Thursday, February 25, 2010

HNT



Anna Smash told me she doesn’t "quite approve” of my HNT foot series, so naturally, I’m more than happy to include her in it.

Look closely and you may detect my serpentine chain of bites, encircling her right breast and trailing around her belly. The chain concludes under my foot.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Tally

January is the month of my birthday and each year, I celebrate by giving out orgasms. My goal is to give away one orgasm for each year of my life, plus one to grow on. This year, I hoped to give away forty-seven wet spots.

I wound up giving away two hundred and forty-six.

How disappointing to be one shy of two hundred over target! In truth, there were more orgasms delivered, but I misplaced a few: at an orgy I had the bright idea of marking my tally on my forearm with a pen, not realizing I used water-soluble ink. Those orgasms washed away in the hot tub.

Other than this mistake, I endeavored to make an honest accounting. Wisely, I asked my partners to keep track and report their own orgasms. This proved a learning experience, as I discovered a few things about my partners and really, the nature of orgasms.

One woman reported three-and-a-half orgasms; I rounded that down to three, as I wasn’t sure I could explain a half orgasm to skeptics. Still, if she reports it as such, who are we to doubt it?

After one man came, I thanked him for the orgasm. He replied that he had actually had three, but had only ejaculated on the final one. I occasionally have such multiple orgasms as well, though rarely. Apparently, in his case, they are common.

One woman is very vocal throughout intercourse, though in fact, infrequently orgasms from penetration. In having sex with her, I can’t always distinguish an orgasm from the general array of fireworks. Having her report helped me to understand what gets her over the edge.

Another, a partner for several years, revealed something I had not realized. I had assumed that her noisy and vibrant orgasms were of long duration, but in fact, she has multiple orgasms in quick succession. I had never realized that, as I had never thought to ask.

During the course of the month, a reader wrote to say that at age twenty-six, she has yet to experience an orgasm, either alone or with a partner. Therefore, though she gets pleasure from masturbation and sex, she doubts the existence of the female orgasm. Distance prevents us from further study on the matter.

As the orgasms began to pile up, I resolved that I wouldn’t do anything out of the ordinary in their pursuit. I didn’t stage an orgasm assembly line, for example, nor did I increase my number of dates or partners beyond the usual. I don’t typically track numbers, so I thought this could become a snapshot of a month in my current sex life.

My protégé Halo is a statistician. She pointed out that all this raw data could be represented graphically. I’ll avoid the obvious pun and go straight to the charts she so thoughtfully provided.



In January, I had sex with thirteen partners. Two were new to me and eleven were recurring. Three were men and ten were women. (NB: Due to an error in my reporting, the first column is inaccurate: it should indicate eleven recurring partners, not eight.)



The majority of my sexual encounters these days are with one partner per session. This month, thirteen percent of my sexual encounters were in group situations, defined as two or more partners in addition to myself. This does not reflect the percentage of orgasms per single or group situations; that data were not collected.




Of the two hundred and forty-six orgasms delivered in January, one hundred and twenty-six were claimed by my girlfriend smalls. There are three reasons for her taking nearly half of those given. One, we have sex frequently. Two, she has multiple orgasms. Three, I am sadistic enough to keep going even after she is exhausted—fortunately, she is piggy enough to favor pleasure to respite.

Along the way, I also had sex in Staten Island, filling a lamented gap in my sex map: I’ve now had sex in all five boroughs. Now I can focus on filling in states, nations and continents. I’m only missing two continents, actually. South America should be easy enough, but Antarctica?

Thursday, February 18, 2010

HNT



Watching "The Princess Bride," tiaras aside.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Kinky Is Not A Diagnosis

This month, the American Psychiatric Association released proposed changes to the forthcoming updated edition of the Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. The standard by which mental disorders are diagnosed, the DSM has a controversial history concerning sexuality; for example, previous editions defined homosexuality as a mental disorder until gay activists successfully fought to have the designation removed.

The revised edition contains new language redefining “paraphilias,” a catch-all term for sexual arousal to objects or situations considered outside normative behavior. As detailed below, the revised language no longer considers an interest in BDSM as necessarily symptomatic of a mental disorder. If this revision is adopted in the new edition, it will have an enormous impact on the lives of people involved in alternative sexualities.

Take, for example, yours truly. When my ex wife discovered my blog and sued for custody of our children, her claims rested on the assertion that our children were in immediate danger due to my sexuality. My sexuality, as described in this blog, was the sole basis of her suit. Given the current language of the DSM, the court conceded to my ex wife’s request that I submit to a psychiatric evaluation. (For the record, it turns out I’m not crazy.) With the revised changes, my ex wife would no longer be able to harass me with claims such as these.

This is salutary news. It’s a good day to be kinky.

The National Coalition for Sexual Freedom—which was incredibly helpful in my own custody case—has issued the following statement about its role in the revisions and their potential impact:


The APA Paraphilias Subworkgroup Agrees: Kinky is NOT a Diagnosis

In the new proposals for the DSM-V, alternative sexual behavior has been depathologized. The American Psychiatric Association's Paraphilias Subworkgroup's DSM revisions acknowledge that you can be a fetishist, transvestite, sexual sadist or sexual masochist without having a mental disorder.

NCSF has worked very hard with its DSM Revision Project to make sure these changes take place, and will continue to strongly advocate for clear language of what exactly constitutes a mental disorder. Susan Wright liaisoned with the work group and supplied data that NCSF has gathered about the real-world discrimination and persecution that takes place against BDSM-fetish practitioners because of the DSM-IV-TR. The DSM Revision Petition was also extremely useful in generating comment from community members and mental health professionals urging that the current diagnoses be changed.

Go here to see the proposed changes.

Read the "Rationale" section under each diagnosis to see their thinking on the paraphilias. The work group makes it clear that "non-normative" sexual behavior is practiced by healthy people:

"The first broad change follows from our consensus that paraphilias are not ipso facto psychiatric disorders. We are proposing that the DSM-V make a distinction between paraphilias and paraphilic disorders. A paraphilia by itself would not automatically justify or require psychiatric intervention. A paraphilic disorder is a paraphilia that causes distress or impairment to the individual or harm to others. One would ascertain a paraphilia (according to the nature of the urges, fantasies, or behaviors) but diagnose a paraphilic disorder (on the basis of distress and impairment). In this conception, having a paraphilia would be a necessary but not a sufficient condition for having a paraphilic disorder."

"These revisions will affect everything-child custody, job discrimination battles, and even help change the way society views us," says Leigha Fleming, Chairperson and Director of Incident Response. "I think of all the people over the years who have had the DSM used as a tool of discrimination and punishment, and I'm proud of NCSF for continuing the fight to change it. This is the first step towards decriminalization of BDSM, which NCSF is pursuing with our Consent Counts project."

The Paraphilias Subworkgroup is now reconsidering what constitutes "clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning" when determining a mental disorder. The DSM must make it clear that people do suffer distress and impairment because of the societal stigma against alternative sex, but that doesn't mean they are suffering distress that is generated internally.

As part of the development process, the preliminary draft revisions to the current diagnostic criteria for psychiatric diagnoses are now available for public review and comment until April. Personal comments about discrimination and persecution are welcome additions to this commentary to continue to urge the work group to differentiate between sexual minorities and sex offenders.

Just as Norway recently joined Sweden and Denmark in removing consensual paraphilias entirely, NCSF continues to urge the complete removal of these paraphilias from the DSM. However like the incremental removal of homosexuality (to egodystonic homosexuality and then finally taken out in nineteen eighty-seven) this is an important step for the BDSM-leather-fetish community.

NCSF needs your support to continue important projects like the DSM Revision Project that directly impact peoples' lives. Please join NCSF to show solidarity! We do so much for very little money, and we need your help.

Please donate to NCSF now!

Friday, February 05, 2010

Brooklyn



Wakey! Wakey!


Tonight I'll be your Brooklyn, so corny and so far away.

Thursday, February 04, 2010

HNT



At some point after being bitten and whipped, she soaked my pants and ended up flat on the floor. That was before she got toppy with the White Castles.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

HNT



Smalls, Kay and Halo conspired to give me a surprise birthday party. They got me, but good. So many friends attended. I was even presented with two homemade cakes. One cake was shaped like a bottle of bourbon, because I like bourbon. The other was shaped like a penis, because I like bourbon.

To thank my girlfriends for the party, I gave them a boy to share.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Fables

Abby Winters



Carly T. and Navah

Chemistry

“Oh my God,” Tilda shouted over the music. “Devo! I haven’t heard this in years.”

“I think I remember how to dance to this,” I shouted back. I punched her upper chest with the flat of my fist. “When a problem comes along . . .”

She threw back her shoulder and lifted her chin. “You must whip it!” We danced, the beat punctuated by my fist against her chest.

We had been meaning to come to Chemistry for a while. We rarely made it to sex parties other than our own and this one had been getting good marks from our friends. Held in a loft in Brooklyn, Chemistry offered the space for three distinct areas: a quiet indoor garden for conversation and massages, a boisterous dance area with a good DJ and a bring-your-own-bottle bar, and, the main attraction, a multi-tiered area reserved for sex. We knew we’d know some people there. Perhaps we’d also prowl for fresh meat.

We took a break from dancing to return to the sex space. We’d earlier enjoyed a spontaneous foursome with a bisexual fellow we knew in the company of a woman who confessed to crushing on Tilda. Now we wandered the room like casual shoppers, holding hands as we looked to see if anything caught our fancy. I saw room on a bench, next to a couple making out. I turned to Tilda. “Care for some cocksucking?”

Tilda put a finger to her cheek. “You know, I think I might like that.”

We walked to the bench. “Excuse me,” I interrupted the couple. “Mind if we join you on the bench?”

The woman looked over her shoulder and sized me up. “No, sure, that’s cool.” She returned to kissing her date. I thanked her, unfastened my belt and dropped my pants. Tilda lowered herself to her knees, smiling as she crawled closer to my lap. She moaned as she took me in her mouth.

“That’s nice, so good,” I said, caressing her hair as I grew hard in her mouth. Sitting back, I surveyed the room. On a raised platform to my left, I could see the shoulders of two men supporting the legs of the women they were fucking. A cluster of people writhed on the large bed below. A diaphanous curtain partly shielded an adjacent area from my view. Rows of couples had sex on the simple beds on the facing wall. My eyes returned to the couple making out next to us. She leaned forward to remove her bra. He stood to pull off his shirt. They were fast getting hot and heavy.

She was a certainly pretty, I thought, and he was a real looker. They were in their early twenties and, given the way they were shedding clothes with ease, as if accustomed to turning in together, night after night, I thought how nice it was that such a young couple was exploring parties like these so early in their relationship. Or perhaps they had been sweethearts for much longer, I conjectured as he went down on her; maybe they had applied to the same college so they could move to New York together.

I looked at Tilda. Her eyes were riveted on the couple as she continued to ride my cock with her face. My eyes turned back to see the couple looking at us. Tilda locked eyes with him as each of their mouths licked and sucked. The woman was staring up at me with a look that I could only answer with a kiss. She sighed into my mouth. I ventured a touch to her face; she turned toward me. I kissed her deeper, my hand moving to a breast, then, to the extent of my reach, to her soft flat belly.

He moved to retrieve a condom. She raised a hand to my neck. My cock grew deeper in Tilda’s mouth.

I kissed and was kissed, touched and was touched, as he fucked her, his eyes on us, watching. His smooth body was small and tightly defined, so that we could see the muscles twitch under his skin as he moved back and forth. A position changed and I could touch her wetness and, daring more, his cock in her. Her slight “oh God” told me to stay.

He came quickly. As he pulled out, Tilda took my cock from her mouth. “That was insanely hot,” she admired.

“Thanks,” the woman said, righting herself on the bench and shaking out her hair. “Thanks for watching. That was really hot.”

I indicated the hard cock in Tilda’s hand. “Would you care to go a little longer?”

She looked at me, confused for a moment before getting my meaning. “Oh no, thanks.” She pulled her bra onto her arms. “I’m good.”

“Happy to offer,” I said. “This is our first time here. How about y’all?”

“It’s my second,” she said.

“First,” he answered, tugging on his shirt.

“Oh,” Tilda said. “You also come separately? So you guys are in an open relationship, or . . .”

“Oh, no,” she said, looking back to him. “We just met.”

He wrested an arm from his shirt to extend a hand. “Yeah, hey. Jeremy.”

She took his hand in hers. “Cyndi.”

We laughed. “Okay,” Tilda said. “Now that was insanely hot.”

Abby Winters



Marianna

Thursday, January 21, 2010

HNT



He wrote me the nicest letter.

I first started reading your blog three or four years ago as a young dumb kid in a far-away place. I suppose you already know that you have a transcontinental as well as a transgender following?

Anyway, as I said, I was a young dumb kid in a fairly small conservative backwater. I wasn't gay, I wasn't straight. I'd heard of the Kinsey scale but it was always lobbed in as some kind of theoretical hand grenade that had no real world application. The idea of violence and power in sexuality I only knew as a limited series of repulsive heteronormative acts or the cartoon-like antics of middle-aged S&M swinger couples. As soon as I read your blog, it made sense. It was great sex, incredible writing—and totally fucking hot.

I'll try not to ramble and be too fanboyish about it all. I’ll soon be in New York for the first time, and while images from Woody Allen, Spike Lee,
Mad Men and Jack Kerouac all tousled in my head, I thought I'd finally get around to writing. I just wanted to offer my sincere thanks for everything you've written about. You and your blog are an ongoing source of comfort and inspiration, not to mention the fact that sharing your writing can be directly credited with having got me laid on more than one occasion. I wasn't able to help financially when you were having troubles with your family—and I hope for your sake that I never get that chance again—but I'll happily buy you a bourbon some time in gratitude.

As it happened, this time it was his own writing that got him laid.

Monday, January 18, 2010

A Certain Age

Yesterday was my forty-sixth birthday. I had a great, great day with my family. I’m told to expect a great, great week with friends, loaded with surprises.

Now and then, in my content present and optimistic future, I reflect on how it happens there are so many ways one’s past can come back to haunt. Especially when one reaches what is politely referred to as a certain age.

My vanilla Facebook is a good example of that. Like most people new to a social networking site, I was initially struck by the accumulation of resurfaced contacts from people representing various stages of my life. My every update is read by my parents, brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews; my first kiss, first love, first child, first boss; classmates from middle school, high school, college, graduate school; colleagues and competitors from every job I’ve ever held.

The other day, someone wrote to me, responding to a photograph I had posted from my participation in Improv Everywhere’s No Pants Subway Ride. I replied:

Wow, howdy! Funny that after all this time, you catch me with my trousers down.

She answered:

Especially when perhaps the last time I saw you I woke up in your bed with more than your trousers down . . . remember???

I didn’t remember. Not at all. Given the friends we knew in common, I surmised it would’ve been twenty years or more since we last met. I honestly didn’t recognize her name, which confounded me all the more. It was an unusual name. I looked at her photographs. She was very pretty.

Slutty as I was as a teenager, I wasn’t one to forget a girlfriend, let alone a very pretty one with an unusual name. Her claim was vague but suggestive. Had we had sex? Had we dated? Had I done something that somehow stuck in her mind? I cautiously replied.

Oh dear: tales of my slutty past trailing me to my slutty present.

We don't have any children I don't know about, do we?


She set my mind at ease.

Ha ha! No children. Basically some of us were hanging out in your apartment. I got tired and went to take a nap on your bed. Nobody bothered to wake me when they left, and I woke up around four in the morning to find myself next to a naked you. I thought: WTF! It was I who was worried about what I'd done in some altered state. You explained that that was how you always slept, and that you were the one who was due an explanation!

That put the mystery to rest. I now recalled our acquaintance and we were cool. According to her profile, she’s still close with many of our mutual friends and still an artist. She’s raising her kids as musicians. She’s still the cutest of buttons.

I assume we’ll stay in touch, flirtatiously, as we parent and live our lives, states apart. It’s been a million years since she napped on my bed and woke up with me, naked and unfamiliar, but, apparently, memorable.

Given how my life is now, I’m glad that, even then, I had the presence of mind to assert: if you wake up in my bed, honey, you wake up with me as I am. Tell me your story.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Shores of California



Dresden Dolls


Twitter is all a-tweet tonight with the announcement that Neil Gaiman and Amanda Fucking Palmer are to wed. Cheers to that fickle little bitch, romance.

While you've got your champagne flutes raised, enjoy this video send-up of David Lee Roth by the future Mrs. Amanda Fucking Gaiman Palmer.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

HNT



She assured me she could keep the marks hidden from her boyfriend. That’s how badly she wanted her first caning.

Friday, January 08, 2010

Feverish, Sad Drama

Everyone seemed to have an opinion about my custody case. In managing her smear campaign, Tess modified her gossip to be sure it resonated in receptive ears. Above all, she wanted to impress the women whom she felt could further the reach of her new “secret sex blog cabal.”

On the day after I learned that my ex had filed a motion against me, Tess huddled over lunch with Dee and Rachel, a sex writer with a popular blog. Tess had been pressing Dee to end our relationship. Now, she encouraged her to complain about me in detail, hoping to influence Rachel against me.

A few days later, I posted some details about my case. The Sexual Freedom Legal Defense and Education Fund had set up a legal defense fund to support my case and I needed to get out word about that. I took care not to reveal anything that could impact the case; just to be safe, I ran the text by my attorney. She encouraged me to point out the free speech ramifications in the filing, as this was fairly unique in a custody case. I did as she suggested.

Reading my post, Rachel was confused. How could a custody case have anything to do with the First Amendment? A former law student, she could not imagine any circumstance in which that could apply. Although I had asked my friends not to comment on the case as it was before the court, Rachel felt moved to blog “if you've ever studied anything about the First Amendment, you should know that it applies to the government dictating what you can and can't say, not your vindictive ex-wife. Nobody ever said he didn't have the legal right to post anything he damn well wanted.”

Rachel had never read my ex’s motion against me. She didn’t discuss it with me before blogging about it. Small wonder, then, that her uninformed conjecture was simply wrong. I had never claimed that free speech issues were involved because my ex wife was upset by my writing. My attorney informed me that First Amendment rights were involved because my ex-wife’s attorneys sought to have the State of New York shut down or curtail my blog. My attorney’s research showed that this was a case of first impression, meaning that if the court ruled against me, we would be able to appeal, perhaps so far as the United States Supreme Court.

Thankfully, the court did not rule against me. But in the court of blog opinion, Rachel had established a critical fact: I was either misinformed or lying.

Tess added this to her gossip.

Tess lobbied Dacia to come out against me and to discourage contributions to my legal defense fund. Persuaded that “this is a big and important thing for the sex blogging community to talk about,” Dacia wrote a blog post in which she questioned my revelation that my ex’s motion was concerned with my sexuality as discussed in my blog. “The bisexuality and the blogging is just a piece of the puzzle,” she ungrammatically opined. “Anyone who reads his blog knows Jefferson’s affinity for bourbon—and though he has a flip way of writing about it, his drinking is a real problem that I personally have seen unfold in embarrassing and fucked up ways.”

Substance abuse was very much on Dacia’s mind. She was then breaking up with her boyfriend of several years due to his inability to kick his cocaine addiction. Of all the subjects covered by Tess’s gossip, my drinking resonated most for Dacia. If the motion was not about my bisexuality and blogging, my former drinking buddy could certainly imagine that it might have to do with alcohol.

Dacia had never read my ex’s motion against me. She didn’t discuss it with me before blogging about it. Small wonder, then, that her uninformed conjecture was simply wrong. The motion, which was the size of a phone book, made no mention of my drinking. Dacia had originally noted that her post was based on her six-year relationship with me; she would eventually revise that to say that she had not spent any time with me in the previous three years and therefore, she wasn’t speaking with any direct knowledge. “Much of what I know about Jefferson in the here and now is admittedly second hand information,” Dacia confessed. She was repeating gossip, much of it proffered by Tess. Neither Tess nor Dee had witnessed me drinking to excess, so Tess sent Dee in search of evidence to support Dacia's claim.

As comments flowed into Dacia’s blog, people alluded to their own lives with alcoholics and shared stories of abuse and neglect. One commenter, attracted by the drama, offered to start a blog outing me and other bloggers. Anyone contacting the commenter was given our names and told how they were discovered. This was brought to Dacia’s attention, but she declined to remove the comment. In fact, she did little to moderate what another commenter aptly characterized as her blog’s “witch trial.” Dacia let the flame war burn, impressed that her betrayal of those who had trusted her proved so beneficial to her ratings.

In the court of blog opinion, Dacia had established a critical fact: my ex-wife was suing for custody of our children because I was an alcoholic.

Tess added this to her gossip.

On the day Dacia posted her attack against me, Tess added a post to her own blog. Dacia’s post had given Tess the grounding to take a public stand against me. Tess made a point of discouraging contributions to my legal defense fund. In subsequent posts, Tess turned her attention to the women she courted for her “secret sex blog cabal.” In order to impress them, Tess felt it was important to maintain an air of indifference to me in her blog, even as her gossip about me provided her with the material with which to keep them entertained. Still, she encouraged Dee to post about me frequently. Tess and Dee knew my ex read Dee’s blog—Dee had provided me with my ex’s IP address—so it was the site most likely to do damage to my case. The strategy had the added advantage of making Tess appear far less obsessed than Dee, at least publicly.

Tess and Dee added their own negative comments to Dacia’s blog, both under their own names and under pseudonyms. Tess continued this practice on other blogs as well, repeating common refrains under a variety of identities. People were dissuaded from donating to my legal defense fund; indeed, its very legality was questioned. Bloggers were encouraged to remove links to my blog from their blogrolls. If enough followed suit, Tess felt, she would succeed in erasing me from the blogosphere.

It satisfied Tess to believe that so many people were thinking ill of me, but she was frustrated that my case garnered support from Lambda Legal, the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom and the Sexual Freedom Legal Defense and Education Fund. The latter had set up the legal defense fund Tess was working hard to downplay. If the organization was made aware of the online controversy Tess had helped to create, she felt, surely they would not be willing to continue supporting my case. As she fanned Dacia’s flame war, Tess became impatient to put the controversy to use in destroying me. It was time, she felt, to cut off my support.

A month after Dacia's initial attack, comments to her post continued to come in daily. By this time, the comments reached into the hundreds. The flame war had deteriorated to such an extent that commenters referred to my addictions to alcohol and sex as established facts and my real identity was routinely outed. Dacia dug in to assert, “I think that most readers of this post and others that have been scattered around the Internet have enough information to realize that this is not a clear-cut case of being persecuted for sexual orientation.” It was no longer conjectured that perhaps my ex wife’s motion against me was not based solely on my sexuality as described in my blog; Dacia now stated with confidence that the motion she had never read was not “clear cut.”

Dacia’s confidence emboldened Tess and Dee. The day after Dacia’s assertion, Dee wrote an appeal to the members of the Friends of Jefferson, beseeching each to abandon her support of me and my custody case. That same day, an email was sent to Valerie White, Director of the Sexual Freedom Legal Defense and Education Fund. “His custody case is not based upon his bisexuality,” the writer categorically stated. “His wife has known about his bisexuality for a long time. The case is based upon his reckless conduct which is not in keeping with responsible or even barely adequate parenting.” The writer repeated allegations that I was an alcoholic and added new claims that I was a gigolo and other suppositions that had surfaced in the unmoderated comments on Dacia’s post. The writer offered a link to Dee’s blog in order to detail “the ugly truth about Jefferson's life,” and concluded by urging the organization to “please reconsider lending your good names and influence to this cause.”

Valerie White forwarded the note to my attorney. Valerie knew that my ex’s motion against me was, in fact, entirely concerned with my sexuality as described in this blog. She knew it made no mention of alcoholism, prostitution or other awful suppositions. Valerie and the Board of Directors of the Sexual Freedom Legal Defense and Education Fund had reviewed the motion before agreeing to establish a legal defense fund, as was standard procedure for the organization. She recognized that the writer of the email was uninformed about the motion. My attorney dismissed the note as a poor attempt to adversely influence a case before the court.

When I read the note, I saw Tess’s gossip neatly surmised in one text, articulated in her distinctively melodramatic idiolect. It was clear to me that gossip had displaced reality in Tess’s mind. Anonymous blog comments and slanderous attacks were now the truth as she wanted it represented. It was the truth that that Tess could use to destroy me and deny me my family.  Nearly a year later, after the custody case had been settled and the blog drama laid to rest, the allegations and language used in the letter to Valerie were reiterated in an anonymous online attack outing me. Tess's obsession continued to seethe.

Flame wars come and go in the blogosphere. Dacia’s flame war against me burned brilliantly, but eventually, it died down as others flared up. Looking back, Dacia would later describe her destruction of our relationship as a “feverish and sad drama” largely of her own creation. Perhaps from the experience, Dacia learned that attacking people feels awful, particularly when attacking people who care about you.

Recently, another blog drama reminded me of Tess’s obsession. Some unidentified person had started a blog revealing the identities of sex workers, echoing the use of Dacia’s blog to out sex bloggers. As Tess had since come to care about sex worker rights, she addressed the controversy in her blog. First, she advised others to talk about the blogger offline but not in tweets or on blogs, as that only gave more attention to the blogger. Evidently, she felt the strategy of back-channel gossip had worked well in her campaign against me. “The best way, the only way, to make people like [ . . . ] go away is to starve them of any attention,” she intoned. Gossip is good, she suggested. Direct confrontation was to be avoided.

Tess decried the blogger’s effort as “mired in vindictiveness, in pettiness, in meanness and its intent is solely to cause harm. Let me repeat that because it's that important—its intent is solely to cause harm.” She concluded by shaming the blogger’s “goal of harming individuals by disseminating private information.”
Tess couldn’t have done a better job of describing her campaign against me. In fact, Tess’s behavior just a few months earlier presaged actions she now decried.

In the days after her break up with her lover Victor, Tess dealt with her despondency by anonymously attacking me online. Creating an account at a website designed to be used by women complaining about bad dates, Tess described “Jefferson Blogger” as follows:

“He's known for being charming when you meet him and he's seduced countless young, inexperienced women. He keeps a blog onelifetaketwo.blogspot.com where he makes his life sound wonderful and glamorous. But he seeks out mentally unstable or naive women and he uses them for his benefit. He's an alcoholic and has been accused of sexual assault. He is also known for getting his young girlfriends into sex work.”

To this profile she added a photograph of me that is readily available online.

When I revealed Tess’s anonymous attack in post entitled “Tess’s Obsession” she quickly made revisions:
“He keeps a blog onelifetaketwo.blogspot.com where he makes his life sound wonderful and glamorous. He's an alcoholic and has been accused of sexual assault. He recently fabricated a long post about who he thinks posted this profile. However, he's wrong. I've decided to snip out the things that are hearsay, but include only the bits that I've witnessed myself to be fair.”

Not surprisingly, Tess claimed I was wrong in identifying her as my attacker. As she knew I was not wrong, she dissembled into damage control. She backpedaled, admitting that her claims against me were hearsay, merely gossip she had concocted and spent a year honing through constant circulation.

Tellingly, the hearsay that Tess omitted in the revision concerned the countless “mentally unstable or naive women” I had allegedly seduced into sex work. When Tess began her smear campaign against me in the summer of two thousand and eight, she and Dee were quick to condemn me as a “whore.” They were called aside by Dacia, who discouraged them from using that word as an epithet against me or, indeed, anyone. Dacia began to educate the two women about sex worker rights, a cause of great concern to her. Many strong women make the choice to become sex workers, Dacia instructed, and archaic myths of white slavery insult their intelligence. Certainly, no one should out the identities of sex workers.

Tess and Dee were impressed by Dacia’s lessons and guidance in their assaults against me; so much so that they began to style themselves in her mold as activists for sex worker rights. Dee was charged as, in middle age, she began to acquire a political consciousness. Tess saw the advantage of impressing Dacia in achieving her own ambitions. Just as she wooed Rachel in hope of participating in readings, Tess knew that associating with Dacia could suggest an intellectual credibility she otherwise lacked.

Still, her lesser demons could not rest. A full year after Dacia’s lessons—a year spent forging a new activist identity, a year in which she neither saw nor spoke with me—Tess couldn’t resist decrying me as a Svengali who forced feeble-minded women into the horrors of sex work. What’s more, in posting a photograph of me, she was outing me, using precisely the same tactics of the blogger she would soon self-righteously decry.
Embarrassed by my exposure of her anonymous attacks, Tess revised her language. Minus the admitted hearsay, all that was left was her claim that I was an alcoholic and an allegation that I had been accused of assault. She claimed that she was, in fact, an eyewitness to these claims.

Tess had seen me drink; as recently as fourteen months prior to this attack, she had invited herself to drinks and dinner with mutual friends. From what Tess could recall of the night, before she staggered home, she had seen me imbibing alcohol. She clung to this claim as Dacia had made it central to her own online attack against me: Dacia alleged that as recently as two thousand and five, three years prior to her own post, she had seen me drink alcohol. Tess needed to align herself with Dacia’s authority, and so sent Dee in search of proof of my alcoholism. During our eight-month relationship, Dee had never seen me drunk. Dee’s entreaties to Avah provided further frustration, for in our two-year relationship, which included countless parties, my teetotalling kinky girlfriend could only recall seeing me drunk on one occasion. Evidence be damned, Tess clung to her claim. Apparently, by her reckoning, alcoholism was a moral failing that should bring me down in the eyes of others.

Even more serious was Tess’s claim to have witnessed an assault. On the one hand, this allegation avoided the problem of giving offense to those she sought to impress. Some may be concerned with protecting the rights of sex workers, but who would defend assaulters? Still, as the revision settled in her mind, the limitations of her allegation became clear. If Tess had witnessed an assault, what action did she take? Did she report it to authorities? Isn’t that what anyone would do? Or was her reaction limited to making anonymous allegations online?

Tess knew there had been no assault for her to witness, nothing on which to take action. Now that attention was on her anonymous attack, she found herself in a bind. She could dig deeper into her trench, hurling mud at me with the increased audience I had brought to her forum. There could be some satisfaction in that; attacking me enflamed her passions, and now the dickhead that obsessed her had provided a new opportunity to scratch that itch.

However, Tess was no longer in the heated throws of anger at Victor. She had made her attack in the summer, when the break-up was days old. Now it was autumn and Tess was basking in another kind of attention: there was soon to be a launch party for the sex blogger calendar she had helped to create. Her anonymous attack, taken in an impetuous fit of misandrist pique, had been revealed at a most inopportune time. Everyone was talking to Tess about me. Attention was once again drawn to her obsession. Despite her weak defense—“he’s wrong”—she recognized that my discussion of her actions would ring true to those she wanted to impress. She had, after all, gossiped the narrative of her anonymous attack for well over a year.

The letter written to the Sexual Freedom Legal Defense and Education Fund had asserted, as fact, gossip that the recipient, Valerie White, recognized as false. The letter made claims about a legal motion that Valerie had read and the letter writer had not. The writer of the letter was simply wrong.

Tess’s gossip consumed her thinking. If words fell from her lips and flew across her keyboard with enough repetition and frequency, they took root as fact in her mind. She could not let go. Everyone must see, as she did, what a dickhead I am. Establishing that meant all. It allowed her to push me aside in her urge to take what she coveted.

Now, in revealing her attack, I had exposed the fissures in the façade of her new persona. Continuing her attack was too risky. If she appeared consumed by attacking me, those she sought to impress may see her as no better than Dee. And, as Tess enjoyed repeating, Dee’s most useful function was in making her look good.

A few days after the attack had been revised, I was contacted by the administrator of the website on which it had appeared. The anonymous post had been removed. Now, no one would have further access to this evidence of Tess’s obsession.

The anonymous attack was removed just days before the sex blogger calendar launch party.