Mina Button's blog

kink and feminism and stuff…formerly known as Absinthe Cocktail.

Archive for November, 2011

[insert obligatory David Bowie lyrics here]

Posted in Uncategorized on November 22, 2011 by

So Roderick and I are no longer together?

Of course, because New York City–even the mythical places known as “the outer boroughs”–is utterly bizarre and both of us are kind of broke and this is all really strange and up in the air, we are still living together for the time being.  He is, in fact, asleep on the air mattress in the living room as I write this.  If you ever break up with the person you cohabitate with in New York, you should do it before you renew your lease, not two months after.

When I was explaining things to one of my coworkers today, I described it as a “soft break up.”  We are “taking a break.”  I’m not entirely sure what that means, except that Roderick wants to date other people, and maybe he wants to date me again at some unspecified point in the future.  It wasn’t the cheating, it wasn’t the difficultly of polyamory, it wasn’t the weirdness and emotional unpleasantness that were the side-effects of his head injury, or it wasn’t just those things, anyway.  He doesn’t want to be in a relationship right now, is what he said.  He’s not sure he wants to be in a serious, committed, monogamish relationship.

He wants to fucking be Bobby from Company, apparently.

I am mostly okay, except when I’m not.  I go back and forth between feeling nauseous and foul and crying over every single thing, being really pissed off that I stuck it out through all the awfulness last year, after the first time he cheated on me, just to get sort-of-dumped now, and being kind of happy and relieved that something is happening, that things are changing instead of slowly and awfully sliding downhill.

I am mostly scared, because I have no idea how this will turn out.


Also, I have never told so many people that something like this has happened so quickly after it did.  Seriously. Usually it takes me months to acknowledge that I’ve been broken up with.  I am maybe getting better at this?

Garnet is fucking amazing, as she always is, and is being incredibly supportive and talking me down from doing really ill-considered shit like cutting off all my hair or consuming entire boxes of wine.  I am absurdly in love with her, and while I am so, so, so glad that she is in my life, it also makes it really weird that I’m so sad and lonely-feeling so much of the time.

I tried to tell my mother, but when I told her Roderick wasn’t coming to Thanksgiving dinner, and she pressed me and pressed me to tell her why and I finally gave in and told her, she ignored what I’d said and then changed the subject.  I am not especially looking forward to Thanksgiving.  I am also trying to figure out how much time I should take before I try to explain to my parents, who I never got around to coming out to (mostly since I only recently realized I had something to come out about), that I am seeing someone and that someone is Garnet.

I’m scared of losing all or most of my friends.  I’ve been so withdrawn this past year anyway, dealing with the cheating and the upset and doing that thing I do where I decide that it’s way better for me to suffer alone than tell anyone what I’m feeling.  I think my feelings are probably annoying.  But this thing that I do has made it so that most of “our” friends are now mostly Roderick’s friends.  I’m pretty sure that if he and I are not together anymore that is going to kill my already damaged friendships dead.

Things change.  That has been perhaps the most enduring lesson of my life, that things change, always and often unexpectedly.  You go from working on your portfolio so you can follow your high school sweetheart to art school to being cut adrift and realizing you really do want to be an actor and that relationship was horrible anyway.  You think you’re going to be a costume designer, but you realize it hurts too much not to be the one on stage, so you audition for a show.  You meet a guy you think is maybe gay, but then he has a girlfriend and the next thing you know you have a ridiculous crush on him and then you’re dating and then you’re moving to a new city together and then four years have gone by and everything is completely unrecognizable from where it was when you started.  That’s how life works.  And things are changing in all sorts of ways, some of them (hopefully most of them) for the better.

But fuck, I’m really scared.

Oh, hey, I wrote this: Have some vampire porn!

Posted in Uncategorized on November 18, 2011 by
Warnings: knives, cutting, blood, fisting, more blood, penetration of a wound, possible death

I don’t think I realized how much it would hurt. If I’d known that, I don’t know if I would have tried so hard to get her to notice me, to convince her to turn me.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I sought her out, after that first night when our eyes met for just a fraction of a second across the bar (what was she even doing there? It seems too cliché for her, stalking the goth kids and culling the black-clad heard) and she smirked at me and just like that, my clit was hard and my panties were damp and some switch in my brain had been flipped and all I wanted was her. She vanished that night, off to bigger and better things, and I went home alone for the first time in ages and had bizarre, violent sex dreams all night.

I kept hoping to find her at the bar, but she didn’t come back. I showed up faithfully, in my best outfits, my waist corsetted as tight as I could stand, cleavage up to my chin, in my shortest batwing skirts and best stockings, but no luck. I started asking about her, seeking her out. My friends got annoyed with my obsession, they whined that I wasn’t any fun anymore. I ignored them and went for long walks, alone, late at night, in bad neighborhoods where someone thought maybe they’d seen her.

I forget who finally told me where she was staying. I had actually walked right by a few times before, no idea she might be inside as I passed. Someone told me where to find her…on a street full of closed and shuttered warehouses and industrial-type offices. I left my spikey-heeled boots and corset at home, put on black jeans and tied back my long, curly purple-dyed hair, and broke in early one morning, a little before dawn. I just had to see her, to talk to her. I’m not even sure if I knew then what she was, but I knew I wanted something from her, more than I’d ever wanted anything.
It was a cavernous space, large and dark and deserted. In a better neighborhood it would have been converted into an expensive loft apartment, but now it was just a big, dark room with dark shapes of furniture around the edges. I switched on the flashlight I’d brought, looked around a little. I think it was starting to occur to me how incredibly creepy I was being—had I really just broken in to someone’s apartment because I wanted to sleep with her?

The furniture was not the milk-crate and found-object clutter I’d expected. It was a strange hodgepodge of gorgeous things, many of them looked like potentially valuable antiques. I moved towards a chair, thinking I might sit and wait for her to return from wherever she was, when I was grabbed from behind.

There were no threats hissed in my ear, no “Give me one good reason not to kill you,” none of what you’d expect from the movies. Just strong, cold hands—stronger than any human – holding me so tight I felt like bones would start cracking, and I knew I was probably going to die. I did the only thing that seemed at all reasonable. I started begging for my life.

“Please, please, please,” I babbled desperately, “I just—I just wanted to see you. Please, I’m sorry, just please don’t kill me!” It was pretty pathetic, but for some insane reason it worked. She dropped me and I fell to my hands and knees on the concrete floor. I scrabbled across the room as fast as I could, thanking her and crying a little. She just stood there looking at me, smirking that cruel, arrogant smirk again. “I-I just saw you at the bar,” I stammered, “at Ominous Nick’s, like, a month ago, and I’ve wanted to see you again ever since and I’m sorry and I’ll leave you alone I shouldn’t have come here and I’ll never tell anyone…” I trailed off.

She laughed. She laughed and I saw that she had actual fangs. Being around the scene for a while, I knew fangs, and hers were either the very best custom job I’d ever seen or…well…

No. It wasn’t possible.

“I know you’ve been looking for me,” she said. “Do you really think you could have found me if I didn’t want you to?”

This was either the most ridiculous and elaborate put-on I’d ever experienced or exactly what I’d been dreaming of since I was 12 years old. I still wasn’t sure which. I did know, though, that underneath the mindboggling terror and under the skepticism, I was once again ragingly turned on.

She gave me an appraising look. “I’m surprised to see you in jeans,” she said. “Usually when you come looking for me you’re all tarted up.” She stalked over to me and put one sharp-nailed finger under my chin, forcing my face up, making me look her in the eye. I couldn’t help myself, I learned up and kissed her. Hard. Hard enough that I nicked my lip on her sharp teeth and could taste my own blood. In some distant part of my brain, I think I did it on purpose. It was a test and a seduction technique at the same time, I wanted to kiss her, but I wanted to see her reaction to tasting my blood even more. She pushed me down, I found myself laying in a tangle on the floor.

“I’m not just another one of your pathetic little conquests,” she said. “I’ve heard about you, and just because all the sad little boys want to bend you over and the girls want to taste you…well…so far all you’ve done is annoy me.” I was more than a little stung by this. I sat up, starting to say something, but she cut me off. “The only thing I have any interest in doing to you is killing you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Get out before I decide you’re worth the effort after all.”

I scrambled to my feet and ran for the door, thankful to be escaping intact. It wasn’t until I was several blocks away and the sun was up that it occurred to me to be insulted. Who the hell did she think she was, fucking with me like that? I think that was when I decided that, if she really was what she appeared to be (if she really was a…no, I couldn’t say it, it was too impossible) I would not only seduce her, I would find a way to make her turn me.

Of course I came back the next night. My hair hanging down my back in lustrous purple curls, my make-up just so. Wearing a lacy, wispy little low-cut dress and and pointy, dainty boots. I sashayed into her lair with my hips swaying and breasts bouncing. She was there, and she looked up from a book (oddly, I think it was a true crime thriller) and laughed at me. “So you really want to die that badly?” She said.

I planted my feet and narrowed my eyes. “You’re going to turn me,” I said. “I’ve made up my mind and I’m stubborn as fuck, and I’m willing to do anything if you turn me.”

She laughed again. “Anything? You’re willing to submit to anything I want from you?”

A tiny, much smarter corner of my brain started to point out that this was actually not at all what I’d said, but my mouth was way ahead of that part of me. “Yes,” I heard myself say. “Anything at all.”

She raised one eyebrow. “You have no idea what you’re offering.”

I reached into my little black bag and pulled out the knife, a long, sharp knife I’d stolen from my roommate’s silly collection of bladed weapons. I smiled a little as I saw her eyes widen a tiny bit, making it apparent I’d surprised her. That tiny, sensible part of my brain was raging at me to stop, but the rest of me was too far gone. I was obsessed, and would literally throw myself naked and bleeding at her feet if that was what it took. I slid the knife down the front of my dress, grazing my left breast a little, then pulled it away from my body, cutting the laces that held the bodice closed. The dress slipped open, and I felt her eyes on my pale skin and the thin red line the blade had left. I held the knife against my wrist, pressing the sharp edge there but not quite breaking the skin.

I didn’t even see her, she was on me so quickly. She plucked the knife from my hand and I thought she was going to stop me again, but instead she yanked my dress aside, tearing the flimsy lace, and sliced into the skin below my right breast. I inhaled sharply at the sting of the cut, and I felt a hot, wet trickle run down my side, over my ribs, and then her mouth was on the cut, sucking hungrily. My vision began to gray out, and I felt my knees buckle – not from blood loss, not this quickly, but just from the pain and the strange sucking pressure which felt oddly…good.

She caught my weight and lowered me to the floor, pulling away from the cut on my side. She pushed me down against the cold floor and held me there with her greater-than-human strength. And then she sank her sharp, lovely little fangs into my breast.

I swooned. It sounds melodramatic, but there’s not another accurate word. Stars exploded in my vision and I think I maybe came and then everything went black.

When I woke up, she was sitting back and smirking at me again. Her hands and face were still wet with my blood, and I was struck by how weirdly gorgeous she looked, white skin, pale hair, with her dark eyes and all that red for contrast. “Oh, good,” she said, “I wanted you awake for this next part.” It occurred to me, and not for the first time, that she had been playing with me all along, that this had been her goal from the start, from the very first night in the bar, to have me naked and bloody and at her mercy.

She grabbed my hair and pulled my head sharply to one side while her free hand crept between my legs. I wanted her so badly, I had wanted exactly this all along, though I hadn’t really known it in the beginning. As her first two fingers slid into my wet cunt, I started thinking that I didn’t care if she turned me at all. I strained to look at her, to look into her eyes, and started to realize that I was so in her thrall that I would happily die for her in the most painful and humiliating way she could think of, as long as she let me die for her. Another finger slid inside me and she pulled my head further to one side and licked the side of my throat, from collarbone to jawline. Her fingers worked their way into me, slick with my blood and juices, stroking me from the inside, and I moaned a little at the delicious full feeling. She struck, and bit into my neck as she pushed a fourth finger into me, and I cried out in a combination of pleasure and exquisite pain. I could feel her teeth and tongue against the wound in my neck, the bite on my breast and the cut in my side still throbbed, and then, with all this other sensation already overwhelming me, she began working her thumb inside me. Her hand stuck for a moment, and I gave a little sob from the combined pain, but with a final little twist she pushed the rest of the way into me, and I took her whole fist, slipping inside me coated with my own blood.

I came again, there was no way not to, with the strange pleasure of her sucking at my neck on top of the way her hand filled me. I cried out this time, and she held my hair tighter, as my whole body spasmed and my heartbeat sped up and I bled for her while she fucked me. She moaned a little against my throat as she licked at the bleeding wound there, and when the crashing orgasm receded I collapsed against her. She pulled back and stroked my sweaty, blood-streaked hair away from my face. “Do you want to die for me?” She asked softly. “Has all of this lived up to your silly little fantasies, and now you feel like you can die happy and fulfilled, or do you still think you need me to turn you?” She began to work her hand out of my cunt, and I gasped and sobbed at the unexpected movement.

“I would die for you,” I cried, “Please…if you want me to die, I’ll die. I’ll do anything you want – anything at all.”

“The first time you said that I don’t think you knew what you were asking,” She said, surveying my bloodied body, “but I think now you have a better idea.” She slipped a finger into her mouth, slowly sucking off the blood. “Do you think you could take an eternity of this kind of treatment?”

The tiny part of my brain that had been fighting this all along gave one last half-hearted protest. I felt nearly-dead. I probably was nearly-dead. But I wanted to please her more than anything else. The last bit of me that thought this maybe wasn’t a good idea gave up. I surrendered. I wanted this. I wanted her. “Yes,” I breathed. I felt completely calm.

She grabbed my hair again, this time yanking my head to the other side. I felt her other hand slide over my hip, up over my waist until it reached the cut she had given me under my breast. She smiled and looked directly into my eyes as she slowly slid two fingers into the open wound. I whimpered at the pain, but she kept pushing into me, slipping her fingers into the cut as she had my cunt before, sliding them in and out of the bloody wound tenderly, as if she was fucking me. I felt a tear slide down my cheek – the pain was really overwhelming, it stung and tore at me as she worked me open. And then, after watching the tear trace its way down my face as she fucked the cut in my side like a lover, after seeing the pain on my face and the complete surrender in my eyes, she bit into my throat again and bled me.

Everything went black.

Posted in Uncategorized on November 15, 2011 by

So I somehow made the list of the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2011 over at Between My Sheets.  I’m really surprised, partly because I have terrible self-esteem and partly because, despite my old blog, I wasn’t sure I qualified.  But I did!  And I was ranked #70, which is a nice, even number.  I’m also really excited for the folks over at Quickies New York (a gorgeous, gorgeous blog that I feel very attached to since a lot of my friends are in the photos there) and my friend who writes at Top to Bottom, who were ranked as #1 and #32, respectively.

Congrats, everybody!

I’m trying to think of something appropriate to post in celebration–I actually queued up some really dark erotica, then decided maybe to not alienate any new readers I’ve picked up right off the bat.  So perhaps I’ll save that for another day.

I could also write about my training with Garnet, how I have trouble nailing down the proper greeting I’m supposed to do when I see her because I get too excited and just throw my arms around her instead of curtseying and kissing her hand like I’m supposed to, and one of these days I’m probably going to get my ass beat for it.

Or I could right about how things have been so much better lately with Roderick, how he’s recovering from falling off the roof.  We hang out and have fun and we’re fighting so much less and we’re working on practical ways to keep improving.

I could also write half a dozen other things, like about how upsetting I find the yucking of the yums of others, and about the ridiculous view so many people take towards femmey guys, and about porn–so much about porn–and maybe even the way it upsets me when my mother picks fights with me or freezes me out entirely when I try to talk about any aspect of sexuality with her at all in a positive way.

I will probably do all of these things and more soon.  But right now I’m going to drink a celebratory wine cooler and give myself a manicure.  Goodnight, friends!

Supporting Evidence

Posted in Uncategorized on November 12, 2011 by

I could seriously write a whole other blog about the bizarre ways my brain works–the nonsensical magical thinking I engage in, the anxiety, even the absurd, nerdy delight I take in obscure references.  But the thing that probably has the most effect on my day-to-day life (and especially on my sex life and relationships) is the way my brain likes supporting evidence.

What do I mean by that?  I mean that I will mentally twist any and all facts I am faced with until they are just proof of the bad things I was already thinking about myself.  Roderick used to try to treat this like a game, where he would do his best to come up with something I couldn’t use as supporting evidence, but there kind of isn’t anything and it ended up just making us both sad.  It’s like the worst word association game ever.

For example, while doing this Roderick once said “kittens.”

“I’ll never be able to have a kitten again,” I said, near tears.  ”We’d have to move, and we can’t afford to, and I’ll never be able to afford to take care of a cat.  It’s too expensive.  And how can I take care of a kitten? I can’t even take care of myself.  I don’t deserve a kitten,” I concluded.

And that was the end of that game.

Like I said…I can do it with almost anything.  Not all the time, but if I’m already in a bad mood due to other factors…well, there’s always farther to fall and my brain will find a way to make it happen.

I’m working on not letting it get to me as much, and most of the time I know intellectually what’s going on, but it can sometimes still get ahold of me.  And it makes relationship negotiation really, really tricky sometimes.  Yesterday I saw that Roderick had made a jokingly flirtatious post on FetLife.  When I first read it, I thought “Huh.  Well, he’s clearly kind of joking.  He obviously didn’t mean that he wants to have sex with one of our friends.”  A few hours later, though, when he woke up, I made it maybe five minutes before the angry words “So I see you want to sleep with X,” popped out of my mouth.

We had a brief argument, and eventually straightened things out, but that’s kind of beside the point.  The point is that even though I knew intellectually what was really going on, over the course of several hours my evil, evil brain wouldn’t stop telling me that what I knew intellectually was wrong.  Reasonable explanations just fly out the window when I get a hold of things.

I’m trying to learn how to stop doing this, but it’s hard work.  There’s a lot of trying to repeat the reasonable explanation over and over, fighting to ignore the twisted around “supporting evidence.”  And a lot of the time it doesn’t work.  A lot of the time I still give in and make myself upset over stuff that’s made up or semi-made up.

I’m working on it.  Hopefully it’ll get better soon.