Eroticon 2020 Virtual Meet & Greet: Morgan Peschek

A selfie in which I'm wearing blue lipstick and winged eyeliner, and looking at the camera all dramatic-like. I will probably look more tired at Eroticon 2020.

With just 48 hours until the start of Eroticon 2020, I’m here to introduce myself!

This post is late, and my first one for quite a while, because my brain has been on the fritz again. If you’re someone I know and you spot me at Eroticon this year (look for the blue hair!) then please be aware that I might be overwhelmed, struggle to process conversations and/or seem “off” in general. It’s not you, it’s just my wonky brain, and all I need from you is for you to be gentle with me and to understand if I need to duck into the quiet room for a bit.

If you’re not someone I know, but you’re attending Eroticon 2020, this post is for you! 

 

Name (and Twitter name) 

My name is Morgan Peschek, and my Twitter name is @KinkyAutistic. You can call me Morgan, Mo, Mog, Moggy, Momo, Morg(ue), Morgz, or basically anything other than my birth name.

My pronouns are they/them/theirs, even when I’m tarted up all femme like I probably will be at the socials.

 

Tell us 3 things you are most looking forward to at Eroticon 2020

  1. Seeing people! There are people I hung out with last year that I’m super hype to spend more time with, and I’m excited to meet new people, too – Eroticon seems to be populated exclusively by Good Eggs™, and I want to meet more of them!
  2. Learning new things, naturally – especially about building my wee blog into something that can reach more people, and hopefully even draw in some money (which I will almost certainly spend on dildos). Like last year, I’ve spent ages poring over the schedule, trying to decide between multiple amazing-looking talks and workshops, and coming to the conclusion that I wish I could be in multiple places at once.
  3. The Luke + Jack greetings cards session! I love crafting, and I imagine it’ll be a bit of a reprieve from the busy madness of the rest of the con. Plus, it’s Mother’s Day soon, and I need to sort something out for that…

 

What song always makes you want to dance?

Ooh, lots of them! At the moment, I’m really into Cake By The Ocean, but I can absolutely bop to songs ranging from The Sharpest Lives (by MCR) to Combine Harvester (by The Wurzels). I’m getting a lot less self-conscious about my dyspraxic white-people dancing these days, and really feeling the benefits of moving my body around to some tunes.

 

What is the best book you’ve read in the last year?

Oh, fuck, I haven’t read an entire book in the last year. I love reading, but depression and burnout have been kicking my ass, so I’m going to name a book I’ve read at least two thirds of – Come As You Are, by Emily Nagowski. I would like to recommend it to everyone and anyone – it’s the perfect balance of science-y, approachable and warm to read. 

 

What is your mobile wallpaper or homescreen image?

My lock screen is a selfie I took with my girlfriend, and my homescreen is a selfie I took with my Daddy. My laptop background, although you didn’t ask, is a selfie my boyfriend sent me while he was at a Pride event.

(This was just an opportunity for me to brag about my cute partners. Sorry.)

 

If someone gave you £5000 today which you were not allowed to save, but had to spend within 24 hours, what would you do with it?

Disneyland. I would go the fuck to Disneyland and nobody would be able to stop me.

 

Complete the sentence: I need…

A week off from my life to nap and finish Kingdom Hearts III and get stoned a lot.

If you want a more realistic answer, right now I need a frappuccino. I love me a caramel frap. 

 

BONUS QUESTION: What are you packing for Eroticon 2020?

I did this last year, and I will continue to be an impertinent little bastard and add in questions nobody asked! I have Cannot Shut The Hell Up Disease and I like looking at other people’s packing lists, so I assume that other people will benefit from mine.

 

  • Two cute dresses for the Friday and Saturday night socials, plus cute shoes and makeup
  • Comfy clothes and trainers for the Saturday and Sunday workshops and talks
  • An A5 notebook and a clicky pen with four colours, to make notes with
  • A Tupperware container, which may or may not be for stealing extra breakfast items from my hotel – but you can’t prove anything
  • My shiny new business cards (which I will thrust upon anyone who stands still long enough, because I’m excited about them)
  • The essentials: phone charger, meds, clean pants, etc.
  • My wonderful Daddy human, who some of you may have met at the Friday night social last year.

 

That’s me! If you’re at Eroticon for the first time and you’re nervous/don’t know anybody/want to make a friend, you can DM me on Twitter, or just come find me in person! Looking forward to spending time with all you lovely people 💙

Masturbation and Messy Handwriting: A Wank Journal Update

A plastic washing-up bowl filled with various masturbation implements and water, from when I was sanitising all my sex toys a couple of weeks ago

If you’ve been reading my blog a little while, you’ll know that I have some difficulties with masturbation. You’ll also remember the birth of my Wank Journal, and that one of my goals for 2019 was to wank – or at least try to wank – a little more.

Friends, I did that.

I don’t want to jinx my progress, but I’m getting better at masturbation. Like, a lot better; I do it more often, I dissociate less, and I often manage to actually have orgasms (yeah, orgasms! Plural!). My secret weapon? Stoned Morgan. I’ve found that Stoned Morgan doesn’t have the same trauma responses to wanking that Sober Morgan does, so I’ve been having a reasonable number of stoned wanks – but the truly magical thing is that, as a result of those, I’m also having sober wanks. Stoned wanks are great for all the obvious reasons, but they’re also great because the more I wank without having a trauma response, the less frightened I am of the whole process, and so the less likely I am to have a trauma response during sober wanks, too.

My other, not-so-secret weapon has been my Wank Journal. I don’t write in it every time I have a wank these days, but I think that’s a good sign, because it suggests that masturbation is becoming more ordinary for me, and less of a Big Deal™. However, it is helpful in grounding me when I need it, and it’s also helpful in revealing some interesting patterns in my masturbation habits.

I know you want to know what those patterns are, so without further ado, here’s what a year (and a bit) with a Wank Journal has taught me about myself.

1. I am an extremely lazy wanker.

Since I record the toys I used and the physical acts I engaged in when I document a wank, I’ve come to notice that a majority of the time, I fall back on the same extremely easy strategy: hump a wand vibrator until I come. Sometimes I’ll lie on my back, use one hand to pull my (extremely protective) clitoral hood out of the way and use the other to hold and adjust my wand – but, more often, I’ll lie on my side, legs sort of crossed over, and grind/writhe against the head of my wand, doing a weird pelvic-floor-squeezy thing that I first started doing when I was too young to understand why it felt so nice. On occasion, I’ll put a dildo in my vagina, to complement the pelvic floor squeezing.

It’s a fun way to get off, but the real reason I do it isn’t actually because it’s my favourite, or because I’m lazy (although, let’s be real, that is a major factor). The real reason is:

2. Fucking myself is always what triggers my fight-or-flight response.

Now that I’ve got the hang of actually staying inside my body when I’m wanking, I can ride a wand vibe ’til the proverbial cows come home. The thing that makes me panic and/or dissociate nowadays is the act of putting something inside my cunt and then fucking myself with it. That’s not a surprise, because that’s how I was masturbating when my trauma happened… but it’s very inconvenient, because I’m one of those rare people who has internal-stimulation-only orgasms, like, all the time. And I love them. I didn’t learn to have clitoral orgasms until I got hold of a wand vibrator, and I still can’t have clit-only orgasms with anything less powerful than a cheap handheld drill.

One entry in my Wank Journal describes a wank in which I stopped abruptly after my brain decided to insert thoughts about my abuser into my fantasies. It was a sober wank, and the intrusive thoughts occurred pretty much as soon as I started to fuck myself. I don’t regard that one as a “failed” wank, though – instead, I’m (trying to be) proud of myself for recognising that I needed to stop, avoiding anything that could reinforce the connection between masturbation and my trauma.

3. My fantasies are repetitive as hell.

This one isn’t about the mechanics of wanking. Keeping a Wank Journal lets me track the things that get me off the most, in the privacy of my own mind, and it has revealed that I have the same handful of fantasies over and over again. They usually involve me being irresistible (which sometimes leads to storylines in which I get overpowered), me making other people come (often with overtones of premature ejaculation, because fantasy-me is just that good) and me being stalked (which isn’t a surprise, but it comes up a lot). One particularly memorable and somewhat cringe-inducing quote I documented from a fantasy in which I was getting fucked in a nightclub toilet reads, “God, it’s so hard not to come. Fucking you is like getting milked.”

4. Holding a pen is hard when you’ve just had an orgasm (or three).

I’m 99% sure I have undiagnosed dyspraxia, and it affects my fine motor coordination something rotten. My handwriting is usually tiny, but reasonably neat and legible – except when I’ve just come so hard my feet are burning, and I’m trying to write about how it happened. I still like handwriting my Wank Journal entries, because the sensory aspect of writing with a pen is grounding for me, and my inability to backspace my gibberish makes for a more accurate reflection of my post-wank thoughts and feelings, but I might need to invest in a chunkier, more dyspraxia-friendly pen.


I’m really proud of myself for the progress I’ve made with masturbation. Do any of y’all keep a Wank Journal, or something similar? Do you find that it helps you to connect with your body more readily, or to identify patterns in your masturbation habits? Let me know!


Thank y’all so much for reading, and for your patience while I’m getting back into the groove of blogging. If you loved this post, please consider supporting me via Patreon or Ko-Fi – or, if you want to support something bigger than little ol’ me, consider donating to the CIC I’m part of

Where I’ve Been

A selfie of Morgan, resting xir face on xir hand and looking into the camera with a neutral, if exasperated, expression. Morgan is a white nonbinary person with a blueish fringe and multiple piercings, the uniform of mental illness

Content warning: This post alludes to the general misery of mental illness, as well as suicidal ideation and self-harm. Give it a miss if you need to – you matter more than my analytics! 


So, I accidentally became a company director.

When I say this, people ask, “How do you accidentally become a company director?” Their confusion is understandable, but honestly, I’ve been in a haze of mental illness for such a long time that most of what I do feels accidental. Like, oh, look at that, I wrote a press release. Oops, I tripped and fell and submitted a PhD funding application. Oh, fuck, it looks like I’ve submitted coursework for my MA. 

But also: oh, fuck, I accidentally didn’t speak to my girlfriend for literal weeks. Oh, look at that, I forgot to eat today. Oops, I don’t have enough of my meds to get me through the weekend. And, of course, ah, shit, I forgot to be a sex blogger for a month or two. 

This post is two things. It’s an explanation as to why I’ve been away from my blog for a hot minute, and a celebration of all the insane things I’ve been up to during said hot minute.

We’ll start with the company director thing. My mum is my co-director, and initially, I was sort of a placeholder company director, a name to write on the paperwork until we got someone else on board. But, you know, it’s a community interest company, and it’s one I believe in very strongly. So, slowly and accidentally, I’ve started actually doing things as a company director. I made us Ko-Fi and Patreon pages. I put together the Facebook fundraiser for this weekend, when my mum will be shaving her head. I wrote a press release and contacted local news outlets to ask where I should send it. You know, real casual-like. 

Christmas makes my brain very weird, so I didn’t celebrate it. I hung wallpaper instead, mostly on my own. My mum acted as a second pair of hands on occasion, but I get weird when I’m doing DIY, so upon my request she mostly entertained the dog and stayed well out of my way. This was also the case when I replaced the toilet seat after losing my battle with the original broken one. And when I unblocked the outdoor drain. And when I rearranged the furniture.

I realised halfway through this whole process that I was using it as self-harm, what with my dodgy joints and all, but at that point it felt too late to stop. I carried on twisting my hips, pulling my ribs out and climbing ladders in my flip-flops, and only noticed bruises and scrapes hours or days after they’d occurred. The haze of mental illness hung heavy around me, so my memories of that whole process are blurred.

I did all of this stuff with deadlines looming in the distance. Four deadlines, to be precise, which required me to write a cumulative total of 11,000 words. The problem was, it was enough of a challenge to be in my mum’s house, where a lot of my trauma happened, without hurting myself any more than I already was. And my focus can never stay on anything at my mum’s house, because I’m waiting for the next Traumatic Thing to happen. So I didn’t touch my coursework.

And then I did, all at once. On Sunday/Monday, I stayed up for 37 hours (with a 90 minute nap in the middle) to write the 8,000-odd words I still had left to write. I had an energy drink at 11pm. I had a shower at 5am. I picked at the recent self-harm wounds on my arms and I cried about statistics. But I submitted the bastards, all four of them, and we’ll see soon enough whether they were actually coherent enough for me to secure a pass. 

I still went to my Monday afternoon seminar, too. I could have skived, what with the exhaustion and the mental illness and it being the first week of term and all, but it was the module I’m the most excited about, taught by an academic I really want to impress. So I turned up, and I babbled near-incomprehensibly about gender and bees, and then I stumbled back to my Daddy’s house. And I accidentally reminded myself why I liked to pull all-nighters all the time in high school: because exhaustion numbs everything, like a nip of booze does, and makes the world easier to cope with, and because I got so much done overnight. I would like to forget this information again, because I used to spend a lot of my time drunk on exhaustion, and I’m sure it wasn’t good for me. 

All of this is to say that I’ve been in a blurry, often-dark place lately. I have had moments of frantically Googling “how to drown yourself”, and moments of dizzying triumph and relief. I can barely recall any of it. I feel like it goes without saying that I haven’t been in a sex-blogging mindset very much as of late, because I’ve been alternating between being busy and foggy and in crisis. 

However! I have had some sex-related triumphs, among all the grown-up uni- and business- and wallpaper-related triumphs. This weekend, I’ll hopefully be posting about my slowly-improving relationship with masturbation, and how that fits in with my sex-related intention-setting for 2020. I’m only a month late, and honestly, with how chaotic things have been, that feels like a triumph in its own right.

Thank you all for your patience with me while I’ve been Going Through It™. I hope that the content I put out in 2020 makes that patience worth it.