One day I hope that I will find the energy and drive to write regularly again. I have a few ideas on how to achieve that, but I don’t want to say too much lest it not pan out – so in the meantime, I will merely apologize once again for the months-long absence. And because this blog is now Sex and Silks, I can’t even reward your patience by guaranteeing a triumphant return that is super steamy. Ah well.Continue reading
Well y’all, it’s finally happening. At long last, this hell year is coming to a close.
I certainly didn’t intend to only post 3 times in 2020, but that lack of output sort of seems fitting, in the end. Every time I’ve tried to sit down to write since March, the words just…wouldn’t come. What was there even to say, with everything going on? True, I managed to find the energy for a blog rebrand – once again, JKR: fuck you TERF, you’re the worst – but actually writing was too daunting a task for me. I do have some sexy post ideas brewing, but for some reason, it didn’t feel right to end my unintended blog hiatus with them.
And the thing is? Aside from the utter turmoil of the world, the constant fear and anxiety of falling ill (or worse, my immunocompromised partner falling ill), and everything in between this year has brought us, 2020 was one of the most romantically and sexually fulfilling years of my entire life. My partner and I bought a house together this summer, and the five months we’ve spent thus far in cohabitation have been utterly blissful, all things considered. Our sex life is incredible, we laugh a lot, and we’ve found a balance of togetherness and alone time that is nothing short of restorative. He’s sweet, thoughtful, and supportive. He makes me feel heard. He makes me feel seen. He makes me feel safe.
2020 could have broken us. When the pandemic began in earnest in mid-March, we’d only been together for 6 and a half months. We were serious by then, yes, but it was early days nonetheless. Being introverts, we adapted fairly well to a life of remote work and dates at home, though I still deeply miss our Sunday brunches. Then we began house-hunting, and we eventually found one that fit our needs and budget, despite this city’s wild housing market. It’s technically his house, as it was his down payment and his name is on the mortgage (for now, anyway), but he’s never once made me feel excluded, or like a roommate or renter. My thoughts and opinions were always welcomed and considered. Home ownership hasn’t always been easy – it’s often stressful and expensive in the best of times, and this year is hardly the best of times – but we’re settling in and making this a real home for us. He’s sitting next to me on the couch right now as I write this, playing a video game while his dog snuggles in the blanket nest she’s made between us.
2020 could have torn us apart, but it only made us stronger. If I had had any doubts about this relationship in early March, everything that has transpired since would have erased those doubts. I’ve been in long-term relationships before, and all of them were healthy and happy for at least part of it. But I have never had a romantic relationship quite like this before. I can’t even fully articulate what it is, but there’s just something about him, and us, that fits.
This isn’t to say that the year has been perfect for me on a personal level. I’m unhappy in my job; my depression has reared its head more often than I’d like; I desperately miss seeing my friends and family. I made some progress in aerial silks, then lost a lot during the months that studios were closed, and I am having to slowly crawl my way back. (Side note: I’m hoping to have more silks content here on the blog going forward, since it’s officially part of my brand now.)
But in the face of everything this year threw at me, I didn’t break. I survived. In some ways, I even thrived. And I know – despite my disappointments, despite my beliefs that I could have read more, written more, worked out more, etc etc etc – that’s a win. And I’m proud of that.
Goodbye 2020. I certainly won’t miss you, but I won’t deny that you wound up leaving an indelible mark on my life.
Welcome readers, old and new, to Sex and Silks, the revamped home of the sex and kink blogger formerly known as Hermione Danger. As is my unfortunate habit, it’s been a few months since my last post, and that intervening time has been…well, it’s been a lot. Of course there’s the whole global pandemic wreaking havoc, and as I type this, mass demonstrations are happening around the country to protest another wave of murders of black folks by police. (Please donate to your local Black Lives Matter organizations and/or community bail funds!)
In sex blogging more specifically, there’s been some super transphobic nonsense happening recently, in which trans bloggers came under attack for speaking out against bigoted posts, tweets, and contest submissions. I am not here to speak for them, but I am here to unequivocally voice my support for trans folks in our community and elsewhere.
That is a major part of my decision behind this name change, as a matter of fact. It’s well-known by now that JK Rowling is a massive TERF, and I could no longer stand by and write under a persona related to her, however tangentially. There is more to come from me on this specific issue in a later post, but I’ve been mulling over a shift in online identity for quite some time; I just hadn’t found the right inspiration, until now.
Which brings me to the other component of this change: aerial silks, which I’ve written about on this blog previously. My love for it has only grown since, and though my studio has been closed since mid-March, I am even more passionate about it now than ever. (I even have my own personal home rig now, thanks in large part to my incredible partner!) It’s become an essential part of my life, both online and off, and I look forward to integrating it more into my writing and photos here.
So goodbye Hermione Danger, hello Sex and Silks! Kindly bear with me in the coming days as I tweak the site, change over old links, etc. My actual blogging content won’t be changing all that much, but I feel this is now more representative of who I am and what I’m about.
In the decade that I’ve been experimenting in kink, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve moved a particular activity from the “maybe,” “I guess,” or “I honestly have no idea” categories in my brain over to the “hell yes!” column. What I have not experienced often, however, is the near-sudden migration of a hard limit into constant fantasy fodder.
Face slapping was one such rarity.
“Are you…studying me?”
My eyes, which I had reflexively closed in the throes of my passion, had managed to flutter open, and they landed on the face of my (relatively new) partner. The expression upon it contained the expected lust, but even more noticeable was a look of intellectual curiosity, one I’d seen on him in sexual situations before. It was like he was cataloging me.
We’d been dating for a few weeks at this point, and our chemistry was undeniable. We were entangled on my couch, with me in a disheveled state of undress and him knuckle-deep in my cunt.
“Something about the way you look at me when we’re fooling around, it’s like…like I’m an intriguing science experiment to you.”
He laughed, kissed me, and asked, “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” I breathed in a reply that was more sigh than word, as at that moment, he began again with his machinations below my waist.Continue reading
I collapse onto my back, sweating and panting heavily. I’m flushed, both from the heat of the room and the flood of endorphins, and I can’t stop grinning. My muscles are deliciously sore from use, and I can already feel bruises beginning to form on my hips and thighs.
But I’m not in my bedroom, at a play party, or in a dungeon, and I haven’t just had sex or bottomed in a scene. I’m in a fitness studio, surrounded by little else but about eight other women, a bunch of mats, and fabric dangling from the ceiling.Continue reading
Hello, dear readers! I know it has been a shamefully long time since I have written here, but fear not, I have not abandoned you or this little blog of mine.
If you’re not following me on Twitter – and if you’re not, you’re welcome to @hermionedangr – you wouldn’t know that my summer and fall have been quite the whirlwind.
In the past few months, I moved to a new apartment, got a promotion at work, went to LeakyCon Dallas, said goodbye to my grandfather, returned to more regular attendance at the weekly kink community social gathering, started online dating again and soon found myself in a relationship with an incredible man (more to come on that in future posts!), supported a dear friend during a divorce, and beta-read another friend’s book, among other things.
This has left me with little energy to write, but the aforementioned new relationship has rejuvenated not only my sex life but also my well of ideas. There are things coming soon, friends, so watch this space.
“Hold your arms out straight. Good. Now don’t let them drop.”
Somehow, a right swipe on Tinder over the holiday season had led to this: kneeling naked in a hotel room a couple hundred miles from home, silver clamps dangling from my nipples, a childhood favorite book in my trembling hands, next to a man who feigned indifference to my plight and only looked away from his video game to make sure my arms were staying level.
Though we’d been texting daily for months, we’d only hooked up once prior to this – a frenzied couple of hours during his brief visit home to his family, where we had fantastic (but relatively vanilla) sex. We’d talked about our mutual kinks a lot, both in sexts and casual conversation, but we didn’t delve too deeply into it during our first in-person encounter.
This time, though, things were different.Continue reading
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, one of my favorite things about the kink community is our ability to tailor our kinks and dynamics to fit our needs, to attach as much or as little meaning as we like to certain words, phrases, objects, or body language. Collars, of course, are no exception: for some, they are akin to wedding rings, symbols of a deep commitment that are only to be donned after much time and consideration. For others, a collar is more of an aesthetic choice, a method of signaling to other kinksters in the wild.
Personally, I fall somewhere in the middle, and it’s very dependent on context. There were sexual encounters with a former FWB during which I wore a collar for little more than the utility of it; while I cared about him, I wasn’t romantically attached to him, and though we played with some power exchange, I wasn’t his submissive. I wore a collar sometimes when we’d play together, but I wasn’t collared.
With my ex-partner and Dominant, the idea of a collar meant a lot more. Several months into our relationship, we picked out a lovely purple leather posture collar at a sex shop together, which we used during scenes. Then, for our first anniversary, he purchased a beautiful silver o-ring pendant, which I wore nearly every day as a subtle day collar until our breakup. While not on wedding ring level for us, they certainly were imbued with meaning, symbolic of our commitment to each other – at least, that’s what they meant to me, as I suppose I shouldn’t speak for him. I got rid of both after our relationship ended, but the necklace was harder to let go; had I not left it in his car immediately after, when I was still in full quiet rage mode, I don’t know if I would have been able to part with it.
It’s been over 5 months now, but it’s still a little strange, not having it around my neck every day. And now that I’ve had time to heal and rediscover both my sex drive and my submission, I’ve found myself longing to wear a collar again – not because there’s anyone currently in my life to collar me, but because I want to better acknowledge, cultivate, and celebrate my submissive identity in and of itself.
In short, I think I want to collar myself.Continue reading
I first realized that I was submissive about 10 years ago, at the age of 20 and in the middle of my first “adult” relationship, i.e. my first relationship that hadn’t begun in high school. Looking back now, my kinks manifested in various ways prior to that – including a childhood period of fascination with historical methods of corporal punishment – but it wasn’t until college that I was able to attach a label to those desires.
Labels can be helpful. As I’ve written before, discovering words to accurately describe my queerness was a revelation, and finding labels to reflect my burgeoning kinks was equally eye-opening. But labels can also be restrictive, when they almost fit but not quite – like a pair of leggings that’s just a bit too tight. Suddenly, you find yourself uncomfortable, self-conscious, and questioning why you ever put the damn things on in the first place.Continue reading