Category Archives: Journalling

Thoughts On Community: In With the Out Crowd

It’s funny, this whole “sex blogger community” thing. I’m all for it, but I don’t feel part of it at all. Not because people don’t include me, they do. It’s just… it’s complicated.
I’ve always felt this way, but in the recent months my feelings have been given a boost and now I feel sort of even more isolated and unsexblogger. What’s been the recent impetus for that?
Twitter. Flat-out. See, I’ve got a little over 400 followers or so now, and I follow about 160 people or so. In the beginning, I tapped the people I recognized from blogging, they tapped me back, and I guess as I began yammering all the whacked shit I do, and what with the moniker “SmuttySteff“, my sex following grew, but thanks to my always-weird Twitter feed, also began growing past the mostly sex-blog writing-and-reading community.
Real-time comments from others in the community, about their sexual hijinks, who they’re screwing, what dates they have lined up, chronicles of their masturbation, what new toys they’ve received, how they’re dressing for X, their social interactions, and so forth, juxtaposed against the very vanilla-like-me feeds of others, just all has served to remind me that there’s a very big distinction between being a fan of sex and having really healthy attitudes about it versus being an enthusiast who seeks to keep it present in their life at all times, some of whom might be defined as “lifestylers”.
Debauched Domestic Diva wrote an interesting post this week in which she speaks of “The Lifestyle” and how she feels there seems to be this almost clique-ish attitude in the BDSM community about whether you’re a “lifestyler” or not.

I don’t mean to offend or insult anyone who uses that phrase in their lives and I am sorry if I do, but it confuses the hell out of me because I don’t really understand what it exactly means other than that judgemental feeling I get when I see or hear it. I don’t know if it means you are poly, kinky or what.
I have such a wide range of people in my life these days who all seem to be into something different. Which one of their lives if the correct lifestyle? Maybe someone can explain better to me and help me understand it because I know that right now all I am trying to do these days is just live my life.

I agree with DDD. I don’t have a “lifestyle”. Likely never will. I’m just this girl who got tired of feeling like a “slut” just because she wanted to have a little better sex. I’m 35 now, I’ve never been the type to sleep around. I don’t have multiple partners, ever. I don’t have someone lined up for a filler-shag in between relationships, and have never had someone there in that capacity. I don’t go to sex parties. I don’t really use or look for or even have porn, it’s just not my thing. I prefer my photography erotic, and certainly seek it out at times. On top of that, I have opinions on sex work that run contrary to what most of the active sex blog community believes.
I like sex. I make no apologies for the sex I like. And I sure as hell don’t judge others for having the sex THEY like. Because THAT is what it is all about. But, when I don’t have sex in my life, that’s just fine with me. I’m all right with that. I’m not a lifestyler. It’s not even a hobby for me.
But one of the problems with the sex blog community is, when I’m opting out of the sex race and dating chaos, I feel like I somehow should apologize for it. Like, “how can I like sex if I’m not raving about it daily?” I don’t think anyone’s ever made me FEEL that way, but just stacked up against the oh-so-public exploits I hear, I’m often left feeling like someone let the kindergarten kids into the grade seven class again. I’m just left feeling like I’m somehow out of my league because I don’t do it LIKE THAT.
Which is bullshit.
Because the sex I have is the sex that’s right for me. It gets me hot, keeps me hot, tends to keep me indoors, and keeps me very, very satiated — when I go there. The life I lead is the life I need to be leading right now. The lifestyle I have suits MY style for the time being. I don’t have a lifestyle. I have mystyle. I don’t need to be in relationships. I don’t need approval from anyone else. I don’t have to be sexually engaged to feel a part of my world, or even on top of it.
Not that anyone else in the community does feel they need to lead the life they do, or that they need to do so publicly for any kind of approval. I’m just saying, from my perspective, how I sometimes feel about my own exploits or the glaring lack thereof — probably mostly because I’m fully aware in a first-person kinda way of how plain and unglamourous my little existence is.
But it’s MY life. I’m doing what I need to be doing for ME. Is that really not right? Is it not “good enough” to be a part of the community? Is it just not in keeping with what’s going on out there? Or does it even matter at all?
Judging by the fact that I feel welcomed and appreciated by the community, even if I don’t really feel as if *I* belong there, it doesn’t look like it matters much at all. And that’s very nice.
Yet the fact remains. Here I am, leading a pretty “vanilla” life comparatively, and day-in, day-out, I’m reminded of that fact because I can vicariously experience some of these others’ exploits in real-time through the social world of Twitter. Let’s face it. I’m just that old-school good-girl who’s only as bad as she needs to be to have a good time. How’d I ever get running with this crowd anyhow? It’s a weird, weird world, friends. Still, it’s a fun ride.

"The Truth Is, I'm Lonely"

It’s morning, before 7, there’s both fresh snow and fresh coffee. I was spent by 10 last night and fell asleep during Eli Stone, so I’m finishing it off before I begin the painful commute to work.
There’s a moment when, after a promising four-date relationship crumbles to dust, Eli says simply, “It’s not like I connect with a different woman every week. …The truth is, I’m lonely.”
I had a Fail Date Saturday. It’s complicated. I don’t really want to fill you in. But it was one of those second/third dates with promise that ends with a reality cheque you probably don’t feel like cashing, but the jig’s up, baby. Continue reading →

Poor Little Scooter

We here in Vancouver live on the Wet Coast. This city literally is in a rainforest. There’s around 1,200 mm of rain a year. 45 inches for you Imperialists down south. With 10% of that rain falling in the summer months, you can imagine the fun that is the winter here in Vancouver. Wanna get wet? This is your town.
I, however, am Vancouver-born. That’s a pretty small percentage, true “locals”. Most folks around these parts are imports. Not me. I don’t do umbrellas. They’re for sissies. I even ride my scooter in downpours.
Like on Monday.
I had an appointment to get to as the weather worsened and worsened, torrents coming down, and figured, “Fuck it, I’ve been in worse.” I grabbed my reflective vest, something I never wear but felt strangely drawn to do, and headed.
I raced out past the airport, and was motoring it faster than I had when I worked out there, and was, despite the torrents, enjoying the new, powerful beast my scooter had become with its souped-up new 70cc kit, crankshaft, new seals, and essentially a rebuilt motor that was geared for performance and speed by my speed-geek mechanic.
While my mechanic’s all that, it would seem the civic engineers in Richmond are fucking morons. Turns out, the Number 2 Road Bridge is NOT designed for rain. Because, why would you take rain into consideration in a rainforest? I mean, how much can it really rain after all?
Enough to send veritable rivers — I’m talking nearly three inches deep — rushing down the CENTRE of the bridge deck. You know, where scooters ride?
Chug-chug-chug-chig-chocka-bonk-bog-bog-putt-putt-thud. Continue reading →

Christmas Shopping Suggestion

I really need to catch up on some postings, but, honestly, I’ve been killing myself getting my house organized after weeks of chaos. I’m happy to announce that, by nightfall, my home will finally be a home again. About time.
At Christmastime I normally try to do really unique or different gifts. I’ll do my photography, or home cooking, or anything I can that’s a little different. This year, it’s The Easy Way Out with online purchases after what’s been one of the most gruelling falls of my life, but I think I’ve chosen well and I hope my friends enjoy what I’ve chosen. (Did I mention I’m already done my Christmas shopping? For the first time in 10 years, I’m done early. All hail the mighty Steff!)
The single best year I’ve had for gift-giving, though, was the last year I owned my car. I went way the hell out into the valley to where all the antique and collectible malls are, and scoured until I found gifts that screamed my two best friends’ names.
For one, I bought a classic red 1955 rotary dial phone. He’s still using it today, six or so years later. For the other, I found a complete mint-condition set of four Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back Burger King glasses. Like, flawless, baby.
It’s so easy to find new shit that’s mass produced for people. Want to really be different? Think retro, or artisan, or personal. Hell, you may even save money. My SW:ESB glasses I got my friend? Less than $25. But awesome to the nth. 🙂
Now, even though I’m done my Christmas shopping, there’s still ME. I’m off to the malls to fetch my new TiVo (insert giddy giggle here) and try on a few clothes. My makeover continues. Later, peeps.

Steff's Easy-Start Guide to Changing Your Life: Part One

So, a Twitterer made the comment that, with the holidays almost here, the annual malaise of reflection and regret would soon be upon him. And I thought, “Wow, this is gonna be the first time ever I sit down at the end of a year and go, “Holy fuck. I accomplished THAT?””
16 months ago, I acknowledged a few things to myself. I hated my job, hated who I had become, hated the way I treated my friends, hated the negativity I was constantly caught in, and hated my body. I was initially overcome with despondency. With so much to work on, where in the fuck would I start?
The trouble with being an unhappy person, or at the very least unhappy with your life, is precisely that: Where in the fuck do you start? Continue reading →

My New Swank Sofa!

This, friends, is my sexy new sofa. This thing screams “Make out on me!” Doesn’t it? At the very least, I should think. The leather’s shade is called “Sinatra Cream”. GayBoy and I already have a joke about how if it’s good enough for Sinatra to cream… Well.
This is that expensive soft and matte leather finish that keeps your skin from sticking to it. I do promise to test that theory at, um, length at my earliest convenience.
Mm. Leather. It smells so nice, too. Don’t think I haven’t considered how annoying all the dimples will be to keep cleaned out over time, but… They look so purty. So retro and upscale yet not.
Beats the fuck out of the piece-of-shit $185 futon I’ve had destroying my back for five years.
Can’t wait to see how the makeout test goes. Now, to make some opportunity knock. But that’s phase B. See, this weekend comes the clothes shopping. 🙂

On Strange Times: Our Heroine Turns The Page

Y’all needs a status report, so here’s an update on the big, bad world of Steff. 🙂
I’ve had the biggest roller coaster week ever and I’m still reeling. My new mattress set came yesterday and judging by the strange cohesive feeling in my body this morning, my speculation over my bed being at least 60% of my back problem might have been understating things.
I’m still swirling in a very busy world of doing this spending spree I’ve arranged for. Monday will be my visit to the furniture factory to buy a new sofa. A wealthy furniture-store-owning uncle has arranged for me to get wholesale on a handmade leather sofa, so, I’m buying something that’s way, way beyond the means of most of my friends and I, for a couple hundred more than I’d budgetted, but in 3-4 years I’ll still be able to sell it for what I’ve paid, so why the hell not? I’ll show you what I get once I decide. Think retro-hip leather with sleek straight lines, firm and no overstuffing. Rat pack and martinis. Continue reading →

Good Times Ahead? Let's Hope.

I normally write mornings, but I feel really good right now. In every sense. I want to remember it now, rather than chance it ebbs away during the night.
It’s times like these I remember why I never wanted to go to bed as a child: I was very, very scared life would go on without me. Sadly, growing up I only learned that’s exactly what it does. But I’ve learned to like that. It’s something to wake up to, isn’t it? The constant movement and shift of our little microcosms.
All is not sunshine and roses just yet, boys and girls. I still need to get a loan this week in order to make important changes in my life, but if I don’t, then at least a fairy godmother — or at least my aunt and uncle — did save me heroically with a much-needed immediate infusion. They’re awesome to the nth. They sent me a surprisingly large cheque today (four times what I asked for, double what they said they’d send), so I can pay the rent-eating monsters from the east (“landlord” type things) and maybe even get important cycling and scootering gear. I need that stuff now. Our good weather died today and fall’s forecasted to arrive with a vengeful fury sometime afore noon tomorrow.
Summer, how sweet you were. You shall be missed. But thanks for overstaying your welcome. Make a note: Come back any time.
And, my back! It’s loosening up! With the damp weather coming in, I’m coughing but it doesn’t hurt. (Astounding. You have no idea. I nearly jumped with glee when putting my jeans on didn’t make me cry out this morning. ) I’m even becoming, dare I say it? Flexible? I’m not normally the ankles-behind-the-ears type but, you know, I do yoga. I even sprang up some steps today before I stopped myself with a “Whoa, slow down, skippy!” admonishing. Walk before you run, Grasshopper.
Now, I do have this little kink in my right hip. But, hey, it’s only fitting; we already knew I had a little kink in me. It’ll settle down.
I can work again. This is good. I can produce. I like producing. Hell, I can even get crazy and live a little. Maybe even date some boys.
But most of all, I have that “I came, I saw, I kicked its ass” feeling about everything. I feel really, really good for the first time in a while. Life has tried to beat me down, and while I had some bad moments, I kept the faith over all. And look how it’s turning out.
Did I mention I’ve lost weight during all this? Shit, man. I’m wearing the Joe Boxer pajamas I bought a few years ago, and the pants that I couldn’t even pull over my thighs are eight inches loose on me. (They were about six at their best.) I haven’t weighed myself, I promised myself I’d wait until one week after my back healed. Even if I’ve lost weight, wouldn’t it be cool to get on the scale in a week or two and see an even larger number than I expect? Wicked.
I knew this would pass, but, you know, when you’re expecting to be holed up for 3 days and it turns into 31, well. It gets a little trying.
But I came. I saw. I kicked its ass. Simply put, I win. This is good. Let’s hope this continues a little longer.
After all, I know I don’t deserve it. No, I’ve earned it. And I want it now. Thanks. Got a side of fries for that?

WHEW! A Better State of the Steffs, & Schoolgirl Kilts!

Yesterday became increasingly dark for me, even though I kept my good humour alive on Twitter in an attempt to keep my mind off things, so when my aunt called me in the evening to see how I was doing, I suddenly broke into the biggest cry I’ve had in a while.
I tried to downplay my financial worries and my fears, tried to be a bit more of a “man” about things, but it didn’t work out very well. I got off the phone and literally wailed, “I want my mommy!” It wasn’t one of my finest moments.
This morning she rang me. Her and my uncle are sending me a gift of cash to tie me over, as I’ve only ever been this desperate once before. I was so relieved I flat-out bawled yet again.
But yay for me. Yay for seeing that little light in the tunnel. Yay for my back feeling a bit better. Yay for maybe turning the page on the darkest part of my recent trials. Continue reading →

Am I Really Channelling Dorothy Parker?

Watching Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep with Humphrey Bogart this morning had me waxing nostalgic on my Twitter feed.


smuttysteff I think I was born in the wrong decade. I think I should’ve been some bitchy vixen singing jazz in the ’30s.
smuttysteff The kind who laughed and blew smoke in mens’ faces. Yup.
DavidStephenson @smuttysteff No, you’re channeling Dorothy Parker http://tinyurl.com/2ml5ae
smuttysteff @DavidStephenson I’m channelling Dorothy Parker? Let’s hope I skip the alcoholism, depression, and lonely, bitter death, then, eh? 🙂

It’s funny, you know. Dorothy Parker was known for her caustic way, her incredible essays and other writing, her brilliant witty but cutting use of language, and when she got old, she got all depressed that she was just a “wisecracker” and more or less drank her way out of this life.
It reminds me, really, of when I was younger, around 19 or 20, when I was super-popular and everybody’s friend, thanks to my wise-cracking ways that everyone loved, of a dream I had one night that pretty much literally changed me forever. Continue reading →