You are not owed a thing

Right now, I need you to do something for me. Take a minute, a few deep breaths, locate a mirror, look yourself directly in the eyes and repeat after me: “I am not owed a thing.” Say it a few more times if needed until it sinks in. Ok, are you ready now? Here we go.

Privilege is a funny thing. You are not even aware you have it until it is taken away.

And when you are used to the comfort and freedom of privilege, the shock of having it taken away can make people act in odd ways.

Every day in every way, men have privilege. They have the privilege of greater economic power, greater strength, are generally taken more seriously and are more respected, they have greater opportunities.

The privilege of not having to hesitate when it is 11 pm and dark outside and you are all out of milk and need to make a run to the store. The thought “Maybe I should wait until tomorrow when it is safer and light outside” never has to cross their mind.

The privilege of calling up a contractor because you need a roof repair and the contractor doesn’t ask to speak to “The man of the house” or quote you a higher price because you have a vagina.

The privilege of more job opportunities at higher pay.

The privilege of being taken seriously when you go to buy a car.

Every day in every way, men get these privileges and *are not even aware of it.*

And then they get online. And still operating under the privilege they have been graced with their entire life, that they are not even aware they are bathing in, they start emailing women. And here is where a funny thing happens. That privilege gets checked. And they do not handle it well. They start melting down. They are OWED a response, see? They are ENTITLED to a response. That is their privilege talking to them there.

In the real world, on the street, even if a woman is not interested, you can get in her face. You can demand some sort of response, as little and slight as it might be. That is your privilege and you are used to having it. Online, all you can do is shoot out an email and hope they respond. And most of the time they do not. Because it is not their job. Because they do not owe you anything. And that is fine.

Where it is not fine is when your privilege makes you melt down and start DEMANDING responses, when you start getting rude and cutting, start generally revealing yourself to be the entitled asshole you were all along. And you wondered why she never responded to you in the first place? You are showing her exactly why. You are simply reinforcing to her that she made the right choice from the very beginning.

It is a brave new world out there buddy. We do most of our hanging out online these days. And it is a bit more of a level playing field here. You don’t get the privilege you are used to having. You better get used to that fact, as it is not going anywhere. Get used to empty mailboxes, get used to messages not being responded to. Because women do not *owe* you a response. They will respond if they feel like it, if you are engaging and catch their interest, but demanding they chat with you and then getting snotty when they do not do do will simply get you a one way ticket to Blockedville. And ain’t nobody want to hang out in Blockedville. It is a very cold and lonely place…


Nobody can *possibly* understand how much I have suffered!!!

We all know them. People so lost and trapped in their various traumas that they can hardly even function. They carry their troubled past like a giant bloody crucifix permanently hooked over a shoulder, dragging it about and waving it in everyone’s face at every opportunity.

We couldn’t possibly understand their pain.
Nobody on this planet has suffered as much as they have.
You have no idea how damaged they are, and everything they do is under the dark shadow of their traumatic past.

Well, I call bullshit on that.

I am going to lay all of my cards on the table right now. Not to whine. Not to try and one up you in the “my difficult past” game. No, just to prove a point.

You want to play the “rough childhood” game? Try being raised by a mentally ill mother, endless severe physical abuse, a constant stream of touchy stepfathers and boyfriends, grinding poverty and living on blocks of bright orange government cheese, alcoholism and mental illness running rampant through both sides of my family. Try being raised in a cult by hairy legged hippies that gave you no education other than some half assed homeschooling because they were so desperately trying to become enlightened past this world of suffering that they couldn’t really be bothered to teach you math. Trying moving out on your own at the age of 16 because your home life was so chaotic it was no longer a livable situation. Yes, all of that happened and worse, this is only the lighter condensed version.

I mention this not for sympathy but only to show you that I know ALL about hard pasts. And I do not allow my past to define my present. I could easily use my difficult past as a “get out of jail free” card and spend my present endlessly wallowing in misery and trauma. But I consciously chose not to. And I am a better person for it.

Your past is a huge anchor that you are carrying around with you at all times. It is heavy and weighs you down. You will never be able to move forward while still lugging around that anchor. Put it down. Put down your issues and move forward. There is an amazing world out there, and you can’t be part of it because you are lost in your trauma.

You are not a special and unique snowflake.
Your trauma is not worse than what others have gone through.
And while you are locked in the shadows of your past, the present just keeps matching right by you.

Obviously, I can not tell you how to live your life and you are going to do what you want to. But if I were you? I would let that anchor go…


A funny thing happened on the way to becoming a kinkster…

I have always been the type of person to commit myself utterly to whatever it is that I am passionate about, and kink was no different. Entering the lifestyle was like slipping into a warm bath after a long day, a feeling of meeting someone for the first time and immediately considering them an old lifelong friend. I had found something that I had been desperately missing my whole life and I didn’t even know it until that moment.

Where things started to get interesting is when my burning need for stronger and more intense and elaborate kink drove me in front of a camera. The only way I could practically get the top shelf, mind altering, other reality kinky experiences I craved was to start modeling. So I did. Walking into a dungeon and finding someone for a flogging scene is all well and good but my mind and body craved things like be buried upside down underground and caned, which is rather hard to pull off in most dungeons or play spaces.

The modeling was a means to the end I craved. I promoted myself just enough to continue to get more shoots, because more shoots equaled more fun kinky times, and I kept a picture catalog of my experiences on Fetlife as a sort of kinky scrapbook so I could keep track of all the cool shit I got to do over the years. I needed the kinky scrapbook, as I remember very little of my shoots. My mind fogs right the fuck out.

I honestly didn’t think about the videos getting created. I somehow didn’t realize that other people, people I had never met, were seeing me naked and cumming all over the place. Oh sure, logically I guess I knew, but it never really clicked. It was not about the videos to me. I have never sat down and watched a video of myself. It would just be too weird for me to do.

And then I started getting emails. Emails from complete strangers. Strangers that HAD seen little old me naked and cumming all the place and really seemed to enjoy it. Emails from Germany and Japan. All over the world! My pussy had become an international traveler! And what was amazing is that these strangers were telling me I was inspiring and a role model and gave them courage and hope.

I never meant to be a role model. It was not a role I planned on pursuing. I just wanted to be my kink on. But here I am. And the emails keep coming. So, reluctantly, but with as much grace as I can muster, I accept some people out there see me as some sort of inspiration.

People tell me all the time they wish they could do what I do, so today I write to simply give you the essence of how I got here and how to do what I do.

**Stop living your life for others, stop wearing false masks you are drowning behind because you are so terrified that other people will judge you. Be true to who you are and how you are wired.**

**Try and live each and every day as ethically as you can, treating others around you as respectfully as you can. Realize everyone has an ego, and when you slight that ego, you make enemies.**

**Have strong and clear boundaries. Don’t rush into things in some sort of kink frenzy without doing your homework and research. That opportunity, if it is legitimate, will still be there, but hasty regret leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.**

**Put your fear, guilt and shame aside. They are negative emotions that weigh you down like heavy boulders. Put the boulders down.**

That is it. Those are the steps I followed on my kinky journey, and they have gotten me far. If you find me some sort of inspiration, I am humbled and flattered and rather surprised, but I thank you from the bottom of my perverted little heart.

Keep it kinky my friends!


I am not a perfect victim

I am not a perfect victim. If, heaven forbid, anything ever happened to me, the new reports would not read “Rain DeGrey, wife, writer and activist, loving owner of 2 dogs and 2 cats” but rather “Rain DeGrey BDSM porn star” and that label skews everything else you might read. I would, in some way, *deserve* whatever happened to me because of my day job.

I never factored in that when I decided to become a Professional Naked Person that I would be trading in some basic rights as a result.

Most people can reasonably expect that they should not be hassled, talked down to, berated, dismissed or mocked. Oh sure, these things happen to us all. But once you throw in that I am a PNP, all of a sudden these is a distinct and distasteful undercurrent of “Well. She IS just a porn star. What does she expect?” in so very many of my interactions with other people.

I am not a perfect victim. While the fact I can be found naked on the internet is in no way the most important thing about me as a person, it is all others seem to see, and the label of “porn star” is the prism that everyone filters their interactions with me through. Go to the cops for being stalked? They would laugh me out of the station. Stand up for not being hassled and persecuted? How quickly the slurs of “Dumb whore” “Stupid porn skank” and “Go choke on a dick you cum sponge” get tossed my way.

For all that people voraciously consume what PNP produce, they seem to be unable to not look down their nose at the people making it. People love porn. LOVE LOVE LOVE it. But they also love to hate the people that make it. And I did not sign up to be a second class citizen when I decided to explore an aspect of being kinky that brings me so much joy.

I will always be an activist. I will always stand up for what I believe in. I will, to my very last breath, demand to be treated equally with my fellow human beings. You might not like it. You might wish the loud mouthed porn girl would just shut the fuck up already about nonconsensual dick photos flung her way by total strangers, you might think that I have less rights then a perfect victim.

I honestly do not care what you think. You can not slut shame me. You can not make me feel guilty about doing something I love. I will not be quiet. I will always fight for my rights. I am more then the cartoon character you carry around in your head. I am flesh and blood, I am human, and I deserve to be treated equally and reasonably.


Dick Pics: You are missing your target market

I get it. I truly do. Your dick, your special trouser snake, that joy stick of happiness, is the most magical dick in all of the land. There is no other dick like it in the entire world. Never mind that 50 percent of people on the planet have one. Never mind that for the vast bulk of women, they care more about the man that the dick is attached to then the flesh tube dangling there and occasionally getting stuck to your thigh on a hot day.

Your trouser snake is so magical that the mere sight of it when flung into stranger’s inboxes will immediately reduce them into a cock craving frenzy. They will not be able to think straight until they have their sweaty lil paws all over your manmeat.

Except not really.

Dick is somewhat lower on a woman’s priority list. They actually care more about if you have your shit together, if you have a job, if you are confident, if you have some sort of skill set, if you are a functioning human being. Few and far between are the women that are so cock obsessed that the only thing that matters is the peen. That completely discount the dude attached to the dick and only care about what you are packing.

But you know who really really likes cock shots?

Gay guys.

All over the world, your poorly lit cock shots with a tv remote thoughtfully included for size comparison are being completely ignored by women and eagerly consumed by cock craving gay guys. So by all means, keep flinging out your erect man meat photos all over the internet. But know the eyeballs appreciating them are usually not quite the target market you were aiming for…

Why I bottom

Bottoming puts me immediately in the moment. It grounds me in the now.

I am not thinking about needing to buy cat food, if my cell phone bill is paid, what that rude person said to me the other day, all the hundred different things you have to be on top of on a daily basis to just function on this planet.

I am never more aware of my body then when I bottom, and I seek total destruction. I seek to be pushed into a sweating, drooling, unable to sit up or get my eyes uncrossed state. I want to be unable to remember my own name. I want to be pushed into the realms of lights and colors and altered realties that a good session can provide.

We are not crazy people over here. There is a science, an art, to what we do. There is a REASON for what we do. The things we do dump a truckload of endorphins, adrenaline and natural pain killing opiates into our brainmeat and I get so blasted that I can not walk in a straight line. And I adore it with every fiber of my being.

And perhaps most importantly to me, bottoming is empowering as fuck. As a woman, I have been told from birth to be careful, don’t go outside at night, things are not safe, people can HURT you. The constant relentless message is that you are weak and fragile wears you down like you wouldn’t believe. There is nothing more empowering than getting the stuffing knocked out of you and realizing that you are so much tougher than you thought. I feel like Wonder Woman when I bottom. It makes me feel incredibly strong.

Bottoms do not get the credit for what they bring to the table. Subs are not “less than” Doms. They are both sides of the same coin, and one doesn’t work without the other. And most Doms would crumble under what they can easily dish out. Bottoms, you are tough cookies. Don’t you ever forget that.

Why I Top

I crave the control.

The feeling of absolute power when someone willing submits to you, puts themselves trustingly into your hands, is like honey and electricity on my tongue. My heart beats faster, every sense is sharpened. I want to maul their tender flesh and leave my mark behind. Every whimper, every moan, every response as I play their body like an instrument is like music to my ears.

When someone trusts you enough to hand their body over to you, it is the most beautiful thing in the word. I want to guide and mold them, protect them, help them, keep them safe. I want to be the buffer between them and a cold and cruel world.

Even if that “protection” takes the form of beating them with a Russian rubber riot police baton until my biceps ache. What can I say? I am a giver like that…

Why men find wooing so difficult

Unless you have been living under a rock your entire life, at some point you will of heard at least a hint of a whisper of the derp women face on a regular basis. And it is bad. It really is. Women have been self reporting on this on a consistent basis, but these reports regularly seem to get dismissed as exaggerations or women making a big deal out of little things and being dramatic.

Occasionally, a guy will get curious and go try a female profile before coming back wide eyed saying “Holy shiiiiiit they were NOT exaggerating in the slightest!!”

So why is it that men find wooing so hard?

Because they have never needed to before.

Throughout most of human history, women were second class citizens at best, if they were not property outright, to be transferred from father to husband. Marriages were mainly business arrangements and two people marrying for love or desire was unusual. When you could not own property, vote or have a job, you took the husband that came along and made do.

Women have been labeled “high strung ” and “hysterical ” throughout the ages, but if you were essentially living in solitary confinement with no job, money or options with some stranger you were married off to that probably didn’t even know what a clitoris was, is it any wonder women would occasionally go a little twitchy?

Those mouth breathing basement dwellers firing off the endless “heyyyy bb, wanna fuk??” emails that clog inboxes the world over would have had women back in the day, usually through arranged marriages. It didn’t matter your lack of social skills or game, you could get a companion. But now women can have jobs and own property and have options outside of getting a ring on the ringer and settling down to cooking and churning out babies. And men haven’t quite adapted to the new order of things yet.

I get that asking out someone is hard, and endless rejection starts to grate and wear down one’s self esteem after a while. But who exactly are you doing the asking to?

I have picked up my courage plenty of times and asked and gotten turned down flat. It stings. But you pick yourself up and ask someone else, hopefully under more successful circumstances. The *DIFFERENCE* is that men will overlook the rather obvious clues of “head down, no eye contact, walking away rapidly, a profile saying not interested, not single and not looking” and ask anyway, then get frustrated at their lack of progress. All women quickly get lumped into the “stuck up cunts” category, whereas if they had stopped thinking with their dick for 30 seconds they could of seen that the asking was futile as the woman is clearly saying “not interested, not going to happen.”

So for the first time in history, men actually have to woo women. And as it turns out, they tend to not be very good at it. They haven’t had much practice.

Lies we tell ourselves

We all have that voice. That nagging negative voice that never shuts up. That voice that keeps telling you how everyone is judging you, that they don’t like you, that they are thinking poorly of you. It can be so bad that simply walking down the street can be a miserable experience. Because certainly everyone is looking at your stupid outfit, your messed up hair and dirty shoes and thinking about what a dumb ugly loser you are.

Let me clue you in on a little secret my friends. No they aren’t.

That is your ego talking. How big is your ego that you think that people are busy thinking about you? That people are taking time out of their busy lives to even bother having you ever cross their mind? People are not judging your hair, outfit or face when you walk down the street because they never even get around to thinking about you in the first place.

Don’t believe me?

Try getting six inches cut off your hair and changing the color. Not even your best friend or husband notices. Ever had someone bemoan the “huge giant Mt. Everest sized zit” on their face that is ruining their entire day? A zit that with a magnifying glass, perfect vision and a finger helpfully pointing to the exact location you can maybe kinda see if you squint really hard? What you think is blindingly obvious about your personage is not even remotely noticeable to others around you.

People are not judging you because they never get around to thinking about you in the first place. And this realization was one of the most liberating realizations I have ever had in my entire life. I am completely free to be me. I do not have to live my life for others. The freedom and relaxation that I get to wallow in due to this revelation is an incredible feeling and I recommend it highly.

Once you realize that nobody is judging you or thinking about you, that the universe that is “You” never even blips across other people’s consciousness, you learn that the voice in your head is lying to you. That negative nagging voice in your head? It is full of shit. Kick it to the curb. The day I learned that voice was a liar was the day I was reborn. It was like struggling to walk in a heavy soaking wet winter coat that I suddenly realized I could take off and feel sunshine on my flesh. And I have been reveling in the sunshine ever since.

Be you. Be the true you. You are free. Nobody is judging you. Nobody is thinking about you. Go out and be the very best you that you can possibly be while you are on this planet. And tell that stupid lying voice in the back of your brain to suck your dick, it is certainly not doing you any favors.


But nobody reads anymore…

Nobody reads these days they say. Reading is a dying art. Everyone is on the computers, high tech, wired for sound, surfing on that digital highway. Who bothers with READING?!

Well, except for the small fact that all everyone is doing on computers is reading. Computers are words everywhere. You can’t get online and log into a website without being at least moderately literate.

Which is why getting messages riddled with text speak and abbreviations like “hru bb?” drive me right up a wall. There is no excuse. “Baby” is only 4 letters. What are you doing with your time that is so precious that you need to abbreviate it down to “bb?” Are you busy discovering the cure for cancer? Probably not. Add the damn “a” and “y.” Or when (and this has happened to me so many times that I lost count) someone messages you about something that is right on your profile and when you point out that the info is contained on your profile, they respond with “I don’t have *time* to read profiles.”

Um. Do you have ANY idea how someone that can’t be bothered to write to you in full sentences or read your profile comes across as someone that would be absolute crap in bed? If you can’t bother to spell out “How are you?”and just fling a “hru?” in my general direction you are not exactly coming across as someone who cares if I ever end up cumming or not.

Think about it. This is the message you are sending: “I can’t be bothered to read your profile, and I can’t take the time to use real words with you, but I promise I am going to rock your world!!”

I get it. I really do. You have taken the time and crafted out careful emails, thoughtful emails, put effort and energy into it, and you get back nothing. So you develop a severe case of “fuckititis” and just start slinging out the copy pasta. And that is when your chances go down from slim to none. When you put in zero effort in contacting someone, what you are really saying is “I need a body. Any body will do. As long as it is warm. YOU! You will do! How about it bb?” Your serving of copy pasta that you are flinging out to every person in a 100 mile radius? Not getting a lot of responses on it, are you?

You are going to say you are playing the odds. That you can’t be bothered with effort anymore and are just casting a wide net. *Something* will land it in. But think about it. The woman that can be wooed with an email reading “lookn fiiiine lil mama!! Wanna fuk? 3====D ” and is willing to meet up and part legs based on that well crafted Shakespearean sonnet would be so riddled with diseases that I wouldn’t risk touching her with a full body condom on. And I bet your wallet would be missing after she left.

You get out what you put in. And when you are just randomly flinging cold copy pasta at every warm body that comes into your view, you are not putting in very much. Think about it.

But hey, what do I know? Keep doing what works for you. If it is working so well for you, by all means keep it up….