An Aural Epistle

Note: This one’s sexually explicit and about me. Beware! 

Auralism: the fetishization of sound

I’m an aural person. I enjoy hearing words, sounds, and songs. In sexual contexts, I’d much rather hear than see. There’s something about the unspooling of the voice as arousal builds that just gets me. My sub is quite vocal, and he’s gotten louder with training. I delight in the unconscious sounds that he makes, from little gasps to broad, ecstatic moans. And I admire them. It takes guts to be so noisy. 

Sometimes, I have him send audio recordings. He always records himself when I allow him to orgasm. Several days ago, I gave him permission to play with himself, with one caveat: he would have to ‘talk’ the whole time. Now, to be clear, this was not a phone conversation. This was sexting; he would be talking to himself. I imagine that’s difficult, but he did it. 

Somehow, just knowing that he was obediently narrating his desires to an empty room aroused me almost as much as hearing him in person. While he edged, I settled in and started to explore my own body–I ended up doing a little edging of my own. The thought of him panting as he forced himself to make words was almost enough to tip me over the edge, but I wanted to wait. I told him that I expected him to speak right up to the moment of orgasm.

I can’t capture sound in writing, but the result was delicious, right down to the fuzzy microphone feedback. He told me how much he loved being fucked by me, described what he wanted me to do to him, and begged to cum. His orgasm came like a record scratch, mid-sentence. Mine followed by mere seconds, nearly silent. And then he thanked me. 

Silence is dignified, but sound is brave. Through hearing, I share in my sub’s bravery. Next time, maybe I’ll do the talking.     

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Sex Dreams – A Grumble

You know, I can see a variety of reasons to cultivate a ‘lucid dreaming practice’. Not automatically dropping out of the air mid-flight when I realize I’m dreaming is one of them. Another reason? I would love to have a good sex dream. My sex dreams, like most dreams, usually end up mixed-up and stressful. Oftentimes, there’s some obstacle to sex, overwhelming desire thwarted by lack of privacy or another problem. I’ll keep looking for places to have sex, only to find that my partner isn’t who I thought they were (or, alternatively, scorpions come out of nowhere).

Last night’s sex dream had all kinds of obstacles. In the dream, I had some serious sexually submissive feelings toward a cis man (I almost never have such feelings toward men in real life). And this was the worst possible man–he was ‘the Reverend’ from Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (honestly, couldn’t it have at least been Gretchen?). Having somehow decided that kidnapping and fundamentalist cult leadership weren’t deal-breakers, I threw myself at him. He responded favorably. And then he uncapped his dick, which was like a set of Russian nesting dolls. I didn’t like the new shape he revealed. I then realized we didn’t have any condoms or dams and backed away from the encounter. Well, at least dream-Perpetua had some sense. I wish I could lucid dream my way into a positive, safe experience or let go of reality entirely. Yes, maybe I will cultivate that lucid dreaming practice. It’s on my to-do list. 

Unbuttoned Epistles Top 10 Roundup

[Image description: Photo is of a blooming sunflower.]

Greetings, Beloved! Since I’m still visiting people, I’ve decided that today’s epistle will just be a hodgepodge of things I’ve written so far. They cross the spectrum. Enjoy!

Explicit Epistles: 

Non-Explicit Epistles: 

Also, I want to give a shoutout to my Resources page. It’s a work in progress, but it’s a trove of helpful info, if I do say so myself. 😉 

Be of good courage!

Dirty Hymns

[Image description: Photo is of the cover of the 1862 sheet music for “Battle Hymn of the Republic.”]

I’ve been traveling and visiting relatives, so this’ll be a super-mini-epistle. 🙂 

Few people have more reverence for Christian hymns than I do. I grew up singing from the old brown hymnbook in a little church where anything written after 1970 was considered “new.” Even the ones whose theology I don’t agree with (Ex: heavy atonement theology) are like old friends. 

But also? I like to have silly fun. And these hymns are such fun to pervert. My mischievous aunt taught me a trick a few years ago, to tack the phrase “in the bed between the sheets” onto the end of each hymn line or stanza. 

If you get bored during church, you just open your hymnal to a random page and let your imagination run wild. You might find some funny (or even poignant!) entertainment.  Be warned, fellow Christians; you may never see those oldie goldies the same way again. 😉 

One of my personal favorites is “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” as illustrated below:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…in the bed between the sheets!

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored…in the bed between the sheets!

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword…in the bed between the sheets!

His truth is marching on…in the bed between the sheets!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

His truth is marching on.

Continued “Battle Hymn” lyrics (an experiential activity):

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,

His day is marching on.

I have read His fiery gospel writ in rows of burnished steel!

“As ye deal with my condemners, so with you My grace shall deal!

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, “

Since God is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me;

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free!

While God is marching on.

Submission is Scary

[Image description: Photo is of a freshly rained-on brick patio with plants growing around the edges and through the cracks. A pair of pale human feet is at the edge of the frame.]

This’ll be short because I’m emotionally exhausted.

I’ve heard it said that in BDSM, dominants learn power, submissives learn courage, and switches learn wisdom (I wish I could find the original source). That statement oversimplifies things for sure, but it illustrates where I am right now. Looks like I’m about to be very courageous. I’m talking with a friend about experimenting with a low-key D/s dynamic where she is dominant and I am submissive; it’s more of a mindset than a specific kind of play. Not having had any experience with actually submitting before, I’m terrified. 

She brought up the idea of D/s a couple of days ago, and my subconscious wouldn’t leave it alone (I actually dreamed about it; I pay attention to dreams). When we finally started discussing it in messages, I had a physical fight-or-flight response–pounding heart, churning stomach, etc. Having only experienced kink so far as a dominant and top, giving up control and letting myself be led is scary. But scary doesn’t mean bad, and I’ve learned over the years that if I don’t let myself be scared sometimes, I won’t grow. 

Even though I’m intimidated by the vulnerability of it, I’m proud of myself just for being courageous enough to explore this path–I feel braver already. I’m also terribly curious about what I will learn and the wisdom that this experiment will bring. 

That’s all I got for now, but I’ll have more reflections soon! 

Fireworks

[Image description: Photo is of distant exploding orange and gold fireworks.]

Picture me at age four. It’s the fourth of July. I’m at an Independence Day celebration at the local megachurch. I’ve been so excited to see the fireworks. But when I actually see them, loud and bright and technicolor, I’m terrified. When I look up, they’re so close that it feels as if they’re coming down on me like fiery rain. After a few minutes trying to tolerate it, I cut and run, bolting across the field to my dad’s car. And my dad? He’s running with me, not after me. He isn’t mad at me for being scared. After that, we admire the fireworks from a distance. 


Even now, over two decades later, I prefer to keep my distance from fireworks and sparklers. They’re beautiful, but when I’m too close, my fear of injury and sense of “overwhelm” make me unable to enjoy their beauty. I stand a little farther back from them than most people. And that’s okay. In my life, there are shows, events, relationship styles, people, and activities that I prefer to admire from afar. That’s the best way for me to enjoy them. It doesn’t make me a coward. It doesn’t mean that I don’t respect those who choose differently–quite the contrary. It doesn’t mean that I’ll never change my mind. It does mean that I know what I need right now (like when I needed to get away from those fireworks right then). And it feels good to know that the caring people in my life respect that.