Hermione Danger

Sex, kink, feminism, and media.

Under The Sexual Microscope — November 23, 2019

Under The Sexual Microscope

“Are you…studying me?”

My eyes, which I had reflexively closed in the throes of my passion, had managed to flutter open, and they landed on the face of my (relatively new) partner. The expression upon it contained the expected lust, but even more noticeable was a look of intellectual curiosity, one I’d seen on him in sexual situations before. It was like he was cataloging me.

“What?”

We’d been dating for a few weeks at this point, and our chemistry was undeniable. We were entangled on my couch, with me in a disheveled state of undress and him knuckle-deep in my cunt.

“Something about the way you look at me when we’re fooling around, it’s like…like I’m an intriguing science experiment to you.”

He laughed, kissed me, and asked, “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” I breathed in a reply that was more sigh than word, as at that moment, he began again with his machinations below my waist.

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Cirque du Danger: How I Fell In Love With Aerial Silks — November 12, 2019

Cirque du Danger: How I Fell In Love With Aerial Silks

I collapse onto my back, sweating and panting heavily. I’m flushed, both from the heat of the room and the flood of endorphins, and I can’t stop grinning. My muscles are deliciously sore from use, and I can already feel bruises beginning to form on my hips and thighs.

But I’m not in my bedroom, at a play party, or in a dungeon, and I haven’t just had sex or bottomed in a scene. I’m in a fitness studio, surrounded by little else but about eight other women, a bunch of mats, and fabric dangling from the ceiling.

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Hermione Danger Did Not Disapparate: A Brief Update — October 27, 2019

Hermione Danger Did Not Disapparate: A Brief Update

Hello, dear readers! I know it has been a shamefully long time since I have written here, but fear not, I have not abandoned you or this little blog of mine.

If you’re not following me on Twitter – and if you’re not, you’re welcome to @hermionedangr – you wouldn’t know that my summer and fall have been quite the whirlwind.

In the past few months, I moved to a new apartment, got a promotion at work, went to LeakyCon Dallas, said goodbye to my grandfather, returned to more regular attendance at the weekly kink community social gathering, started online dating again and soon found myself in a relationship with an incredible man (more to come on that in future posts!), supported a dear friend during a divorce, and beta-read another friend’s book, among other things.

This has left me with little energy to write, but the aforementioned new relationship has rejuvenated not only my sex life but also my well of ideas. There are things coming soon, friends, so watch this space.

xoxo

How To Torture A Submissive Bookworm — May 25, 2019

How To Torture A Submissive Bookworm

“Hold your arms out straight. Good. Now don’t let them drop.”

Somehow, a right swipe on Tinder over the holiday season had led to this: kneeling naked in a hotel room a couple hundred miles from home, silver clamps dangling from my nipples, a childhood favorite book in my trembling hands, next to a man who feigned indifference to my plight and only looked away from his video game to make sure my arms were staying level.

Though we’d been texting daily for months, we’d only hooked up once prior to this – a frenzied couple of hours during his brief visit home to his family, where we had fantastic (but relatively vanilla) sex. We’d talked about our mutual kinks a lot, both in sexts and casual conversation, but we didn’t delve too deeply into it during our first in-person encounter.

This time, though, things were different.

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Two Collars, One Sub, No Dom: Reflections on Self-Collaring — March 31, 2019

Two Collars, One Sub, No Dom: Reflections on Self-Collaring

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, one of my favorite things about the kink community is our ability to tailor our kinks and dynamics to fit our needs, to attach as much or as little meaning as we like to certain words, phrases, objects, or body language. Collars, of course, are no exception: for some, they are akin to wedding rings, symbols of a deep commitment that are only to be donned after much time and consideration. For others, a collar is more of an aesthetic choice, a method of signaling to other kinksters in the wild.

Personally, I fall somewhere in the middle, and it’s very dependent on context. There were sexual encounters with a former FWB during which I wore a collar for little more than the utility of it; while I cared about him, I wasn’t romantically attached to him, and though we played with some power exchange, I wasn’t his submissive. I wore a collar sometimes when we’d play together, but I wasn’t collared.

With my ex-partner and Dominant, the idea of a collar meant a lot more. Several months into our relationship, we picked out a lovely purple leather posture collar at a sex shop together, which we used during scenes. Then, for our first anniversary, he purchased a beautiful silver o-ring pendant, which I wore nearly every day as a subtle day collar until our breakup. While not on wedding ring level for us, they certainly were imbued with meaning, symbolic of our commitment to each other – at least, that’s what they meant to me, as I suppose I shouldn’t speak for him. I got rid of both after our relationship ended, but the necklace was harder to let go; had I not left it in his car immediately after, when I was still in full quiet rage mode, I don’t know if I would have been able to part with it.

It’s been over 5 months now, but it’s still a little strange, not having it around my neck every day. And now that I’ve had time to heal and rediscover both my sex drive and my submission, I’ve found myself longing to wear a collar again – not because there’s anyone currently in my life to collar me, but because I want to better acknowledge, cultivate, and celebrate my submissive identity in and of itself.

In short, I think I want to collar myself.

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Choose Your Own Adventure: Kink Dynamic Edition — February 16, 2019

Choose Your Own Adventure: Kink Dynamic Edition

I first realized that I was submissive about 10 years ago, at the age of 20 and in the middle of my first “adult” relationship, i.e. my first relationship that hadn’t begun in high school. Looking back now, my kinks manifested in various ways prior to that – including a childhood period of fascination with historical methods of corporal punishment – but it wasn’t until college that I was able to attach a label to those desires.

Labels can be helpful. As I’ve written before, discovering words to accurately describe my queerness was a revelation, and finding labels to reflect my burgeoning kinks was equally eye-opening. But labels can also be restrictive, when they almost fit but not quite – like a pair of leggings that’s just a bit too tight. Suddenly, you find yourself uncomfortable, self-conscious, and questioning why you ever put the damn things on in the first place.

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Breaking Up and Getting Down: Reclaiming Sex After A Heartbreak — December 30, 2018
Six Weeks Later — December 2, 2018

Six Weeks Later

Six weeks ago, I endured a seismic shift in my life.

Six weeks ago, my long-distance partner of over 4 years told me that he had developed feelings for another woman, and that he was leaving me, in part so he could be with her. I had just arrived on a plane that morning, ready for a week of laziness and quintessential New England autumn activities, and instead I found myself in his new apartment (his job meant regular relocations), staring out the window at a city I’d never seen before that day while my world crashed around me. Everything I’d built up in my head, everything about what our lives were going to be like once that grand mythical day arrived and we’d finally live in the same place, crumbled.

But this isn’t about that. It’s not even about him, and it’s definitely not about her. This is about me, and what came after.

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No, I Don’t Watch The Handmaid’s Tale: Consuming “Feel-Good” Television as Resistance — August 12, 2018

No, I Don’t Watch The Handmaid’s Tale: Consuming “Feel-Good” Television as Resistance

I don’t watch The Handmaid’s Tale.

I haven’t seen a single second of the show, actually.

I meant to watch it, back when I heard it was being made. I had every intention of adding it to the already too-long list of TV shows I devour – but then the election happened, and even though some of the shock of it had worn off by the time the show premiered six months later, a show about a totalitarian regime where women are literal property of the state just seemed…too real. It hit way too close to home, especially with Pence a heartbeat away from the Presidency.

So I put it off, mentally assigning it to the backburner of shows I would get to eventually, waiting for the day when I was in a better headspace to consume something so dark, so disturbing, and so horrifyingly plausible.

But that day never came – and with Roe vs. Wade hurtling toward a seemingly inevitable demise, I doubt I ever will. This is not a commentary on the show’s quality – I’m sure it’s exceedingly well-made and splendidly acted, worthy of this “Golden Era” of TV in which we are still living – or a hipsterish, contrarian backlash against what is popular.

I merely came to the conclusion that continually subjecting myself to women’s trauma, fictional or otherwise, as entertainment is not worth it for me, no matter the supposed deeper meaning behind it. Rape, domestic abuse, and graphic violence toward marginalized groups are not prerequisites for powerful or compelling storytelling, and I am tired of Prestige Television™ pretending otherwise.

“But you’re being a total hypocrite,” I can hear you saying. “I follow you on Twitter. I know you watch Westworld, Supernatural, and Stranger Things. And don’t even get me started on Game of Thrones!”

And you’re right, I do. My TV habits are not all light and fluffy, and I have endured countless instances of fictional women being fridged in order to further the character development of men – though I have nearly given up on shows before because of lazy, gratuitous rape plots (yes, Game of Thrones, I’m looking at you). But I have noticed that, in the last two years, I have made conscious efforts to consume more television that contains generally good people just trying to do their best – or at least kinda crappy people who are making an effort to be better.

Allowing oneself to watch and enjoy these sorts of shows isn’t just a method of media self-care; it’s an act of resistance.
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In Defense of Fleur Delacour — May 28, 2018

In Defense of Fleur Delacour

Though the title protagonist is first an adolescent and then a teenage boy, the Harry Potter series is filled with smart, accomplished, compassionate women and girls to admire. There’s Hermione Granger, of course – she is the entire inspiration for my sex blogging alter ego, after all – but also Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and Luna Lovegood, to name a few. Many Tumblr posts, Buzzfeed listicles, and tweet threads have been dedicated to these beloved characters, but there is one woman in the Harry Potter universe who does not get enough love, both within the fandom and the series itself: Fleur Delacour.

Ms. Delacour is of course beautiful, but she is also intelligent, bilingual, magically skilled, and deeply devoted to and fiercely protective of her family and friends. Despite these admirable qualities, she is often seen by others as merely snobby, vain, shallow, and rude. Unfortunately, some of my otherwise very favorite characters – Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley in particular – treat her horribly at certain points in the series, in a perfect illustration of femmephobia and internalized misogyny. By the end of the final book, Fleur is a key member of the anti-Voldemort resistance movement, harboring fugitives and fighting Death Eaters – all while performing the brunt of the unpaid domestic labor, as is so often expected of women in both the magical and Muggle worlds.

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