This weekend I’m delivering a presentation on consent at the Texas Kink Festival!! I am so excited to have this opportunity to present. A little nervous too. But I think it will go well. Here is a sneak peek… I’m unveiling my Five Pillars of Consent to the masses. I created an acronym for it to so it’s easier to remember.

In order to build a consent culture, we have to INVEST.

IN-formed. V-oluntary. E-nthusiastic. S-pecific. T-imed.

Can’t wait. Have a great weekend.

I had wonderful experience about a month ago. I celebrated an anniversary. No, not one of those “two week anniversaries” or a “6 month half anniversary”. I celebrated an actual one-year, anniversary. A full 365 days prior, I began a relationship with a wonderful woman whom I love very, very much.

We are both poly, met as poly people looking to get into some sort of polyamorous relationship. We were up front, voiced our intentions and both agreed that any sort of relationship between us would remain open and ethically non-monogamous. We were both in relationships at the time. I was in a “monopoly” or mono-poly relationship – meaning my partner was monogamous with me, but was fully aware that I am polyamorous and supported me in my other relationships. Then I met an awesome girl. She was married (still is), and told me she was poly “in theory,” but that I was her first partner outside of her marriage.

So there we were, two people trying this new relationship out, together. Taking a risk together. Trying on a different lifestyle orientation together. We were both very interested, but also very nervous. Seriously, who isn’t a little concerned when you first meet someone whom you only know from their online profile and a few flirtatious messages back and forth? So we began the journey together. We finally met in person under adorable circumstances. The attraction was confirmed instantly. The chemical reaction took place and BAM, connection leads to ecstasy.

Twelve months later, we are still going strong. We have had ebbs and flows. We have seen my monopoly game end, and her marriage celebrate another anniversary. Her kids have grown. We’ve lived, laughed, loved and disagreed but never argued or fought. We have made friends, lost friends, confused friends, educated friends, got rid of dead weight, narrowly avoided some drama and taken other drama squarely on the jaw. We have been screened, tested, blackmailed, threatened, paused, restarted, unfriended, blocked, stalked, stood up, dumped, lied to and manipulated. We have laughed and cried, survived sickness, health, waiting rooms doctor’s visits and test results. There were even a couple of calls to 911. And yet, here we are, us, together. Still going strong. Still loving, still pretty darn happy. The NRE may have worn off. Don’t worry, we’ve both started other relationships that have supplied us with those particular feels. But we are still enjoying the ride and looking forward to another year in each other’s polycule.

So, what did we do? Basically, the only thing we really could do. We spent our polyversary being poly people surrounded by other poly people. You see, dear reader, neither of us is completely “Out” as poly. I mean, we’re both participants in our local poly community. Our poly peeps, and those friends who would probably understand, are aware. But neither of us is Out, Loud and Poly Proud. So, when we reach a milestone (seriously, a full year of managing multiple relationships without a single argument or fight is no easy feat. After all, I have some supreme asshole tendencies. She, of course, is perfect in every way) there is a very limited audience with whom we can share and by whom to be congratulated.

That is probably the truly sinister and insidious part of being in the closet. You not only hide what you are, and the way in which you are different, but you have to hide your joy as well. And I’ll be frank here, it sucks. Truly, deeply, powerfully, it SUCKS. I want to be Out. I want to be vocally proud. I want to tell anyone who will listen, and fuck those who don’t want to listen,  that I have successfully duped an amazing woman to put up with my shit for 52 solid weeks and lived to tell the tale. Moreover, she is so awesome that she has successfully navigated a career, motherhood, a marriage, and other relationships in addition to me, AND WISHES VERY MUCH TO CONTINUE TO DO SO. I want to let folks know that I am happy, and loved, and worried about and cared for. I want to share our first date story with people. (It really is a little too adorable to keep secret) So we celebrated 365 days of us with folks who know us and would completely understand the value of a poly year. (Almost like a dog year) We went to the local poly discussion group.

Topic du jour: advocacy. Of course, on a day when I’m struggling with the closet door, we go to a discussion about being poly, out, and advocating for the way in which we choose to live and love. It was there that we told our Poly Peers why were smiling so much. It was then that I let my poly community know that I have been working on this blog and fully intended to be more of a presence in the ether. I feel the strong pull, the obligation nay, the honor of putting poly on the map in my beloved hometown and in our society as a whole. I need Poly awareness to become an open discussion, not a dirty secret. I want to be able to display a picture of the women in my life on my desk at work and not have to worry about keeping the job long enough to enjoy the view. I love the poly community. I love the fact that there exist people with whom I can talk about my poly life. I love that my girlfriend introduced me to a friend of hers, who subsequently became a girlfriend of mine. It’s good to be understood when you’re in the minority. We are the only ones who can have these conversations. I want to be an advocate. I want the next year to see me moving closer and closer to the threshold of that closet door in lieu of kicking the damn thing down at the jam. I don’t want to have the loves in my life, the friends that I have, the parties I attend, the events that I go to, and the community I believe in to be a secret I can’t tell anyone. “Rule 1, don’t talk about Fight Club.” Fuck that. I want to talk about it. I want those outside of the club to know that we are here. The mainstream public at large should be aware that we are dynamic, diverse, well-adjusted, healthy, happy adults. I want those who struggle with monogamy to know that there are other options. I want the default construct to be questioned more often. I want people to not think they have to protect my girlfriend’s children from her lifestyle choices. I want to be Out Dammit. I don’t want to have to celebrate behind closed doors.

Ultimately, we had a lovely evening. We enjoyed the discussion. We all shared our views on the proposed H.E.R.O. ordinance which was up for an election. (Fodder for an entirely different rant). We were congratulated by friends and acquaintances in our community. My sweetie and I wished each other a happy anniversary. We had a lovely dinner. We spent quality romantic time together. We looked back on the year with no regrets and mused on the future. We admired our growth individually and together. We celebrated what we had started together last year, and laughed at how nervous we both were. We embraced, we smiled. We shared our mutual desire to both advocate and to be more out. We recommitted to be supportive of each other’s decisions and needs and respectful of each other’s boundaries. We made all of those whom we could safely inform aware of our accomplishment.

For me, the best part was the feeling of gratitude. I got a charge from knowing that she could have any, or as many, as she wants, and chooses me to be a part of her life. I experienced the slight twinge of regret at my position inside the poly closet. But I feel encouraged that I will not have a permanent residence there. And I feel grateful that the poly community allows me to be who I am and to celebrate what is important to me.

Lastly, I feel truly humbled and blessed by whatever benevolent forces may exist. Because the most vocal, sincere, and enthusiastic congratulations, were given by the other amazing women in my life. My other girlfriends, all of whom I hope to celebrate anniversaries with, were the greatest cheerleaders of my happiness. I came near an overdose of compersion. I am loved, so very deeply, by more than one.

They are all amazing. But she, my love, my year long angel, was the first. Happy Anniversary my sweet. Thank you for so very much, indeed for all of it. Inside the closet or out, I am overjoyed and proud to be with you, and to have you with me. See you around the polyverse.

I’ll be perfectly honest. I’m not sure where the idea of the Sexual Bucket List originated. I can’t credit the creator. But I LOVE the concept. I’m a fan of lists in general. They organize thoughts, and putting things in black and white makes them tangible, at least for my brain. So, many moons ago, I began writing down items on my own Sexy Bucket List. It continues to grow organically as I develop in my sex geekdom. Things are accomplished and checked on the list (never removed). And new and fun items are added all the time. At last count, I was up over 60 items and growing. I know what you’re thinking, dear curious reader. But no, I will NOT post my entire Sexual Bucket List here in this platform. There are two reasons for this; first, some things on anyone’s bucket list (sexual or otherwise) are private. Secondly, over 60 items is a lengthy list and I dare not bore you to tears. But I will share a few notable items here, just for fun. Maybe putting some intended goals and/or carnal wishes out into the ether will cause enough ripples in the universe to bring about realization. A perv can dream can’t he? So, below is a partial list along with accompanying comments from yours geekly. Here we go.(In no particular order)

1. Attend at least one Catalyst Con, both East and West. – Isn’t this on the Bucket list of every sex geek? It’s like the Hajj. (*DISCLAIMER: NO, I am NOT denigrating the religious practice in any way.) The pilgrimage that all sex geeks owe to themselves for edification and connection with THE Community. If you’ve ever sat on the sidelines (at home) while Everyone who is Anyone in Sex Geekdom, Sex Positivity and feminism live-tweeted the ever loving shit out of your twitter feed from #ccon, you’ve asked yourself, Why in the Seven Hells am I NOT there?

2. Attend Tristan Taormino’s Sex Educator Boot Camp– I will go on record here. I have a shameless, slobbering (virtual) love affair with Tristan Taormino. I love her work as a queer sex educator, as an editor, as a porn director and author. She advocates for anal sex in a truly inspirational way. IN TRISTAN I TRUST. I could go on, but I won’t. What better way to distinguish one’s self than to go through her boot camp for sex educators? Seriously, it should be a standard certification that sex educators advertise, right up there with AASECT. (i.e. Juan Jones, PhD, MSW, TTSEBC) And really Twitter, why isn’t the Tristan verified with celebrity status? Would it kill the internet to give her, and her nearly 41,000 followers, the little blue check mark she has earned?

2b. Be fisted by Tristan Taormino– Every asshole should be so lucky.

3. Get a “Sex Geek” Tee Shirt in My Size (4X)– How awesome is Reid Mihalko? “Be the change you want to see in the bedroom.” “Date your species.” The “Safer Sex Elevator Speech.” The guy is a wealth of amazing knowledge and advice and is so much fun. It would be a privilege to learn from the master. His Sex Geek Summer Camp is on the list. But here, I refer to the fact that fat boys are Sex Geeks too. And that would be EPIC. I’d wear it with pride, after the embarrassing giddiness wore off.

4. Own a GIANT vulva puppet, name it “Gloria”– I already own a more “moderate” sized one. But I’m talking about (as we say here in Texas) a biggun. One that is almost so large it is obscene. The kind of prop that makes you chuckle just by looking at it. Then, I’d want to educate with it. Show off all its wonderful parts and teach others. Wouldn’t that be glorious?

5. Give Dan Savage a fist bump– Come on, Dan is so fucking cool. The guy coined the terms, “pegging” and “the Santorum”. The world of Sex Geeks owes a lot to ‘THE DAN’. As for the fist bump; Dan is a fit, muscular, gay white man that likes skinny boys. I’m a short, fat, bald, straight black guy that prefers fat women. Everyone else would want to hug him. I just want to post a photo of Dan and I touching the fist on my Twitter. I like to be different.

6. Kiss Eden Alexander’s Feet– Purely for fanboy reasons. #EdenArmy

7. Hug Siouxsie Q– More fanboy reasons. Whorecast  Siouxsie Q

8. Participate in (or organize) a SWOP- Houston event– S.W.O.P. The Sew Worker Outreach Project is a fantastic organization that does amazing and important work. Alas, there is no chapter here in Houston. So, this item will take some doing. Houston currently is the third largest city in the U.S., in terms of population. Trafficking is a concern here as much as it is everywhere. But more than that, there are a large number of sex workers in Houston, NOT ALL OF WHOM ARE VICTIMS of TRAFFICKING. Some sex workers want to to be sex workers. THEY ALL DESERVE A CHAMPION. My beloved hometown needs to be involved in days like December 17, the International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers and March 3, International Sex Worker Rights Day.

9. Get the following authors to autograph their books for me– Charlie Glickman, Dossie Easton, Madison Young, Jenny Block, Tristan Taormino (of course), Cooper Beckett, Laura Antoniou, Rachel Kramer Bussel and many others…

10. Chat with Ashley Manta about sex toys and lube– @ashleymanta is just lovely inside and out. She seems so real, personable, smart and fun. What I know of her from her podcast, blog and her written work reveals a truly brave and beautiful human being and a crazy sexy brain. She is a role model. I want to be a “lube evangelist” just like Ashley.

11. Be showered in the glitter and awesomeness of Crista Anne– You know how kids engage in hero worship? Or maybe you, as a kid, told yourself, “if I could just meet/touch/talk to that certain amazing someone (real or fictional) everything would be so much better.” Well, I have that person. Crista Anne is a real life, honest to geekdom, rainbow-colored super heroine. She’s a modern day wonder woman (mom, blogger, spouse, educator, sex geek, unicorn), and just a bouncing ball of love. I think of her as the kind of person that could give you a hug and heal your top three afflictions in one glittery instant. Stellar in her struggles, magnificent in her imperfections, she is supernatural in so many awesomely human ways. One “mighty” hug could change the world. #OrgasmQuest

So there it is. A few choice items from my Sexual Bucket list as it stands today. I always encourage others to make and update their own lists. Share them with a lover and/or friend. Update them often. Make it fun and real. Have a blast. Mine is always subject to change and, as such, to be revisited here on this blog. One day, perhaps I’ll share some of the completed tasks from the list. Won’t that be fun?

I am a man of words. I believe in the importance of verbal communication, be it electronic, spoken, or written. Okay, so I prefer written or electronic. I have done some public speaking. Rumor has it that I have done it well, but typing is much less terrifying. Ironically, we live in a time of vast amounts of readily available information, and yet the subtle and critical art of written communication seems to be fading. Or, at the very least, it has become less critical. The more connected we are, the less we seem to connect. One need only peruse the internet to see the rampant use of shorthand, abbreviations, emojis and other code with which modern folk speak. And while I have had to use the online Urban Dictionary a few times, simply to understand what was being said, I prefer my old school Oxford English Dictionary (http://www.oed.com/), or the ubiquitous Merriam Webster’s dictionary. Maybe it can be chalked up to a generational divide, but I just don’t get the modern slang. (I really did just make myself seem like an old curmudgeon didn’t I?) And while I try to keep up as best I can in order to remain relevant, there are just some things in modern communication with which I have trouble dealing.

I do not speak in abbreviations. You are not likely to hear me use the phrase “hash tag” when talking. However, I do tweet (@Invictuzzz) and try my best to work with the 140 characters limitation. But that is where it ends. Verbally, I just find it easier to utter the phrase “best friend” than to say “hash tag BFF”. Hash tags are an invention that came out of the need to communicate with limited space owing to the format of Twitter. I have no such limitations when speaking verbally. I am my most eloquent with the language I speak, read and understand fluently.

I prefer complete sentences. If I love you, I will say I love you. “I heart you”, to me is a phrase that needs a verb. Sending me a message such as, “wyd” is likely to earn the response, “I don’t know what that means”.

I am not a fan of making up words. A good friend of mine once told me that she needed “huggles”. I asked her what she meant. And while I get it, it was an adorable sentiment. She could have just as easily saved some time and told me she wanted some supportive, physical human contact.

Sure, I text, who doesn’t? But I prefer one on one conversation. I prefer to express myself through words. (Hello, I’m writing a blog) My closest family and friends know that I prefer to just talk. A text is a brief heads up. It’s a tool used to convey information briefly, until we can actually talk face to face.

Now, as I have chosen this format from which to speak with the world, I want the world to know that I do firmly believe in words. And yet words, in and of themselves, have no meaning. Meaning is often agreed upon by the speakers and receivers of words, but the words alone, outside of common language, do not stand on their own. Merriam’s defines language like this;

(n): the system of words or signs that people use to express thoughts and feelings to each other

For me to communicate to you, we must agree on the words used. Or at least, you need to understand the words I am using, and what I mean when I use them. One of the hidden benefits of a Catholic school education was that my studies of Latin (and a little Greek) afforded me the opportunity to dabble in some etymology. I don’t just use words; I like to know their history whenever possible. I also like to share what I know with others. Thus, I will here list some words that I will use often. These are words that sometimes get certain connotations put on them. They are connotations to which I do not always subscribe. These are the weapons I will use in my crusade to have my opinions heard. Unless noted, all definitions are taken from (www.m-w.com).

-Black (adj)- of or relating to a race of people who have dark skin and who come originally from Africa

I am Black. This blog is entitled “Black Sex Geek”. I have medium to light brown skin and dark, naturally curly black hair. I, like my parents before me, am a person of color. And while I am a born American citizen, I DO NOT refer to myself as an African American. It’s just not for me. For one thing, it has too many syllables and letters. (Check out American Poet and songwriter Smokey Robinson on this topic. https://youtu.be/iIkNsj6cDGc?list=PLF0AF783F6505FCB0)

Black is easier. It is a descriptive, one that I am quite comfortable using. If “Person of color” or “African American” makes you feel better or if they have a more politically correct flavor to you, I will respect that. For my part, I am a Black American. I am a proud Black American. I belong to the black community in America. Also, as a side note, black is my favorite color. Go figure.

-Fat (adj) – : 1) having a lot of extra flesh on your body: having a lot of body fat: having a full, rounded form: unusually wide or thick

(Personally, I prefer) 2) a:  well filled out:  thick, big <a fat book>

  b:  full in tone and quality:  rich <a gorgeous fat bass voice — Irish Digest>

 c:  well stocked <a fat larder>

d:  prosperous, wealthy <grew fat on the war — Time>

e:  being substantial and impressive <a fat bank account>

I am fat indeed. Given the time, I will write at length about my views on being fat in a fat-hating world. For now, know that I am fat and have always been fat. For my entire life, I have been a fat ass. No, you will not look at me, call me fat, and hurt my feelings. It is not a derogatory, it is a descriptive.

Every bully, dickhead, asshole, douche nozzle, abuser or barbaric troll I have ever run across has tried to hurt me using the label, fat (or fat ass, lard ass, blubber butt, you name it). Basically, they wanted my beautiful big, soft, and substantial build to be my weakness. It is not. Furthermore, I will NOT accept fat as an insult. I have known, loved, befriended and admired way too many fat people to ever consider it an insult. Thus, in the tradition of other descriptive words in the language, I hereby declare that I am re-appropriating the word. Much like the LGBT community successfully took back words like queer, homo, dyke and fag, I am taking fat as mine. It belongs to me and my plump brothers and sisters around the world who have gorgeous non-bony bodies. For them, and for any who support us, I say now, unequivocally; I AM A BIG GORGEOUS FAT ASS AND I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THE ONLY BODY I WAS GIVEN.

-slut (n) – a promiscuous woman. [promiscuous (adj) – having many or more than one sexual partner]

According to this definition, I can’t be a slut as I am not a woman. (Thanks patriarchal privilege!) But no, I am owning this one. I have had more than one sexual partner. In fact, I have had many (some more than once and few at one time). So yes, I AM A SLUT. I do not consider ‘slut’ to be a derogatory. Again, it is a descriptive. A descriptive that I am proud to employ and share. I like this word and use it a great deal, both in my writing and in speaking. It is not uncommon to hear me say things like “this is my favorite slut”, “we are adults, it is okay to be sluts as well”, and “I prefer the company of admitted sluts, they tend to be more honest”.

-pervert (v) – to change (something) so that it is no longer normal

(n)- A person who has been perverted; spec. a person who has forsaken a doctrine or                               system regarded as true for one thought false

C’est moi.

-geek (n) –  a person who is socially awkward and unpopular: a usually intelligent person who does not fit in with other people

Yes I am intelligent and don’t always fit in with others. I wouldn’t say that I’m socially awkward, more like socially wary, and cautious. I am an introvert by nature. So yeah, I wear the geek title proudly.

There you have it. Those are some of the words I use freely that tend to get strong responses. I am nowhere near as malicious as I may seem when I use them. I don’t set out to hurt feelings. But I don’t pull punches either. Welcome aboard. You have been warned.

Simply put. I am a cerebral fuck. I think, early, often, and a lot. I spend more time in my head than just about anywhere else in the universe. Occasionally, the thoughts I have are very profound and creative. Sometimes it’s just random bullshit. But often my insights and thoughts are unique, and fun. I have been a fan of all things human sexuality for most of my legal adult life. I read blogs, books, columns and research papers. I listen to podcasts and follow various social media pages. I am a huge fan of sex, sex education, and lifestyles that surround sex. My interests are in porn, kink, sex positivity, sex education, size acceptance, alternative life and relationship styles, BDSM experimentation, and sex work (particularly the decriminalization thereof). These are the things that interest me and that I will be writing about as I feel so compelled to do. But let’s be honest. This is my blog. My little spot on the interwebs to do pretty much whatever I want. So I may write about a few other random things that I feel like sharing. It all kind of depends on what I feel moved to yap about. As I type this I have no idea if anyone will ever read it. But, this is therapy for me. This is intended to be a place to voice my insights and opinions about my journey through this discovery. That is why I am here. That is why, we are here.

But who am I? Ok, so that’s complicated. Actually it isn’t. What is complicated is the idea of a public blog in which the author attempts to maintain some anonymity. I have a pretty boring white collar job with a conservative company in the middle of a community that, though it has some bright spots, is not known for its progressive thinking. I will not be sharing my actual first name. At least not yet. I have a few pseudonyms. “Invictuz” is the name of my online and social media persona. Every once in a while, when I get particularly wrathful and start ranting, I take on an alter ego known as A.B.M. Perhaps I’ll explain what all that means sometime. For now, I will simply be “Invictuz” or “Z” for short. Not meant to be cryptic. I just have a peculiar fascination with the 26th letter of the alphabet.

To further make myself relatable, I will now share the labels by which I prefer to be identified. Forgive the cut and paste, but I have never again been as eloquent as I was when I wrote this; “For the record I identify as; a 94% straight, cis-gendered male, poly amorous, extremely size friendly, kinky, LGBTQ ally, survivor, Dominant, sadist, pervert, aspiring sex geek and slut-in-training.”

And there it is. That is who I am, what I am, what to call me, and why I am here. As I would hope this venture will grow organically, most of the above is subject to change as experiences color the journey. Thanks for listening. Welcome aboard. I will endeavor to be worth the price of admission.

All the best,

Z