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 💙

Rest as Radical Resistance

I play with LEGO as a means to rest, so this photo is of a little LEGO housefront with a window and a door, atop a piece of green LEGO, with an above-ground pool, a fence, a flowerbed and a windmill also made of LEGO. Also, my hand is in this photo because I fucking suck at photography.

I have been on hiatus.

I’m actually not sure if I can call it a hiatus. I didn’t really intend to take a break from blogging, much like I didn’t really intend to take a break from working, talking to my friends or showering when not absolutely necessary. My mood took a bit of a nosedive a few weeks ago, and I’m slowly recovering the ability to function to my usual (and still less-than-optimal) degree.

I’ve had a lot to contend with, too: first, I graduated from uni (with a 1st class degree in English, baby!) and then I had a birthday, and then I had a tribunal about disability benefits to attend, and then I had to move out of my old flat. Note that I did not mention moving into any sort of new accommodation – because student tenancies are stupid, I am technically without a fixed address at the moment. My possessions are mostly in a storage unit, apart from a stash of clean knickers and sex toys at my Daddy’s house and some other bits and pieces scattered across the homes of my mum and my other two partners, 60 miles away. In case you were wondering how my autistic ass has been coping with the change: it’s been 19 days since the move and I’m still having nightmares about leaving possessions behind.

I’ve been feeling so angry with myself lately about letting my blog fall to the wayside. I love blogging. I’m passionate about sex and disability and relationships and kink. I feel so at home in the sex blogging community and I feel a sense of responsibility towards the people who read my content to churn out some more. But I don’t want to churn out crap, and I’ve barely been able to assemble a coherent Tweet lately, so I’ve been forced to let my brain have a break.

There’s been one other factor complicating the whole blogging thing: the seemingly imminent end of the world. There are children in cages in the U.S., Bitcoin setups using the same amount of energy as Denmark and so many more crises unfolding all at once. On the one hand, this makes writing about how much I love puppy play seem embarrassingly futile. I sometimes feel as if I should be chaining myself to something or scaling a monument or flying to America to vandalise ICE vans, but I can barely drag myself to the corner shop at the moment. I have to accept my own limits.

And then, on the other hand, I feel an enormous amount of self-imposed pressure to do what little good I can manage by writing about sex and kink, and hopefully making other people with non-mainstream sexual proclivities feel a little bit less alone. I would never devalue the work that other online activists do, and I do regard my blog – especially the bits about disability and queerness – as a form of activism. But I just haven’t been capable of writing anything that makes any fucking sense as of late (as evidenced by the three garbled documents in my Drafts folder right now, taunting me every time I open WordPress). That’s a limit that it’s been harder to accept, because “blogging more often” sounds like such an achievable goal on paper. In reality, though, I don’t even have the executive function to charge my laptop half the time.

In spite of knowing I need it, I’ve been regarding this accidental period of rest with a festering resentment. I know I need to slow down, I know I need to rest, and I know that I’m holding myself to standards I would never hold another person to, but I’ve still been beating myself up about not blogging, not working, not “achieving” anything. I also know, from therapy, that I’m supposed to ask myself, “What would I say to [insert loved one here] about this?” whenever I’m beating myself up. And I know what I would say.

Rest is an achievement. It’s not just a passive state of being; in this late capitalist hellscape, where we’re always under pressure to be doing something, it takes some real effort to allow ourselves to rest. I sometimes regard my own rest as a means to an end: if I can just rest for a while, I’ll be able to do something again soon after, and that makes resting worthwhile (if uncomfortable). But actually, resting doesn’t need to be a means to an end. Your rest doesn’t have to make you more productive in the long run, or better at your job, or any other thing besides rested.

There are bastards making money from our reluctance to rest. Employers who exploit their employees are an obvious example, but anything which is designed to keep you busy is also preventing you from resting. (This is one of the many, many reasons that diet culture is entirely, well, a cultural construct, and wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for several fucked up aspects of capitalism.) To consciously choose to rest, to just fucking chill, is to spit in those bastards’ proverbial faces.

And my rest, I suppose, is particularly profound because I’m multiply marginalised. Homophobia, transphobia, ableism, bigotry in general, they keep their victims on their toes. Being queer and AFAB and disabled means that I’m expected to work harder than my cishet, male, abled counterparts, and there’s something that feels quietly radical about just… not doing things. I’m not financially privileged enough to completely stop doing things, but spending a couple of weeks just taking some deep breaths and surviving as a queer, AFAB disabled person is not what bigots want me to do. Bigotry relies on us being exhausted and distracted and miserable, and taking some time to rest patently defies that. And I like to be defiant.

I wanted to explain my unexpected hiatus to y’all, but I also wanted to share my thoughts on rest because it really is difficult to rest and not feel guilty about it. I hope this blog post has helped to reassure at least one person that their rest is not just a state of inaction, or a means to boost their productivity – it is an act of self-love and of resistance, and I am exceptionally proud of anyone who is currently pulling it off.


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Kinks I Don’t Have

Stock photo of a fluffy black-and-white feather against a blue background, a reference to tickling, one of the kinks I don't have, and also a nice complement to my blue-and-purple blog colour scheme.

Sometimes, my vanilla friends like to tease me about how kinky I am. I don’t mind it; I love feeling seen by them, and there’s never an edge of malice or shaming to it. But sometimes, I’ll express that something is a kink of mine, and they’ll respond, “What isn’t?”

Today, I am going to answer that question.

Specifically, I want to think about the reasons for me not finding a kink appealing. I can usually identify what’s hot about kinks I do have – pet play is primal and unrestrained; CG/l fulfills my need for approval and nurturing, whilst also feeling super taboo – but I think it’ll be just as telling to investigate what turns me off about kinks I personally don’t have. (Naturally, I’m going to try and be as neutral as possible and to avoid shaming people who do have these kinks, because most, if not all, kinks are harmless when played with ethically.)

1. Coprophilia, AKA scat, AKA poop

This one is firmly on my list of hard limits, rather than just a kink I’m not actively interested in. Partly, this is because of the health risks it poses, which sit firmly outside of my risk profile – but also, it just squicks me on an instinctive level that I can’t override. Once, when a friend confided in me that they had an interest in scat play and felt conflicted about it, I searched Tumblr for scat-related porn (back in the days when you could find porn on Tumblr). I grew to understand it in theory – the intense sensory experiences of smell and texture, the potential for erotic humiliation, the taboo of it – but I just couldn’t get past my own knee-jerk response, which was, I’ll admit, disgust. That doesn’t mean that I think the kink is disgusting, of course; most people poop, and I eroticise piss, which seems to be only one step away from scat. It’s just that my Caveman Brain is producing a disgust response, presumably because it has identified scat play as unsafe in some way, and I’m incapable of shutting that off.

2. Food play

Some of y’all might know that I’m recovering from an eating disorder. You might also know that recovering from mental illnesses does not stop me from enjoying related kinks, as is evident in the relationship between my blood kink and my occasional self-harm, so it’s probably not my eating disorder that prevents me from finding play with food sexy. Instead, I think it’s the sensory component. I’m autistic, and some sensory experiences are fucking awesome for me – like touching fluffy things, or sniffing a lemon-scented body wash – and some are hellish. Anything that could be described as “sticky” falls into the latter category, as do many forms of “wet”. I hate showering because I hate the sensation of being wet. I hate going out in the rain for the same reason, but I also hate to use an umbrella, because the fact that my legs are wet but my top half is not is even more distressing. The idea of being covered in food makes my autistic skin crawl a little bit, and even covering somebody else in foodstuffs would make me cringe.

3. Leather and latex

I’ve lumped these things into one because my lack of interest in them both comes from the same place. Firstly, there’s the autism component: squeaky, creaky noises go straight through me, and I know there’s a lot of potential for those noises to arise in latex and leather. Secondly, leather and latex garments require a lot of care to maintain. I can barely keep myself and my dildos clean, and I just don’t think I have it in me to polish latex or leather as frequently as is needed. I also imagine that trying to keep such expensive garments clean and intact would make me so anxious that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy wearing them, particularly since latex has a reputation for tearing. I can admire other people’s latex and leather outfits from afar, of course, because people always look hot as hell in them, but I don’t think I could ever become a latex or leather wearer.

4. Tickling

So I have this really odd thing where if you get close enough to me and wiggle your fingers as if you’re going to tickle me, I start laughing before you even make contact. But it’s not an excited laugh – it’s just some anticipatory reflex thing, because frankly, tickling annoys me. I’ll tickle other people if they’re really enthusiastic about it, but the sensation of tickling just isn’t an enjoyable one for me. Light tickling, like the kind you can achieve with feathers, gives me Bad Autism and makes my skin itch relentlessly. Harder tickling with fingers is a little painful and a little irksome. This doesn’t mean, though, that I don’t want to be made to laugh in kinkier contexts; my Daddy can often make me shriek with enjoyable giggles by grabbing my shoulders, shouting, “Earthquake!” and shaking me roughly. I like laughing during scenes, especially when a top is using my laughter as another way to control my body, but tickling is just never going to be a way to get me there. It’s not fun laughter so much as involuntary laughter, and I like to save my involuntary responses in scenes for things like gagging and squirming.


What I’m gathering from this is that a lot of the things that stand between myself and some common kinks are rooted in autistic sensory aversions – and that’s okay! Nobody ever has to justify, to themselves or other people, why they don’t have any particular kinks, but I felt like it would be as interesting an introspective exercise as considering why I do have particular kinks. Are there any common kinks that you just don’t gel with, and do you ever think about why? I always love to hear y’all’s thoughts in the comments!