"Let the beauty you love be what you do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground." - Rumi

Thursday, April 16, 2009


by Anya Kless

Ordeals come in many forms, as does the training that prepares us for them. Part of my path is the path of the flesh - sex work. I only realized much later that much of my sexual history has been preparation for the things I do in the name of Odin, and Lilith, and--last but not least--Loki. Looking back, I am made aware of how thoroughly He shadowed me during my formative years of sexual play and performance.

My high school boyfriend fell for me while I was dressed as Zorro. Maybe it was the riding boots, the black mask, or the penciled-on moustache. Maybe it was my cocky little smile. In college, I fucked boys and girls interchangeably—sometimes in happy groups of naked lust—and I continued masquerading. I cropped off my hair, dyed it fire engine red, and ran the gambit of self-expression from extreme femme to farm boy butch. I began a written correspondence with one of my best female friends—and bedmates—even though we lived in the same building. She played Fritz, a bright-eyed German student, while I answered as Alexi, a brooding Russian revolutionary. We filled pages with our fervent, melodramatic desires, all the while staying up late critiquing bad porn, discussing our feminist theory class, and watching every film from the “Gay/Lesbian” section of our local Blockbuster. It was a fruitful time of experimentation. I honestly didn’t know what box I belonged in, but luckily I was in an environment that didn’t care if I ever chose.

After college I had less opportunity for such blatant play, but Halloween has always been a good excuse. For one of my first Halloweens in New York City, I morphed into a goth princess to the extreme. I covered myself in tattoos and piercings (temporary), made up my face, whitened my skin, and sprayed my hair into a jet black spiky halo. When my unsuspecting boyfriend knocked on my door, a whispered “Oh my God” slipped out before he could say anything else. As we rode the subway, parents moved their children away from my layered black gown and arched eyebrows. A few years later, my roommate and I went out as a loser hipster boy and his Russian bride. I provoked a fair amount of amused disgust with my stubbled jaw, stringy hair, and faux paunchy physique. I didn’t go as far as I used to with rolled socks down the crotch of my jeans, but I felt the transformation was a success.

I have always enjoyed the fluidity of my appearance and the possibilities of multiple identities. There are times where it’s worked against me, yet it’s also made me more generally adaptable to whatever life throws my way. I am a natural chameleon, which explains why I could fit into the social world of every person I’ve dated, from academics and composers to lawyers and insurance salesmen. It’s another kind of drag, what my friend Tamyris calls the “Midgard drag.” In other words, how well can you “do” normal as your spirit work slowly pulls normalcy away from you?

My answer: surprisingly well.

My abilities in this area no doubt stem from Loki, master showman, trickster, and transformer. I built Him an altar in the fall, but I’ve only been starting to have ‘sessions’ with Him in the last month. Most of these sessions involve charging my strap on, a sacred tool that sits on His altar when not in use. The first time I held it during a meditation, He came through as a rough and gorgeous punk boy, there to break all the rules and show everyone how it’s done. While I watched, speechless, He took Odin—my very dominant husband and master—and used Him as a demo bottom. “This,” He grinned while thrusting, “is how you fuck an Odin’s man. This is how they need it.” Hail Loki, Blower of Minds.

Luckily for me, I had fucked men before. Before I’d ever used a strap on, I was skeptical that it could provide any enjoyment to the person wearing it. I saw it as the equivalent of turning yourself into a sex toy for someone else. It set off all my feminist alarms about women, even dominant women, serving as mere tools for male pleasure.

Boy was I wrong.

I remember the exact moment I realized it, too. I had a beautiful, bound male submissive on his knees before me, someone I cared deeply about and switched with for almost two years. That evening, he greedily sucked on my strap on, choking whenever I decided to pull on his collar and slide it down his throat. Needless to say, he was moaning—when not choking—and rock hard. The surprise? I was so wet my own juices were dripping down my leg. I don’t know if it was the control, the energy, or something else, but I had an epiphany. This is fucking hot.

By the time I got to Loki, therefore, I knew there was both power and pleasure contained in my silicone cock. I knew that I would need to extend my energy into it and create an astral connection, literally building a phallus for myself. Of course, the trickster had more surprises for me.

Last week, I went to see Him again, despite the fact that my new harness had not yet arrived (I had lost the old one when my relationship with the beautiful cocksucker ended. I never keep used toys – too much of an energy connection there.) With a black bungee cord, Loki taught me how to quickly and simply fashion a makeshift harness. I attached my new cock and carved up a nice red candle for Him. I felt the energy in the room changing. As I stood in front of the mirror, freshly showered, hair slicked back, makeup-less, cock in place, I was morphing. I wanted to erase my breasts and thrust my hips. I felt—to use a bad pun—cocky. Loki had nudged me into the headspace of a gay man.

As a top I tend to be quite femme, so this was odd to say the least. Some of my past female partners had triggered my male side, but in a very hetero, sexual predator kind of way. This was different. I grunted and muttered things through gritted teeth as I stroked my cock with a lubed-slicked, gloved hand. I wanted different things, I made different noises, I even came differently. Rather than the full-body, paralyzing girl orgasms I usually have, this was localized around my cock. Interesting.

Yesterday we had another session with the same results. I wonder if there are going to be clients I’ll have to penetrate as a man, or if He’s just trying to widen my horizons. The more permutations I have, the more useful I am. I know I have the potential to see anyone as a potential partner. I know I can be both top and bottom, and I know I can do drag. I just never guessed I’d be in drag energetically.

I have never felt that I was born into the wrong body or that I wanted to physically change my sex. For me, it’s a matter of fluidity and transformation. For some people, that might make it less real. For others, play is a dirty word that connotes not taking your true identity seriously and living it 24/7. I know that my ability to “pass” as “normal” is not a choice some people have or frankly want. Personally, I celebrate the idea of play, even as it becomes my work. Knowing my history, it makes sense and just seems like the next step. It still caught me off guard, but then again, that’s what He does best.

Hail Loki, Master of Disguise.

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