August 2011

On the evening of Friday, 5 August 2011, I committed twittercide.

While this was not pre-meditated, there was certainly reasoning behind the decision.

The decision also no doubt had its repercussions, as the act was performed without announcement or fanfare. While one could argue that there was opportunity to do so, there isn’t much point when the announcement is about to be made inaccessible.

Nonetheless, I recognize that there were probably those that were sad, confused and concerned. There were also arguably people who didn’t notice. While we all have an impact when we throw our rocks in the pond, the ripples get overwhelmed and lost quickly enough. Even without a bear, Twitter will continue on uninterrupted.

The reasons for deciding to leave were simple enough. To an extent, they were rooted in why I found Twitter in the first place. The past year has been a difficult one, personally and professionally. Faced with an extended period where Mrs. Bear (for yes, the bear has a partner, and a much loved one at that) was absent dealing with a personal crisis of her own, I found myself lonely, restless and in need of distraction. If that isn’t a recipe for Twitter, then I really don’t know what is.

This wasn’t a secret, to be clear, and it’s not like my partner doesn’t know I’m kinky or share my interests (at least, some of them). I also let it be clearly known that I was ‘on Twitter’ when the opportunity presented itself. But Mrs. Bear isn’t on Twitter, isn’t particularly a fan of Twitter, and doesn’t have any especial intention of ever being on Twitter. So her awareness of what Twitter is was limited to what the average bear (pun intended) typically understands it to be.

Which pretty much sets us up for the modern-age, on-line equivalent of an English bedroom farce. An exchange of private messages with a friend showed up on my phone, looking for all-the-world like a ‘smoking text’ of me having a conversation with another woman. Which, literally, was true. Those actually conversant with the twitterverse recognize that direct messages are certainly common enough, and that over time very real friendships develop online. The results was that an innocent conversation checking in on how I was doing as a bear looked a whole lot like an on-going and intimate chat. Cue the usual perceptions of how such behaviour would be interpreted.

Now, I’ve come to value my online universe and the people within it enormously. Over the course of the last six months, I’ve garnered a number of acquaintances — and a few of what I would consider good friends. For the first time in my adult life, I have also been able to openly converse about spanking and kink with a (very) broadminded community of people that share my interests. That means a lot to me. My primary partner, however, means a whole lot more. We’ve been together for 18 years, and she has known me longer than just about any other person on the planet. We get each other, we understand each other, we respect each other and most importantly we love each other.

So, if my online existence was in any way going to be perceived as a threat to my real life relationship, then there was only one outcome possible: the bear had to die.

In that you are reading this, things have clearly changed. After a very late night and not much sleep, my partner and I sorted out our feelings over what happened, why and the reasons for both of our reactions. We reaffirmed that we still loved each other – and still trusted each other. My willingness to abandon my online presence may or may not have influenced it, but what is important is that we worked through would could have been an ugly and escalating misunderstanding and made it through whole, happy and still together. And that’s a good thing.

There are those that may consider it unnecessary for me to have erased my online presence, or even be offended that I would do so. There may be those who view it as problematic that my partner had issues with my presence online if it really was as innocent as I profess, or that my being willing to abandon it would be something I would even consider. While I’m sorry this may be your view, I’m certainly not going to apologize for my actions. I did what I felt I had to do at the time. For those who felt abandoned or hurt by my departure, however, I do truly apologize. It pained me to leave, knowing there were many out there that I would miss being in contact with.

The consequences of twittercide are severe, however. Just as in real life, once abandoned you can never re-inhabit your original body. @insatiaboo is gone forever, and there is no getting it back; the laws of the twitterverse forbid it. A lot has changed, however, in six months. I started as an innocent neophyte, unschooled in the ways of Twitter, with an egg for a face. I evolved into a sarcastic, funny and thoughtful polar bear, lounging on my ice floe, swilling Badoit and martinis while mocking the Girl for her inability to cook without incurring severe bodily harm.

People in the community are encouraged to name and give voice to their identity. And so, after a very brief absence, I am pleased and proud to say that I am back. I am a kinky polar bear. And my name is @insatiabear.

Hi. My name is Insatiaboo, and I’m a pervert.

At least, in the eyes of many I probably I am

I like to think of it as being well-rounded. Or, I like well-rounded things. Bums figure prominently into this. Spanked bums, in particular. Sometimes mine, sometimes others.

Where my kink started is probably as much a mystery for me as it is for many, but it started as early as I was able to form coherent thoughts. For those of a sarcastic bent, no, this was not a recent occurrence. Let’s call it around the age of three or four, just to be safe.

One of my earliest exposures to kink, like many, was pornography. My path to sin, interestingly enough, was my father’s bedside table. Where normal parents no doubt might have a copy of Playboy or Penthouse secreted away somewhere, my dad had copies of Screw magazine. And European bondage magazines (from Amsterdam, I believe; kinky, those Europeans). I have no idea whether kink is hereditary, and I have no clue as to what his predilections actually were (nor do I seek to find out). I also have no idea whether his interests also extended to my mother, and I really, really don’t want to find that out, either. But it certainly reinforced for me at an early stage that there were different flavours of sex than those peddled by the mainstream media. And I apparently had a fondness for several of them…

Bondage, spanking, latex and leather were early fixations. And red ball gags. Not obsessions that got discussed at all (generally not the topics of casual conversation), but they figured into my masturbatory fantasies pretty much from the time that I figured out the mechanics of actually making that work.

Much of my early development was pre-internet, so my exposure came from what pornographic magazines I could either find or buy at a discreetly out-of-the-way convenience store (developing an appreciation at a surprisingly precocious age for the virtues of plain brown paper wrappers). My porn stash ebbed and flowed based upon the capacity of my mattress (why do pre-pubescent teenagers universally consider this a secure hiding place?!?) and the occasional bout of virtue that my conscience would unhelpfully inject.

The virtuous conscience is deadly to the development of an up-and-coming kinkster. The number of dildoes, butt plugs, handcuffs, paddles and other sundry accessories, not to mention stashes of pictures, stories, books and magazines, that have found their way into and then out of my life again is nothing short of astonishing. And sad. And depressing. Feelings of guilt that I was weird, and that I would be shunned, derided or mocked for my perversions, have been a periodic flirtation.

While I am different and unique, I am by no means alone, and there are many out there that share (and far exceed) my level of kink. On the best of days, I know and remember this (and correspond happily with many of them!) On the worst of days, I try to lock this idea up like a wilfully disobedient slave, in the deepest, darkest dungeons of my subconscious. It always gets out past the locks, however. While I recognize this now (mostly), it has taken a good long while to get here.

While I currently identify mostly as sub, this appears to not be as fixed a notion as it once did. I like and enjoy spankings and kinky sex, and I certainly like being on the receiving end. For me, this is playtime and reward, not punishment. I am not controlled or disciplined, and my relationship with my partner is one of equals. I am not subservient to her and she doesn’t dominate me. We love each other, we lust for each other, and we play with each other.

I’m also discovering a mischievous (some have said sadistic) streak that isn’t about being bratty for the sake of trying to attract a spanking, so much as trying to inspire squirming in others. These toppish tendencies are new and interesting and entirely formative in nature, so where this goes is anyone’s guess.

I am new to the whole world of blogs and Twitter, having recently ‘come out’ a few weeks ago (see aforementioned comments regarding virtue and guilt). In that time, I have found what many already know… that the internet is a wonderful way of finding your tribe, and of confirming in a way that is otherwise difficult or impossible that you are not alone. There is an entire universe of kinky people out there. What once lived in the darkened corners of the cupboards and recesses of our subconscious is being given pride of place in the light of our conscious minds, and that is no bad thing.

This blog is my way of exploring my kink, of sharing it and of contributing back to a universe of people that have contributed to me, in ways that many of them do not know and cannot possibly begin to imagine. It started after a small but influential lobbying campaign on Twitter. A select few – they know who they are – insisted that I should have a blog so they could read my stories. I consider this high praise indeed, given that I had only just written my first story the week prior. This has been followed by a second, a third and a fourth – with varying degrees of distribution. They will all appear here, and no doubt they will be joined by still more in the fullness of time.

Happy reading. I hope my words find a receptive audience – or at least a horny one.