Listen to the Silence

So, I had the experience of taking my daughter shopping for panties today. Understand - I was her single father Dad for the first three or four years of her life, until my girl (the collared, marriage-ish one) came into our lives. I should be able to handle this.   Right?   Good. I'm a cop.   I have a gun.   I've been shot at.    I've been stabbed.  I can handle a little underwear shopping. Yeah. Not so much. Fucking panties.   Underwear shopping should be grabbing a bag of something vaguely the right size and burying it under other things until checkout time comes. That's how we do it in America.   (That's how we men do it, anyway). So. As I'm crouching down in the women's underwear section, feeling like a pedophile, I'm trying to keep my patrol cap down so I don't feel the thousands of eyes watching.  (They're there.   I'm sure of it.)   And then I realize...there's more than one kind of panty. I realize this as I&

I am not white.    Voting the way I do doesn't change that I'm Native, and the son of hundreds of generations of the People.   Please stop saying that I voted the way I did because I'm "just another white guy". I am not "hetero".   I am a sadist.   I don't care what tackle it has, as long as it whimpers, moans and cries.  (Maybe bleeds, a little.) I am not "bigoted".   I'm not even sure what I'm supposedly bigoted about (nobody will answer my questions on that), but I'm pretty sure I'm too laid back and uninvolved to be bigoted. I am not "imperialist".   My people are still living in poverty.  And proud of it, when the other choice is taking government handouts. I am not a "rich capitalist pig".   I'm a cop, and believe me - we're nowhere near rich.   Most of us are just barely making it, supporting a family.   I am not a "cis-gendered" individual who is "privileged"

Piercing pale blue eyes, Hid in shadows against a dark wall Soft blue whispers of “please,” silent blue supplications for more. Pale, sweat soaked flesh -   soft cushion against a stone wall. Curved and slick, dripping – sighing     Offering up for more.   Hungry, heaving breaths between whimpers, screams…moans. Past bruised ribs, gasping “more”.  Raised ridges, welts and scars, Beaded blood and paper cuts, whimpers and moans. Chestnut waterfalls over scarred and shaking shoulders. Dark curtains hanging Over a ghost pale face Pierced, by pale blue eyes.   

Dear God, what have I done... Kenova is now on twitter. Hold me.... I'm afraid... (KenovaSir on twitter)

Three part rant, remember?   Last Part.    For today.   Probably.   On Fetlife right now, everyone wants to talk about consent violations .   That’s important.   We do need to talk about consent violations both by Tops, and by bottoms.   We need to come to a consensus about how to handle them.  As a community.   It’s not enough to just talk about it, though.   K & P doesn’t help anyway – not really.  Now the   Kierkegaardien   crowd mentality is getting involved.  They want to out people.  They want to presume guilt, contrary to our own laws.  If a moderate voice appears, they want to scream “victim blaming”.   They want to shout down the voices of anyone with a lick’a sense.   It doesn’t actually help anyone – but hey, it makes the crowd feel better, right?   If something happens and you don’t feel you can go to the police – please, go to a Victim Advocate.   Every state has one now, an office of them, and some larger cities have their own.   As a law e

So, my experience so far with the trans community, after writing a few pieces that roughly touched on gender, has generally been one of “die het cis whitie, die”.    (With a few and dear exceptions, Quinn and Michaela.)  Granted, I write stuff that can be considered…cringe-y.   Inflammatory.   Blunt.   Now if you’ve met me you know – I come off very gentle and polite in person.   (Okay, maybe a little intimidating – I’m six five and too big to be subtle and graceful - what do you want?  I raise my voice half an octave at events to make you people feel less intimidated - do you have any idea how sore my throat is by the end of the night?)   Those nice manners come from being a southern gentleman (long live Virginia, and long may the Chickahominy river flow).   They come from being a law enforcement officer.   And they come from a recently found sense of peace.    My writings on the other hand…this one?   This one is going to be a little tart.   And a little sappy.   A

So, begin rant.   This is one of three, btw.   I wrote up this long burning, angry, bitchy rant and let it settle for a few days.   Then I realized it was too long, and I was sick of getting TL:DR (too long, didn’t read) from wankers who just want to jump on someone else’s platform to post their own opinions.   So, mmmm…yeah.   Three shorter rants.   Rant one.  First, I want to say this:   Any group that cries “minority” and “privilege” instead of doing something about it?   Suck my balls.   (They’re big, so you might need to practice with tennis balls.)   Seriously, though.   Suck’em.  Gargle a little.     Whiny internet immature tween gays and lesbians?   Genderqueer/Genderfluid/non-binary genders waiving the privilege flag?   Otherkin?  (Seriously?   Otherkin.  Come on.)  Bitchy Black/Red/Hispanic/Latino/Asian/other?   The whining?   The teary bitch crying on the five o’clock news? You’re pissing the rest of us off.   (Yes, I know that was bad grammar.