Epectase #8

Epectase was born from a desire to bring together various approaches, reflections and visions around eroticism. A wild eroticism that does not allow itself to be enclosed in norms, labels or moral judgements. An eroticism that seeks to emancipate itself from oppressive patterns and positions of authority.

The idea behind the creation of Epectase magazine was to create a participative platform for exchange and expression around eroticism. After 8 issues, we have impression that it’s working rather well. Unfortunately, the little hands with golden fingernails who led this adventure no longer find the time and attention the project deserves. As a result, they’re looking for other little hands who’d like to take over and continue this initiative in collaboration with the Projet-Evasions, the flamboyant anarchist network behind the logistical side of the magazine. If you’re interested, drop us a line – our mailbox is very welcoming and offers digital cookies : evasions@riseup.net

Epectase is published every 6 months. It is a multilingual project. The original versions are published in the paper version and the translations are published further down in this article.

– translations –

I’m not interested in sex, but I love sex – by Eusèbe – page 12-13

Recently, I discovered after years of wandering, trauma, misunderstanding, guilt and self-blame, that sex doesn’t interest me anymore than that. And yet, I love sex. Recently, I’ve made peace with these two little pieces of me.

I’m not interested in sex, but I love these moments of intense love, forgetting the fire of the world while the fire of my body burns through me.

I’m not interested in sex, but I love it when they pulls out their belt. And that brief moment of anticipation, between excitement and fear.

I’m not interested in sex, but I love it when I can wake them up in the middle of the night and get them to stick his head between my legs. I love cumming and going back to sleep, their head still between my dripping thighs.

I’m not interested in sex, but sometimes I masturbate, imagining all the things I want done to me. That I be tied to the head of the bed, on my knees, my body all ganged up, a gag in my mouth with the only possibility of watching how I’m used. That my body be used, entirely. That I’m being used to masturbate, to rub, to penetrate me through every hole, to unload, to relieve myself. I like to imagine them sitting on me, while they penetrates their, cumming together and flooding my face. I like to imagine them fucking on top of me, without me participating, without being able to do anything, just listening and feeling their bodies vibrating and hot with desire glued to me.

I’m not interested in sex, but I enjoy watching their eyes beg for a little air. I love them thanks when I open my hand around their neck. I love their pleas. I love their tongue eagerly outstretched to receive my drool.

I’m not interested in sex, but I love it when they puts the collar on me after they wakes up, and I’m at their disposal for whatever they wants throughout the day. I love it when, in the evening, my neck is free and the rest of the evening is all tenderness and sweetness.

I’m not interested in sex, but sometimes I stop myself from coming so that the desire lasts all day, and I can go on caressing myself ad infinitude.

I’m not interested in sex, but I love to see the marks of these moments inscribed on their body. Their buttocks blackened, their cheeks reddened, their legs bitten, the veins around their lips burst, their nipples swollen and their back scratched.

I like to watch myself the following days in the mirror, and see them fade away the scratches, bites, bruises, scars and other impressions, so that they can be drawn again on a blank sheet of paper the next few times.

I’m not interested in sex, but I like to masturbate while reading, watching, listening, imagining and writing.

I’m not interested in sex, but I love making them drink out of her bowl on the edge of the bed, controlling their orgasms until the next day, finally offering them the relief she begged for between the multiple orgasms I was entitled to all that time.

I’m not interested in sex, but I love the care and preciousness of these moments. I’m not interested in sex, but I love it, just as much as the cinema, their smiles, their laughter, the lemonades in the sun, the words crossed in a park, the softness of their arms, the tenderness of their kisses, the afternoons in the library, the love letters he sends me, the bracelets she gives me, the texts he writes me, the books I read to them, the peace they allow my heart and the revolution we lead.

Servants of the Lord – by Mina – page 32 – 33

If you want to live a without sin, we should meet. I can set you free.

This message in my mailbox overwhelms me. I’m turning pale. How do You know I am looking for salvation? I agree, even though I don’t know You.

I stand in the gloomy room. You are a gloomy stranger in it. You take a seat on an armchair. Kneel and read me the letter, You say. That was the only condition for this meeting: a letter with the sins I recently committed. I read aloud and report extramarital sex, tons of masturbation. Especially in front of my mirror. I look up into Your blue eyes. You nod wordlessly. I feel ashamed. You stand in front of me, grab my face: don’t be afraid, I’m here now. I’ll help you, You say.

In front of me is an object made of metal. I do not know it. Some kind of wide band with a thousand spikes and a leather clasp. It’s a cilice, You explain, made to remind you of Christ’s sufferings through pain, it will teach you humility. You come closer, pull up my skirt and put the instrument of torture on me, much too tightly. The spikes bore into my flesh, I have never felt such pain. It is warm and goes through my whole body.

You approach a mirror, in front of which I have sinned so many times.
Sinful sex, You say, is a simple misdemeanor. Committed thousands of times by many who call themselves Christians. A real problem, You explain to me, is my pride. Confession is an evasion that I regularly seek in order to continue to be bad. The worst of sins.
Look at yourself, You tell me. And I look into the reflecting glass, I see my fine features, my beautiful eyes, my soft hair falling into my face. You are vain, You tell me, reaching with a firm grip under my skirt and into my panties. You grab my hair and pull my head very close to your face. You are wet, you excite yourself, You say. You disappoint me, but I didn’t think you’d make it easy for me. You leave the room and come back, a cane in your hand. With a strong grip You push my head down, Your righteous foot straightens my ass upwards, You lift my skirt with one hand and expose my ass. Pray aloud the ‘Hail Mary full of grace’, you demand. You directly give me ten hard, unrelenting strokes. I whimper. Again, You demand, this time without interruption. I do as You command. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, I say and do my best not to stop under Your hits.

You let go of me to check my vagina with two hard strokes of Your fingers. Even wetter, is your assessment, my work here is not yet done. I begin to pray the Creed in a trembling voice: Suffered under Pontius Pilate. I can hardly hold back my tears. I have long tried to serve Jesus Christ with my life and yet so often I have taken the wrong path. I cry tears of shame.
And they cleanse me. You cleanse me. With the next stroke of the cane, I feel that I am safe. In the hands of God, whose child I am. I can bear the blows better now. They help me let go of my sinful life. I notice that you are getting better, You say. I will finally show you that what you desire is wrong. My head is still on the ground. I feel fingers painfully pounding into me. I feel my transgressions, think of Jesus’ suffering. Next, I feel Your cock entering me. With all imaginable hardness You take me, I whimper and cry under the hard thrusts. You also pray now: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have summoned you by name, you are mine
I scream, I leave my body, I become infinite.

When I come back to my senses, you are gone. I gather my things and leave the place of my purification.
Cold air around me, I feel the pressure on my thigh – I am still wearing the cilice. God is the Almighty – my almighty daddy and I am his faithful servant.

My name is Mina.
I’m often asked: What is this religion thing of yours? A queer feminist woman masturbating reading the Bible. Getting turned on by the power of this ridiculous thing called Christianity is one of my main kinks. It opened the door to my sub side, I could let go of control and trust completely. This theme matches my passion for role play, punishment and pain perfectly –  if I want to feel extreme emotions that stick with me for almost forever I look out for the impact bibles, dirty priest*esses and naughty baptisms.