I'm a fatalist, and the first to admit it. So I can honestly say that my presence here was meant to be.

As a toddler, I was sent out to the back yard every day to play. Apparently, whenever that happened, I took off all my clothes. No matter what the weather. Even then, I was a free spirit, unhappy with the confines of clothing. From the tender age of four, it was only a matter of time before I realized that this very activity would bring others pleasure as well as myself.

Years later, when I started masturbating at the age of 13, there was always one fantasy which got me there. One which has been indelibly ingrained in my mind ever since.

I am lying naked on a hospital gurney, in a large, circular operating amphitheatre. There are several doctors ‘working’ on me. Probing, touching, licking, and sucking. Above us, there are floor to ceiling windows around the circumference of the room. And in each window, there are residents in their lab coats, watching intently. They are masturbating. As the attention I am getting on the gurney gets more intense with all the doctors, so does the fondling by the residents of their cocks. When I’m nearing the point of no return, I look up and see each of the residents cumming on the windows with a splash. There is so much cum on the windows that I can no longer see through them.

This gives circle jerk a whole new meaning. The fact that I visualized this years before I even knew what it was amazes me.

So without even knowing it, I was born a nudist...and an exhibitionist as well. How prophetic.

Now that I've completed posting my version of E L James, it's time to articulate my thoughts on the world of BDSM and where I fit into it.

I don't live the lifestyle. You'll never see me wearing a dog collar and being walked on a leash. I'm not into pain or being marked and I have zero tolerance for name-calling. But give me hours of role-play with the right person and I'm a happy girl.

I dabbled in light bondage a number of years ago with an adventurous man whose imagination knew no bounds. He also introduced me to the world of fetish, as we regularly took in events at a club which featured them on the first Thursday of every month. The dimly-lit bar where they were held had play areas and the usual large wooden cross in the middle of it, on which there was always a submissive strapped in and spread-eagled for discipline. There were also a few curtained-off dens for more iniquity. The air in the place was wildly exciting, with like-minded, uninhibited people there to watch, be seen, heard and perhaps sampled. My partner and I would invariably end up in one of those dens by the end of the night, watched at a close distance by a gentleman who might have been asked to join in. I vividly recall a chance encounter we had in a den with a young guy wearing chaps and a motorcycle jacket. And nothing else. Unspeakably hot.

I came across this need for submission back then quite by accident, really. Because it didn't make sense to me that as a strong-willed woman, I could be comfortable relinquishing the control with which I conducted my everyday life. Yet it was that very thing which turned me on so much about submission. It had gotten exhausting making the decisions and calling the shots. So putting all of that in someone else's hands - at least sexually - was a revelation. And I embraced it.

Along with this desire, I have since learned that inevitably my dominant side comes into play, often during submission. The fun of that is having a partner who is in tune with me and equally comfortable playing both roles. For me, this play is all about respect, creativity, and imagination. It's about give and take, having the right discussions beforehand and fully understanding each other's limitations. It's a partnership born out of a deep affection, trust and a mutual desire to turn each other on. To heighten our senses. To in turn perhaps deprive a sense or two. To embrace the horny helplessness of restraint.

Just writing this has made me wet. I do love my play.

Dove’s Real Beauty campaign illustrates how women view themselves. If you haven’t seen these powerful ads, have a look.

(Sketch Artist)
(Doors)

A few years ago, I had the pleasure of being picked as a model for Dove’s Real Beauty Hair campaign. Unbeknownst to me, my photo was submitted by a friend….and that was validating enough, but to be included as part of Dove’s ideal of Real Beauty was quite another. It was an honour. Certainly up to that point, I had never envisioned myself as anything remotely close to that lofty ideal, so in that sense, I was precisely the demographic they were targeting. Dove’s mission in empowering women through their Real Beauty campaign has never diminished in its ten-year existence. As evidenced by the two spots above, women battle their self-image every day. I’m guilty of the same thing. Regardless of how I portray myself here (and the same may apply to other posters, as it’s much easier to be confident when one’s face isn’t in the mix) I feel the tug of an inner game of tennis on a daily basis. Yes, I may exude confidence like everyone else here and be told I’m beautiful, but away from NN, or the few people in my day-to-day life, even strangers - who pay me the same compliment….I’m really a dichotomy. Self-doubt – and consequently the need to please - have been ingrained in me since childhood. Often, that wins out over my confident side. And I’m willing to bet that more women here suffer from this than they’d care to admit!

Past relationships have taught me that it would take the right life partner to realize that my brand of beauty is unique and shouldn’t be shoved to the wayside when something ‘better’ happens to walk by. It is exactly this process that illustrates the validity of how women feel about themselves. If they can’t hold their partner’s attention, is it because there’s something less desirable about themselves…or their partners? Chances are good that they’ll go with the former rather than the latter, and that’s not only misplaced, but a travesty. Is it any wonder that most women - at some point in their lives - have felt that they couldn’t measure up?

‘Doors’ struck home with me. It’s no accident that I chose to describe my body as Average for my profile. Because, I’ve been there. The hesitation on the women’s faces in this spot, women who go straight for the Average entrance, yet cannot readily summon the courage to enter it, speaks volumes. ‘Sketch Artist’ is shocking in its insight. What has happened to these beautiful women who don’t see themselves that way? Who “taught” them to think like that?

We need to give ourselves credit. We need to take those brave steps to the Beautiful side and walk through that entrance with confidence.

Empowerment for women is validating of course - but it often requires an undoing of a lifetime’s worth of falling prey to the paralyzing effects of having to live up to the physical ideal of what the perfect woman is considered to be. In my own experience, I’ve learned that on the sexual playing field - whatever role I play, as long as respect, consensual and mutual interdependence are present, I know I’m as beautiful as I can be. And I’m confident about it.

Next week, I'm seeing Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea in concert together. In honour of Herbie, here is his cover - with Esperanza Spalding - of Sting's Fragile at the 2014 Kennedy Centre Honors. Pure magic.

.....a famous Russian composer, well-known for his piano and orchestral works who was born today, I thought it would be fitting to upload a recording of a piano performance I did of his Prelude #12, Opus. 32. Check out my voice greeting. Yes, that's really me playing.

It may seem incongruous to think of me - a woman stripped half-naked here on a regular basis - as a classical pianist, but music has always been an integral part of my life. Because of that, I wanted to write about it. Really, I'm a multi-faceted woman and in days to come, I hope to utilize my blog to share these sides of myself with you.

As far as training goes, I have a Bachelor of Music in Piano Performance with a minor on viola. [Which you've seen in many of my gallery images here. For those of you who don't know, the viola is a relative of the violin, but it's lowest string is tuned a fifth below and it's played in the alto clef. In time, I will be featuring the piano in my gallery as well, as I hope to be playing one again in the near future. ]

I know some of you are fans of classical music and that I can appreciate. Classical music can touch many emotions which I feel go hand-in-hand with other simple pleasures in life. For me, those pleasures are derived from the visceral reaction I experience hearing a beautiful piece of music - which sends chills up my spine, or seeing the beauty of architecture, a work of art, or a moving performance of dance.

I'm not all about classical music though. Over time, I plan to post a few clips of artists I love here....because really, music is meant for sharing. My tastes are eclectic and my library is massive, encompassing almost every genre. I like to think that music has served to enlighten me...as it has certainly introduced me to some incredible people that I've had the pleasure of performing with or for, as well as musicians I've idolized from afar. I guess it says a lot when I'm rarely without my headphones, seeking immersion into another world that takes me on a journey whenever I put them on.

I hope you enjoy the Rachmaninoff.

'If music be the food of love, play on.'

Recently, I was the victim of some venomous, vindictive and spiteful comments on one of my images.

Lusty comments are par for the course here and I’ve taken all kinds of pleasure in the wide variety of them - as well as others - that I’ve received throughout my time on NN. I know that plenty of my viewers don’t comment and that’s OK. I’m not seeking adulation. Nor do I think that what I post is everyone’s thing. After all, when it comes to sex and sexuality, is there anything more alluring, individualistic and complex?

This blog is about the haters. I’ve had enough. Each of them hides behind a coward’s castle of anonymity with their bogus, blank profiles, waiting to spew their poisonous bile on those of us who post. They derive pleasure from belittling both them, as well as those who go out of their way to express their appreciation by commenting in an affirmative way. Why not simply enjoy what this site has to offer?

As some of you know, a huge effort goes into the planning, shooting, editing, captioning and posting of the images in my gallery. So when I encounter derogatory and aggressive comments that are written in an attempt to intimidate me, I have no qualms about blocking and reporting those individuals immediately. I'm happy as hell to strike back at these trolls.

But it still stings to read this sludge. Deletion doesn’t cushion the blow that comes with an anonymous hate-filled message. The part of me that has chosen to put myself out there strictly as a form of creative self-expression - in order to bring people pleasure - is hurt. To think some people enjoy this targeting is incomprehensible.

Imagine opening your email and getting messages like these. If you know anyone who has experienced on-line abuse, you know how it wounds them. Maybe it can be rationalised away, but these things smart.

To admit this might be cutting off my nose to spite my face. But I know that in the grand scheme of things, these people are insignificant and their gutless actions speak volumes about them, not me.

I am not some virtual digital ghost. I am as real as you and those you hold dear. To paraphrase, if you cut me, do I not bleed?

I know that there are people out there who look out for and support me. I thank each and every one of my Praetorian Guard. You know who you are.

To the haters, I have no intention of crawling away with my tail between my legs. My gallery will continue to thrive.