother's day 2023 would be the year she told my little vanillas how their crazy mother dragged her to a fetish club back in 2000, can you imagine? 

The Gods of Winter Have Left the Building

You were saying something about best intentions? 
Bang. 
You're finished? Oh, well then allow me to retort. 

Bad ass scene, right? If you're unfamiliar with it, I'm going to need to see your ID. 

There's an incomplete post on the dashboard behind this one. It started strong, but it'll probably die there. I can claim that I intend to revisit it, and I do, but well, it's spring. The days are longer but there's still only 24 hours in each of them, know what I mean? It's unfortunate, I penned some real gems but excavating them out now doesn't feel like the best investment of my time. 

If you want a different result, you must do things differently. That isn't the gem. I've acknowledged and affirmed the truth of that concept a million times. You don't know anyone more dedicated to novelty and spontaneity than me. Wait, can one be devoted to spontaneity, or is that an oxymoron? 

Jumbo shrimp for everyone.  

The gem, focus Cass the timer is ticking. The noteworthy gem is taking it further. Asking myself, but do I want different results? Perhaps I should just chill here longer. It is a pretty sweet spot. My poodle is pink, and French, my ride is red, fast and Italian. 

What more could a girl want? 

March first I took two of my not-so-little vanillas to see Boy George perform at Mohegan. We tossed oysters at Summer Shack before the show and had room service bring us ice cream after. I (re-)told the story of calling my mom to the living room to watch the video for Karma Chameleon on MTV or maybe it was on V66, I don't think we had cable in 84. In any case, my mother joined me and sincerely asked: Are you sure he's boy? Yes (childhood nick-name redacted) I heard you, his name is Boy George. Maybe it's meant to be clever? He just said, I'm a man who doesn't know and he's awfully pretty to be a boy. While my first queen crush belted out everything from covers of Let's Dance and Skinhead Shuffle (be quiet, go Google, it's not what you think), I held court in the nosebleed seats. Tina and Stephanie, my single serving besties, shared their glow sticks with me, dorky dude behind me photo-bombed all my pics and my descendant (and grand descendant) witnessed so many strangers compliment the side slit gown I almost didn't wear because I've rocked it on 2 other occasions.   

Baby Cass on Border Road in 1984 would be wicked impressed. 

I wonder though if she'd be surprised. 

The following weekend I jetted to NY to see my- still haven't pinned down what I should call her here. She introduces me as her mentor, and her friends know who I am before she says my name. Her friends are fascinating, authors, artists, activists, clowns; passionate, happy, and kind. I love every single one of them. I had planned to see her that weekend, but I was going to miss her performance. Everything had lined up for us to spend Sunday together. The show that, allegedly, violated multiple statues was on Friday. I had a session on Friday. Then my well-planned weekend that would have ended watching movies and cuddling on Sunday fell apart. But that left a gaping hole in my calendar that was essentially already paid for too. So, I unpacked the dungeon gear, and re-packed for watching a live CNC scene staring Satan and Nikki Sweet that leads to an exorcism-abortion, and God's reclaiming of the lost souls into Her body, in a dive punk bar in Queens. It was absolutely amazing, and I intend (like the road to Hell is paved) to expand on the evening soon.  

Weird and Kinky was the next weekend. Bailey met me there, and we started planning our next collab, I know you pervs are dying to see me transform her into a perfect sissy slut again, promise it's coming soon. Does it reflect poorly on me that I can't think of anything especially noteworthy to share from an event called Weird and Kinky? It was twenty or so vendors of high quality, sadistic toys, restraints, and art. I bought a print that I know Master John will love, and one for my place that he won't. I replaced my red, poly-carbon rug beater with a blue one. I suspect Master John will love that too. It was a very well-done event, just like every other weird, kinky, fetish event I've ever attended. Pervs plan well and tend to be detail oriented. Oh, that weekend also included brunch with a certain no-longer newbie kitten I absolutely adore. It's been such a gift to cross paths with her as she found her place within the community. It's the sort of thing I am referring to when I try to convey how wholesome my community feels to me. 

I also co-hosted a couple nights with Ms Danielle on 231 Mutual, there's another scheduled for tomorrow. Sadly, our plans to get together irl fell apart.  But I'm certain we'll connect soon, and if you ask nicely, we might let you watch.

Then March wrapped up with taking my most vanilla BFF to see a Katelyn Bailey's, The Oldest Profession. It's a comedy show, exploring 10,000 years of history through the lens of sex work. Absolutely a must see, bring your mom if you can. 

Do I want different results? This is pretty much exactly the charmed life I imagined every time I rolled my eyes at an adult trying to explain to me that I can't have everything I want. That women in particular must choose, family or career and by the way neither will be particularly fun.

 I am so grateful for my rebellious nature, and my commitment to pleasure. 

Gravity, Hypocrisy and the Perils of Being in 3D

Pardon me, are you here in the Arctic Tundra snowed in with me? I started following a new to me creator from Massachusetts, his hook is, "I hate it here, and I'm never going to leave." Not me my dude. I swear to whatever deity gets off on watching my life, next year we are wintering some place tropical.

Let's take our minds off of this white nonsense falling from the sky.
What did you do this weekend?
Wanna hear about mine?

Quick question first, do you keep a made-up weekend story on ice so when you're smiling like a canary eating cat and a random vanilla says, "Looks like you had a good weekend, what'd you do?" you don't accidentally tell them how you really spent your weekend? No? Ya, me neither. Let them choke on it. 

My northern most long-distance love is a manager at a sex club; because of course she is. Mistress Danielle, you know her, I post G-rated content with her from the Dr. Suess museum and xxx pics on the sites you pay to follow me. Fucking smoke show, right? Ya, I hit that. Among many shared interests, we have very similar D/s placements. She's a Domme also, professional and lifestyle, more or less 24/7.  We're poly of the anarchist variety, we keep it casual with each other and most of our relationships. Well, I mean I love her with all of my icy heart, but I don't call her my girlfriend and she isn't my sub.  And yet like me, she somehow found herself in a relationship of significance with a male top and decided to be his submissive.
I know, inoculated with phonograph needle, but you needed the back story.
We collab on all sorts of projects. I'm going to pause here super quick to give thanks to whatever deity likes to watch me and blessed me this charming life where I get to rail hotties and claim the lube as a deductible on my taxes. FuckingA I love my life. Back to this weekend, nope wait we actually need to go back to last week, Ms. Danielle and I were supposed to stream together and she forgot. Like straight up stood me up. In the meantime, in her D/s relationship she was being quite difficult to her top. From what I gather just mouthing off and being cranky. She is, like me, truly a top. She takes responsibility for her shit, and she keeps a pretty positive spin on her perspective. I can't hang with those who don't, so her recent behavior was really quite out of character. 
Her top & I found ourselves commiserating on her recent faux pas and hatched a plan to tag team her. They would go live from the sex club, and I would join in virtually and instruct Master S how I wanted Ms. Danielle disciplined.
Let me pause here again; make it clear so it is even hotter, we had Ms. Danielle's absolute and enthusiastic consent. She misses me terribly, as I miss her and creative long-distance play was definitely needed. And her attitude at home suggested her vitamin D levels were critically low.
So Friday night we all signed in to 231Mutual, and about a dozen members from the club were watching. I get to live out my exhibitionist fantasies almost daily, but indulging my voyeuristic inclinations is a special, rare treat.This scene let me have both and more. The audience can see both our screens, and they have the option of letting us see them or keeping their camera off. They can comment in a group chat everyone will see, or send a private message to either of us. For me, it feels like a digital version of sensory overload play. Do you have The Cat in The Hat memorized too? Look at me, look at me, look at me now with a cup and a cake on the top of my hat... Oh my goodness, maybe I should edit this harder. Anyway, I love that feeling. This is chaos, this is so much, this is intense, and I've got this.  Watch me. 

After explaining what we intended, we began to play and a scene hotter than the sun unfolded. Ms. D was rocking her Property of Master S shirt and cum slut panties, those had to go. She stripped down and slipped into the lingerie I choose. Red of course, and panty free. I let the audience vote too, it was fully my intention to announce how the audience voted, and then override them. But they all voted for red. I asked Master S to slip the cum slut panties in her mouth to insure there was no mouthing off during her punishments. I was intending to share it all here. How I asked at the start if it was possible to toss the anal probe into a fridge or freezer, and Master S took it to a fridge just off screen. I'm so grateful he remembered it was there, to be honest it had slipped my mind. I was going to share how pleased I was when after reminding her twice to aim her ass to the camera and arch her back deeply, she self-corrected before I had to say it a 3rd time. My hands are fifteen hundred miles away, but pleasing and obeying me still became her priority. As I'm typing the story though, with Incubus on loop, I'm realizing it propably is too much for this platform. 

You want to hear the rest though don't you? Do me a favor then? Comment and tell me where you follow me. And yes, if you can't be seen with me in public- how sad, grown men who can't share their passions in public, but it's cool I understand, drop me a DM wherever we hang out in private.