I have written a book called "M/s for the Rest of Us" it is available for purchase here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/k-e-enzweiler/ms-for-the-rest-of-us/paperback/product-22151343.html
Or on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Rest-Us-K-E-Enzweiler/dp/1329062213/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1432825657&sr=1-2&keywords=m%2Fs+for+the+rest+of+us
I am the founder of the Albuquerque Masters Group. We meet once every other month. The group is open to all who wish to explore their Mastery, slavery, or Dominance and submission. Please contact me here or at my email : Bigdykebear@yahoo.com for more information! The meetings are free to all who wish to attend!
If you are interested in power munches, skills workshops or play parties in the Albuquerque area please contact the 20 year organization of AEL at:
If you are interested in active online community please find:
Group names for the Albuquerque Community Include:
Land Of Enchantment Fetlifers
Albuquerque Master/slave forum
New Mexico Leather League: Leather/Kink/Fetish and More
Friday, July 29, 2016
How amazing would it be if someone else could just hand out your identity? You would not have to struggle, think, or otherwise work for who you are. It would just be there. Bam-- signed and sealed. If ever you had any doubt about who you are, or if someone else had doubt about who you are, you could just show them your papers. Master, slave, submissive, brat, masochist. Daddy, Dome, or Service Top. Even have it notarized to erase any doubt.
How easy would that be?
Next time someone says “You’re not a ….” You could just show them your card. It says right here “The International Board of BDSM certifies that I am a…”Then they would look at the card reverently and say “well yes, I must have been mistaken.”
Next time you doubted your abilities, double thinking who you are, and what you have to offer you can pull out your card and remind yourself that you are certified.
Here is the thing with that, well couple of things really.
The first being - what is given can also be taken away. So let’s say the Board of yucky yuck decided that you are a Master. Card carrying, certified, trained, and the whole bit. Then one they change, or nothing changes and they decide – nope – you aren’t a Master anymore. New rules, so sorry, surrender your card. So where does that leave you?
Shamefully enough, there are camps out there that people pay for that will in essence certify a person as a Master. Now yours truly here is already out of the running because I can afford to go. So first you have to able to afford to go. Then you have to pass the qualifiers that someone else made up that suits them for Mastery, and then you get a cap. You graduate, so to speak.
Now I am not opposed to these scamps, they create dialogue, they open ideas, and some teach skill and insight. Where my problem is has to do with the idea that you can graduate into an identity.
The same for slave camps, or submissive camps. You take the course, you pass the tests, hopefully (cause you paid for the course instead of paying the rent) and WHOOLA! The work is over. You are certified.
What if- just spit balling here- what if you don’t agree with what is being taught? What if you don’t fit into the group by appearance, physical ability/disability, or financial limitations? What if you can’t take their teachings and make them apply to your life? What if you pass the course, become a certified Master or slave then really find out you are neither one of those things.
I like classes. I love camps. But I think that identity is much more complex then 5 days following someone elses path. I think that the beauty of BDSM is that we have to fight for who we are. We have to think about, ponder, and experience BDSM. You have to figure out where BDSM fits in your life as your life changes and grows. And at the same time, as social beings, who we are is reflected in the community around us.
I would have loved to have been given a certificate that says “Master” on it. So that way, every time I was questioned, or I was struggling I could just remind myself that someone says I am a Master, so it must be. It would have made my life so much easier.
But it would have taken from me was well. I am not a Master because someone else says I am. I am a Master because I say I am. My slave is not a slave because say she is; she is slave because she says she is. And no one can take these things from us because we have earned them within ourselves.
Identity is not something that you can graduate into, it is something that you have to grow into with insight and time.
Friday, July 22, 2016
Over the last week I have had some really amazing experiences. One was the speaker at the Wet Munch talking about behavioral conditioning. She was the first speaker that I have ever heard talk about the responsibility that she has to make sure that the person that she is working with is functional for the next part of their lives. I loved that. I soaked up her words like a sponge.
We also had Mauro talk. Mauro is an amazing man. He spoke about what it was like to work with AIDS in the eighties. I was moved to tears. I have the deepest respect for Mauro and his husband Andy. Their passion for community is as abundant as their passion for each other. Mauro inspires me to be a better me, a better lesbian, and a better leather woman.
I started the “Ties That Bind” award. One day about 4 hours before the Wet Munch I was lying in bed thinking of all of the people that are the silent but crucial people to the working of this community. In 2007 the “Leather Order of Honor and Service” award was created. The idea was that it had to be awarded to you, and then you could turn around and award someone else. It was beautiful, and to this day remains one of the most prestigious awards I have ever received.
So that moment I called up Travis of Tease, he took my simple idea and made it into something truly beautiful! Travis is the”MacGyver” of leather. He can take a bird’s nest and a dust bunny and make it into a leather vest. So I told him to do whatever moved him. And boy did he deliver!
Events in this community don’t just happen. There are leagues of people that make it happen. When I throw something is our place I have easily 6 to 10 other people that make the basics happen. I am not talking about cleaning and prepping the house, I am talking about help with supplies, do the money and entry, bring the chairs, teach, help others. I would be lost without an entire crew of people for every event.
So this is where the Ties That Bind award comes in. Part of it is to honor those that have given, and part of it is to get others thinking- what can I do? What do I have to offer? For my slave and I, we don’t have money, we just don’t. But we do have time, effort, knowledge, energy, love and a venue.
My hope is that by recognizing people that give and how they give, it will maybe bring to mind in others what they can do as well. Not necessarily money - something else, something just as important. So that is why I started it.
Now this opens up another conversation.
What part of my ego allows me to think that I have the right to give anybody else an award? This is something that I have struggled with. I have only been in community 15 years; I have only been organizing for 11. People that give out awards have way more time in then I do, their lives are full of events and national travel, that have taught, won titles, and awards themselves. I can’t compare with theses people.
What makes me think that I can do this is that no one else is doing it, and this type of thing has to start somewhere. I know that I am not the most qualified to do this, or even the best person to do it.
But I am at least doing it.
So here is my challenge to you- if you know someone who has worked their ass off for your community, let me know. I only know so many people, and what they do.
I need you to tell me who is making a difference in your world and how.
Send me names and what they have been doing.
That way- this award becomes about all of us and not just my understanding of my little circle.
Friday, July 15, 2016
Recently over the last few weeks something has come up over and over again in my life. It was one of those things that happen sometimes. Where that one thing just keeps coming up, in conversation, in the news, or in a Fetlife feed. So today as I was sitting down to write this I thought- maybe this is what I should write about today. It is something that I never talk about outside of my slave and SM. So I am taking a leap.
Back when my slave and I first got together she was passionate about being body positive. It was her shield against the world when it came to how she was treated because of how she looked. Honestly, I didn’t understand a lot of what she was talking about. It was way over my head. Over time the more that we talked about sex the more that I understood what she was saying. That was when I started to really understand the power of what she was saying.
When she talked about sex she would say “I don’t want to feel like my lover is too afraid to or doesn’t want to or is hesitant to want to touch my body.” I understood that right away. What took time was the bigness of it.
It took time to register the power in knowing that your lover wants to touch and play and experience all of your body. Knowing that they don’t just tolerate how you look because”I love you” or because “I don’t care what size you are” or the biggie of all “I would love you no matter what size you are.”
Understanding the concepts of body pride are very complex and they are about taking that next leap- the previous statements are about tolerating someone’s body. They aren’t about finding joy and lust in it. Those statements are very different then having your lover lustfully grab for your body or say “I love your curves, your rolls, your muffin top. I Love how your hips swell, and how you look coming and going. I love how the weight of you feels on me, and I love how the bigness of you envelopes me.” Those are completely different things then “I love you no matter what your size.”
It means that those of statements that start with “No matter, I don’t care, I love you” are no longer enough. It means demanding more from ourselves and our lovers. It means saying to them- “I need more from you to feel and know like you really want to be with all of me. “ It means saying “When you say - I love you no matter what your size is- you are saying that you pity me, and that who I am now is tolerable to you.” It means saying to them “You say that you love me because of who I am, I need to know that you desire and lust for me for the same reason.”
It means not justifying our weight to anyone- because we should never have to. Not Our Doctors, not society, not our families- not anyone. So let’s talk about justifying for a moment.
When I first sat down to write this I wrote about how much I weighted when my slave and I first got together, and then something that happened to me that changed my life forever. It was after I wrote those first few sentences that I realized that I am justifying my weight –even now- to myself- to you- to those ghosts that still live in my head, to those memories of my father getting up in the middle of dinner and throwing my plate in the trash. So I stopped writing those words, erased them and started over.
It took years for what my slave was saying to sink it, for me to step outside myself and watch others as they talk about their bodies, their food, their sense of moral and ethical self completely balanced on their forks. But when I finally did see it, my eyes flew wide open.
If we as a culture spent the amount of time, effort, energy, and money on curing cancer that we did on loosing weight- we would have cured it by now.
If we as a culture recognized that bullying for size is not acceptable it would change every TV show, every movie, most punch lines, and the fashion industry.
Everyday people of size- I- am bombarded by how I am not acceptable to this culture, how I am a burden to its already strained medical resources, and how I am not a good nurse because I am of size.
So I deserve more when it comes to my lovers and my friends.
And so do you.
If you are ready to change how you feel about your body then read this book:
The Obesity Myth by Paul Campos
See this movie:
Fathead by Tom Naughton
And watch this clip:
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
As a white person I do not know who to support my fellow people of color. I don’t even really know how to support my beloved wife and slave. I am terrified that she will leave the house, get pulled over and get shot. I am terrified that the racial violence and bigotry of this country will escalate. As people feel empowered by the racist ramblings of the madman running for the white house.
I don’t want my love to leave the house, but at the same time I know – deep down- that I can’t keep her safe.
This past weeks, the shootings have sent shock waves through all communities. As I am not a person of color, I can only say that I feel like my position as an alley is simply not enough. Last Saturday I went to Synagogue, and the Rabbi said (I am paraphrasing here) reach out and give the scared and lonely a voice. Your may not be able to change the system, but by giving that sacred person a voice, you can change someone’s expense of it. Do not stay silent in the face of others pain.
Being so terrified myself about my slave being safe, I have frozen. I have stopped talking to her. I am angry- not at her, because I am so afraid that she is broken and I am helpless.
These people of color were doing nothing, they were targeted, they were killed for no other reason than the perpetrators bigotry. I listened to an interview with the head of the Dallas police, he spoke so beautifully about only being able to do their jobs so much, and then it has to come done to law. He spoke about not letting 1 to 2 % of people decide how you feel about and treat the rest. He talked about holding police accountable.
I listened to an interview by the head of the surgery, an African American surgeon that talked about having to treat the officers that were gunned down at the “Black Lives Matter” rally. He talked with candor of being conflicted in his role considering the last week, his words brought me to tears.
My wife and slave is black, the color of her skin is dark, luscious, and stunning to me. I love the waves and patterns of her hair, I love her take on institutional racism, bigotry, and hate. I love the strength that it takes for her to do the day to day things that I, as a white person, take for granted. Walking into a Walmart, a gas station, an independently owned store, or small a restaurant. Just to name a few.
The daily strength that it takes to walk off our property and into the world is based on an illusion of safety. It is a thin thing, a fragile thing. Over the past few years as more and more people of color have been able to make public even to live stream their incidences of violence at the hands on those entrusted and sworn to keep us safe, this thinly vailed idea of safety starts to erode.
On one hand- this is a good thing. (Now that is the white person in me speaking) that theses episodes of violence are being videoed. That they are being brought to the public consciousness to shine a light on acts of barbarism that for too long has done ignored, invalidated, justified, and outright lied about.
We have Rodney King to thank. His videoed attack was the first that blasted into the media. He was the first to have gone through this and have it be something that we all had to do through. We as a country could no longer ignore stories of racial police violence as a “not in our time” story, or an exaggerated experience of only a few. I would never wish that violence on any one, but Rodney King’s brave fight after the incident kept us all accountable. I am grateful to him.
On the other hand- people are dying, People are being hunted, people are being terrorized. People are doing all of the right things in life and they are being targeted BECAUSE those things make them EASIER targets.
If my wife were to get pulled over, she would do the right thing. She would stop, get her license and registration, and wait. And doing the right thing not only does not guarantee her safety, it furthermore makes her completely vulnerable. The problem IN NO WAY being the color of her skin the problem being the personal beliefs of the person that stops her.
I can’t keep her safe.
And I don’t know how to support her, I don’t know how to help her to feel safe, I don’t know how to even listen with an open heart without my own fears and terror shutting me down.
I struggle deeply with putting myself aside to be there for her fully. The idea that my love would die at the hands of a bigot who was given a gun by the taxes that I provide. That is backed by the city and state, that is more than fear.
That is paralyzing terror.