Ready

Is this how a skydiver feels, suited up and strapped with parachutes, poised on the edge of the open hatch, feeling the wind rush by as she waits for the okay to jump?

Please, please, tell me to jump. To fly.

I’ve never skydived (yet) but this is how I feel: poised on the edge of new and greater things, ready to jump in and test out the waters. Rarely do I dip my toe before just diving in. The real excitement lies in the danger of the unknown—exploring the depths with little other barriers than quick wits and quick reflexes, not knowing what hides beyond the next rise. The real excitement lies in testing how long I can hold my breath before my vision darkens and my ears ring.

The real excitement lies in not knowing fully what’s going to happen next, but being ready for it anyway.

I am ready.

Novelty

There’s something else that’s new in my life: sex.

Ha! No, not that the sex itself is new in my life, silly… but it almost feels that way because my sex life has evolved to a point where I hardly even recognize the awkward prototype it was before. I feel like I’m really (pardon the pun here) coming into myself and awakening to a point where I can really embrace being a sexual being. It’s… intense, and exhilarating.

See, here’s the thing, and here’s where I’m going to be painfully, brutally honest about myself. Up to this point, my sexuality has been almost entirely in my head. It wasn’t often that my sexuality, my horniness, transferred to an actual physical desire for sex. It was disheartening, to say the least. I think there are several factors that were involved in this, but foremost among them was that I was complacent in this rut and unwilling to expend the effort getting out of it.

But y’know, when your life is turned topsy-turvy by new developments and new involvements, it’s impossible to stay in a rut of any sort. And so, I was freed from this one. (Of course, it also helps a LOT when multiple people are teasing you so mercilessly that your mental horniness can’t help but boil over into a fierce physical longing.)

And like I said, it’s exhilarating. Liberating. I feel almost freed from the confines of my own body, although it’s probably more like being freed from the strictures of my mind. I am outside myself, and it’s amazing.

Call me a sentimental dork, but I feel like I’m breaking into the dawn of a new era in my life, somewhere overwhelmingly enlightening and progressive. I’m eager to see it through.

Meeting a Like Mind

So this past Sunday I got the pleasure of meeting up with a fellow Tweeter, poly kinkster and sex blogger: Ang the Sweltering Celt. It just so happened she was stopping by my little area of the world for breakfast before heading back to her own place, so naturally we took the opportunity to meet up and hang out.

Let me tell you, folks, there is really nothing better than meeting up with someone you’ve talked with for a while only to find out that they are even more awesome in person than they are online. M and I also got to meet at the same time one of the husbands, RangerMonkey, which was a very entertaining experience. I don’t think I’ve laughed so continuously for a long time.

I just can’t say how much I love it when I get to meet new people and convert them from “e-friends” to real-time friends. They’re real, in the flesh! All the little details and quirks that are missing from Internet interaction are all there in glorious reality, filling out the experience into a multidimensional encounter.

Yeah, that totally has to happen again. There is too little distance and too much in common between us for me to let it all slip through my fingers.

Thanks again Ang and RangerMonkey! Glad I woke up in time to get your DM!

Vagina Friday

So last night I got together with a bunch of girls from the local scene for what has been dubbed Vagina Friday. We met up at this AWESOME barbecue place that plays live music on Friday nights and, according to the unofficial coordinator of this get-together (a.k.a. the girl who kicked our asses into finally all showing up in the same place at the same time), is one of only two places in the area that serves a drink called a Zombie. I’d never heard of or drank a Zombie before last night; it was really good.

We stuffed our faces full of REAL barbecue, got a-few-drinksy and finally made our way out onto the dance floor to the sounds of some dudes on the stage playing what sounded like a mix of rock and zydeco. It was… a really unbelievable night.

In the car on the way back home – no, I was not driving – I got to thinking about what made it such a good time. Yeah, the great food and booty shakin’ music helped; they always do! But it was really the company that rounded it out. I began to wonder if I would have had the same great time with friends who were not kinky (not that I really have any of those up here).

Don’t get me wrong, ‘nilla people are not automatically lesser friends or worse company. But would I have had the same great time had the evening not been colored with kinky jokes and discussions about squirting, harnesses and needle play? Would I have had the same great time if I had not been with people who recognized, understood and accepted all aspects of me?

Probably not.

It’s makes me all the more grateful that for all the drama that seems to proliferate in this small-town scene, I do have a group of people with whom I can be completely myself and be accepted for the happy freak I am.

To Be or Not To Be: That is the Poly Question.

As if I didn’t have enough to think about what with my own tomboy femme genderqueer identity, my sexuality, M’s transitioning and all that entails, and of course all the various mundanities of life… naturally I had to go and add polyamory to the mix.

At first I (stupidly) thought that it was simple: my primary partner is and always would be M, and that as we so chose we would bring other partners into our bed and possibly into our relationship if we felt that connection with them.

Of course it’s not that simple. Nothing is EVER that simple. Our attempt at a polyamorous relationship with J was a complete and utter disaster. J’s own shortcomings aside, the dynamic was one that we could just never fully get comfortable with. M especially was exceedingly unhappy during that time. He felt threatened by J, and not a little jealous because, well… J was born male-bodied. He had things and could do things that M could not – or, not as “naturally,” if such a term applies. But aside from all that, from discussions we’d had, M felt like he was constantly fighting to retain my attention while in the meantime I’m sailing through the NRE I experienced with J before things went sour. What had started out with the potential to be a true triad relationship had progressed into more of a V-type relationship as M became more and more disenchanted with J.

And like I said, things went sour with him. Not only BECAUSE of him, but because that type of relationship just was not working. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that me having a second partner-type relationship, or even bringing another partner into M’s and my existing relationship isn’t really the poly dynamic that works for us. At least, not right now. Not while so many other things are constantly changing and constantly fluid – particularly in regards to M’s transition. In our relationship things may be fairly stable, but in our LIVES there is NOTHING stable at the moment, and it’s just too much stress to try to add one more factor, one more stressor, one more thing to tilt the scales even more crazily.

Out of all this heavy contemplation, though, does come the positive: it has been well-accepted that playing with others, including sexual play, is totally fine as long as all parties involved are informed, consenting and willing to share even if it means just letting the other partner watch. THIS particular practice has been weighed, measured and not found wanting at ALL. It’s what works for us. For now. But as in anything in life, it’s always subject to change. Everything is.

But then of course I wonder: does our willingness to play with others without having an intimate (non-platonic) relationship with them make us poly? Is is it something else altogether?

Oy… never a dull moment!

The "Tomboy" Part of Tomboy Femme

So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about just how genderqueer I am. I’ve claimed the title for some time now but don’t know how much of the actual embodiment I’ve been doing. I’ve been a tried-and-true tomboy for so long now (read: all my life) that I’ve been doing a lot of embracing of the femme side of me, as if trying to balance out all that time spent as a tomboy without the “femme” part attached.

Unsurprisingly, M’s progress in transitioning from female to his rightful male self has brought a lot of this masculine business to the front of my mind. I’ve been wanting to play more with the side of me that isn’t infatuated with high heels and makeup and the lush curves of my body. I even toyed with the idea of what male name I would adopt if I ever adopted a fully male persona. (Not that me adopting a fully male persona would ever happen; it’s just one of those “what if” kind of random thoughts.) I’ve been wearing less makeup, having been overwhelmed with a fairly “meh” attitude at the prospect of putting on more than the essentials that make me NOT look like a dead person in the morning.

I suppose the time has come when the NRE between myself and my femme-ininity has faded from a bright radiance to more of a soft glow. The wild, unhindered exploration of my girlier side has been more or less fulfilled and now the other side of me that has sadly been somewhat neglected is starting to wave its arms wildly and shriek, “Hey, what about ME?!”

Thus, I feel, is the life of a person who is attempting to combine within him/her/zirself and achieve balance between the two most basic gender identities orbiting in the gender galaxy.

So, I imagine a new phase of my self-exploration has begun. Not so much a phase of exploring my tomboy-ness, for it is as I said before: I’ve been a tomboy for most of my life, so that aspect of myself has been thoroughly explored. Now the phase has arrived in which I explore how best to meld these two aspects into something that wholly encompasses me, something that conforms and fits like a well-tailored jacket.

It’s bound to be an interesting ride!

Bottom Fear

Okay. Gonna get deep and rambly and probably not entirely comprehensible. Just a warning ahead of time. Proceed at risk of your own sanity!

I think the idea of honest-to-blog submission scares the living daylights out of me.

And to be frank, I’m not entirely sure why. It’s not the physical pain, although maybe that’s a part of it because I do tend to psych myself out before I give myself a mental bitch slap and tell myself to knock it the fuck off and quit being such a sissy. I think it has more to do with the vulnerability aspect of it all. Truly surrendering control to someone else. Letting them basically have their way with me. I mean, there are safewords and other ways of communicating if things DO end up going too far, but… well, to make a long ramble short I probably really am psyching myself out.

I’m not even sure why I’ve been thinking about it so much. I think because I’ve become IRL friends and online/Twitter-friends with so many Tops/Doms/sadists that the idea of me in a submissive role has been a little more front-and-center in my mind lately. Particularly because my role as a bottom at some point in the future has been all but sealed with one or two of the Tops I know IRL. And don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing nonconsensual about it… still, I worry. Apparently I’m more like my mother than I thought.

I should conclude this rather ridiculous post by saying that once I HAVE bottomed to one or the other (or both) of these Tops, I will probably be on here writing a giggly, relieved and entirely sheepish post about how AWESOME it was and how STUPID I was to worry.

Still…!

The Sexy Blogger Award and... Me?

I gotta say, I’ve been getting a kick out of reading these Sexy Blogger Award posts. Reading what people view as sexy about themselves – it’s great, whether it be serious and heartfelt or completely goofy! It never dawned on me that I’d actually end up being a recipient of this award, but there you have it! Big, squishy e-hugs to Scarlet of the Femme Fagette for recognizing me as a fellow actually-kinda-boyish femme (yeah, that’s the technical term *wink*) and for counting me as a friend. I’ve got the warm fuzzies going on for real, y’all.

Okay, so now on to the tougher part: naming five sexy things about myself. I guess before I go anywhere else I should let you know this: I really don’t find myself overtly sexy or beautiful or any of those words I should probably revel in. I find myself… average, satisfying on a good day and passable on most other days. Even when I’m dancing I wouldn’t call myself sexy really. There are definitely some overwhelmingly positive feelings associated with my bellydancing, but… well, okay. That’s a big sidetrack. I’ll give it my best shot, so here goes: five sexy things about me.

1. The way I quirk my right eyebrow. I don’t know why exactly, but I feel kind of intriguing and awesome when I smirk and quirk my eyebrow. It’s rather fascinating how many thoughts can be conveyed through such a minimalist movement, and the variety of reactions that movement provokes.

2. The curve of my ass in well-fitting jeans. ‘Nuff said. Remind me to show you sometime.

3. My mods. Well-done mods are sexy on anyone. The body is a canvas and all that.

4. The color of my eyes and the fact that I got lucky enough to have my eye color match my favorite color.

5. The way I feel in my loose, abstract floral print pajama pants, a tank and a deep-vee sweatshirt thrown on for warmth. I’m so comfortable, yet at the same time showing just a little bit of skin… usually feeling kinda sleepy/happy from just having gotten out of bed… yeah, that’s a nice feeling. And, oddly enough, one of the few times I even come close to feeling “sexy.”

So there you have it, I suppose! Five sexy – or sexyish – things about me. Now to pass it on…

1. Kyle of Butchtastic.net because dammit, those sexy butches need some love too and this butch in particular is VERY sexy.

2. Kyle’s lover, Roxy over at Uncommon Curiosity because between the two of them, they REALLY sexify my Twitter feed and day in general.

3. My partner M, because DUH he’s sexy, that and I want to challenge him to find five sexy things about himself in this rather tumultuous phase of his self-image.

4. Nadia the Kinky Librarian, because her ventures in the world of kink and poly are enormously sexy and I truly enjoy her posts in which she shares them!

So there you have it. Sex on, my sexy blogger comrades!

A Poly Update

So… enlightening developments to the world of M’s and my polyamory. Enlightening, bittersweet and yet in the end, positive. Progress, growth. These are good things. Of course, in order to make progress, often things have to be left behind, and sadly it seems like this is happening with J.

The dynamic of me being in a relationship with both M and J (although M was most definitely my primary and more involved partner) is just not working out. M was becoming overwhelmed with feelings of insecurity and territorial-ness, which weren’t aided at all by general frustration because, well… J is lacking when it comes to relationship savvy, and he was displaying no interest in really accruing that knowledge. To this day he hasn’t really shown any interest or put forth any effort into… well, fulfilling his side of the relationship. Things were completely one-sided. It was frustrating to me, which was only heaping on top of the unhappiness I felt because M was unhappy. Yeah, you can see how it was one big messy vicious cycle.

For the past, I want to say hovering around two weeks I have drawn back from J in a big way. And to be honest part of me does miss him. There was a profound physical attraction there and a huge potential for friendship – when he wasn’t being completely frustrating. And really I don’t think that friendship potential is lost, but it certainly has overshadowed the whole relationship potential.

I was a little upset at first that things seemed to be going in this direction, but eventually it sank in that this is really for the best. And like I told M, I’m not burning any bridges here. For one, J is the son of one of my close friends and I’m not going to make things weird with the whole family. And two, who knows. He might grow up eventually.

Still, though, the whole relationship-with-M-and-someone-else dynamic is one that it doesn’t appear will quite work for M and I. At least, not to the extent that I originally wanted it to work with J, M and I. But, interestingly enough, just as this thing with J has begun to fade out, a new door has opened and it presents a wholly new dynamic that is positively radiant with potential.

Last weekend we attended a BBQ with likeminded friends and got the chance to hang out with a couple we had become briefly acquainted with in the past but hadn’t really gotten to know very well. Things were very relaxed and K (the girl/sub) got to fooling around with a crop, eventually smacking me across the ass with it as E (her boyfriend/Dom) and M looked on, enjoying. Turns out all parties enjoyed it very much! Plans are being made to make it a repeat, and more involved/prolonged performance. I must say, I’m truly excited.

The thing is, I kind of have a mini-crush on K, and M is very appreciative of her too. But that’s the great thing – M is totally comfortable with this, both my crush and our potential, tentative involvement with this other couple. He says it’s for two reasons: (1) K is a girl and not another guy, so he does not feel as “left out” as when I was interested in another guy. (2) K and E have each other and are so, so obviously smitten with each other, so M doesn’t feel like someone else is encroaching on his girl.

It’s funny, for someone so willing to engage in polyamory, he is still fairly territorial and is only willing to share me to an extent. But with this possible new arrangement – even if it’s just a friends-who-play kind of deal – I think things will work out. Yes, I believe they will work out quite nicely!

When It All Builds Up, Then Spills Over

I have a confession to make.

I am a sex blogger who doesn’t like to be fucked all that often.

Yes, yes, I know. Blink a few times, shake your head to clear it, let’s move on now shall we?

The thing is… one of the things that gets my rocks off the most is anticipation. Letting the desire and frustration build to a nigh unbearable point and then jumping recklessly off the cliff into the wonderfully turbulent sea below. I love to let days or even weeks of hot dreams, dirty texts, teasing and allllmost-but-not-quite-getting-there build up to the boiling point before satisfaction is finally achieved.

What’s really great about all this is that M and I seem to be settling into… well not so much a routine, really, but a style that works for us. See, M has come to the conclusion that penetration really does not work for him – which, uh, makes sense given the circumstances. And that works for me because I love to give him clit orgasms. I get more of a reaction out of him by playing with his clit – the sounds he makes, the looks he gets on his face… all better when I jack him off than when I fuck him.

Also wonderful is that when I’m not in a receiving mood, I can push him back and get him off – which, oh hey by the way, is one of those things that builds me up to my boiling point! In addition, when he is satisfied (which it seems he needs more often than I do), he is less likely to want to pin me down and fuck me, which… oh hey by the way, gives me more time to build up to my boiling point! So basically, we’re both really finding what works for us in terms of giving the other what he/she wants. And, well… the other night, this whole grand theory was proven in a big way.

I’d reached my boiling point.

It had been building probably for a good two weeks at least. My dreams weren’t helping, nor was each and every time I got M off – I mean really, you can’t imagine how hot that is. Nor was the evening I spent with J. Nor was the evening M and I spent at our friend’s birthday party – the night I got tied up. It all built. And built. And built.

Finally, the morning after the party, it boiled over, and I got some of the best sex ever. It was long lasting, it was rough, it was multi-orgasmic, and I was as limp as an overcooked noodle afterward, except for the muscles of my face stretching into one very satisfied smile. Hell, even M was out of breath.

There is one very interesting phenomena that occurs when I am well and truly horny – like boiling point horny. Usually my nipples are very sensitive. Well, it would be better to say they are usually extremely sensitive, to the point where they are generally untouchable. But when I get that horny, they desensitize and a person could do just about whatever they wanted to do with them. They go from untouchable to practically begging to be pinched, bitten, pulled, twisted… you name it.

Yes, I was that horny.

But I think M took care of that, and took care of it very well.

:-D

A Femme on a Budget

To quote the wise and everlasting Kermit the Frog… it isn’t easy being femme! You know what’s even tougher than being femme? Being a femme on a budget.

To put it simply, being fabulous costs money. And when you don’t really have money that isn’t going towards bills and taking care of family (even if the family consists only of fur-kids), it’s hard to be fabulous! Let me tell you, I get edgy when I’m craving new tops or shoes and I can’t afford them. Or even when I need new work clothes because mine are all getting worn down from so much use, and I still can’t afford it. To be frank… it sucks!

So really, what is a femme to do when she can’t afford to clothe herself as a queen? Well, Bahamadia says it right: she gets her shopping on in Wal-Mart and dollar stores. (Oh, and I want to add eBay to that list. The world can be bought at a cheap price on eBay, as long as you know how not to get yourself ripped off.) For example, last night I bought two pairs of insanely cute shoes – one basic black fabric Mary Jane style, wearable for work and anywhere else, and a pair of green polka dot slingback flats that couldn’t be more perfect for the upcoming summer – for less than $15 total. The green pair were already on clearance for $7.00, and all clearance items in the store were going for an extra 50% off this weekend, so that amounted to less than four dollars for a pair of shoes that literally made me squee when I saw them. Now THAT is how to make a frugal femme happy.

So yeah, we less financially comfortable femmes have more work to do. We can’t just walk into Tiffany’s or Saks Fifth Avenue and charge all the fabulosity we want on our American Express. But it’s doable if you know where to look and how to shop wisely. For me, discount stores are my friends, sales are my love and clearance is the Holy Grail of my consumer existence.

And in the end, much like a double bacon cheeseburger after weeks of cheap ramen noodles, finding femme perfection on the shelves after long, torturous bouts of window shopping is sweet, sweet satisfaction.

A Flogger in Hand Beats... Well, Just About Anyone Really!

Crossposted from Kinky Sex Link.

You know how they say a woman can put on that right pair of heels, or that right shade of lipstick and suddenly it’s like a light going on inside her – she’s really just herself with the aide of that one special item? Her walk turns into a sashay, her smile is that much more confident, her eyes that much sparklier. That is how I feel with a flogger in my hand.

My 72-tail suede flogger was one of my first BDSM implements that I didn’t just find lying around my house waiting to be perverted. It’s heavy and thuddy, but with the right flick of the wrist can turn into a stingy little bugger too. When I hold that flogger I almost feel more like it is a natural extension of my body more so than a tool I hold – much like I imagine a horseback rider feels like s/he is an extension of the horse rather than a separate entity. And more than an extension, it is a transformer.

Nothing makes me feel toppier than the weight of the handle in my hand, the braided leather pressing into my palm, my other fingers curled around the soft suede of the tails. I feel my spine straighten, my stance widen, and my gaze takes on a predatory feel as I search for that perfect spot to strike. My grin becomes especially wicked, almost wolfish, as I take in the half-wary anticipation of my bottom.

Holding and using that flogger – or any nice flogger, really – seems to open the doors of my creative side, as well. Seemingly innocuous items around the house suddenly become implements of pain, or sensory play. Everything has potential and with the change in attitude that flogger brings, suddenly I see it.

I also think that perhaps in order to re-enliven the sadomasochist within myself, perhaps I should work on visualizing that flogger in my hand even when it is not there. There is something to be said for the confidence and creativity of a top. It is an attitude I feel could be rewarding in every aspect of life.

Priorities

Lately I’ve been experiencing the dreaded BSOD (any recognition from the computer nerds? Anyone? Hello?) of relationships: complacency. It’s something I never figured I would experience in a relationship because I always felt like I was such a sexual and sensual person, but… well, there you have it. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it. I’ve gotten complacent. Almost… lazy.

I’d hang my head in shame if it wouldn’t impede my vision of the screen. M and I have such an incredible relationship. She’s the person I had begun to give up on ever finding. She is the bacon to my eggs. So why? Why do I suddenly find it so hard to muster up the energy to do anything sexual anymore? And let’s not even talk about how the BDSM aspect of our relationship is doing. I haven’t pulled out my bondage ties or clamps in ages.

I’ve noticed I have a hard time finding balance in my life. When I started to become pretty active in the kink scene here, I stopped going to bellydance classes. Now that our social life in general has bloomed, my kink is slowly dying. I can’t seem to find that perfect spot on the tightrope to set my feet. I can’t seem to do a little bit of everything; no, I let just a couple different things completely overwhelm my life. Of course, it never helps that my job is one of those permanent things around which I have to balance all my other, more personally important priorities. But, I should be thankful to have a job at all in this economy.

Succinctly put, I know M wants sex more often. I know I feel less… well, human when there’s little to no physical intimacy in my life. It feels like a part of our relationship has died, which in a way it has, because I’ve let other priorities take over my life and exhaust me to the point where I can’t even gather the energy to hardly even think about sex, much less participate. M has also mentioned she misses the Top in me. I have admittedly been feeling more bottomy lately, but I’ve acted on neither of these urges.

So, I think it’s time to reprioritize. I’ve got a lot of good things going on in my life right now but that doesn’t mean that any one of them has to die in order for the others to flourish. I have remarkably good balance for someone who seems to trip over her own feet or run into doorways on a close-to-daily basis; it’s time to utilize that balance in other areas of my life!

Anal Play

Anal play is something that has been on my mind more frequently lately. I’m not sure why – perhaps because it’s something in which I haven’t participated for quite some time. Since my last girlfriend, actually. M isn’t interested in trying it, and as someone who is not into receiving anal play – I’m a giver, what can I say – I can completely understand and respect her wishes. Still, I think a part of me misses it. It was a very different but still pleasing sensation, playing with my ex-girlfriend’s ass, particularly in conjunction with fucking her cunt. I really did enjoy it.

I think it’s important to mention that while I do enjoy giving anal play, I am really not into scat play. I do enjoy playing with a person’s anus/rectum, but I’m not so much a fan of what passes through and out of said body parts. I much prefer a clean back end. As far as men vs. women, though… well, I guess I can’t really say until I’ve actually done anal play with a man, but at this point I’m open to either. I think it would just play into my dominant, sadistic streak to strap a switchy or submissive man down to a table and torture him with the pleasure of anal play combined with the pain of floggers, whips, canes, paddles and sharps play. Of course, the same thing would be equally fun with a woman.

I think all of these musings boil down to the simple fact that I want to explore more, to play more, to learn more. My kinky life has been almost dormant lately. There’s always that element of an alternative/kinky lifestyle with M – there can’t be anything but with her; the very nature of our relationship is so out of the mainstream – but the truly active side of it, the side that does all that tying down and whipping and fucking, has been neglected lately. I think it’s due to sheer laziness, to be honest. Unbelievably, sometimes I get so lazy my own sex life is neglected, which is truly sad. I think I’m the one who needs to be whipped… back into shape!

So Why Do We Need Labels, Anyway?

My recent post on my progression from a pansexual to a queer identity got me thinking about this topic. What does it matter so much if I’m pansexual or queer? Obviously the need to define myself is there, otherwise… well, otherwise I wouldn’t worry about it. But I’ve devoted thought and blog posts to the topic, so… where does this need come from?

I have two thoughts regarding this. One is self-validation. Yes, it’s human nature to compartmentalize, to define and label and file away. But I think that instinct goes beyond pigeonholing our surroundings to self-definition as well. To understand ourselves we need definitions, limits, cubbies. It helps us process what might otherwise remain purely instinctual, subconscious knowledge.

My other thought is that we compartmentalize ourselves in order to make ourselves more easily identifiable to others, which falls into the idea that people need to compartmentalize their surroundings. We want to help others put us in a category so we will be understood by them. We crave understanding and sympathy, so we will expedite that process for our peers. Much like the “Hello, My Name Is…” stickers at a meet ‘n’ greet function, we want to make ourselves easily identifiable, so we fill out those stickers in our minds for easy access when needed in the future. Peel and slap.

This is all so subjective, though. I’ve struggled with these thoughts in the past and they were real downers because I was so discouraged by the idea of hard limits. None of this has to be rigid and closed to change. Identity, sexual/gender or otherwise is such a fluid thing. It can change by the day; it can change with the weather, with a mood, with an outfit. Yes, it seems the need for labels is ever-present, but the thing that makes labels bearable (however reluctantly they are utilized) is that much like the aforementioned outfits, they can be changed, shrugged off and stepped into on a whim.

So, heels or flats today?

From Pan to Queer

I couldn’t mark the day I adopted “queer” over “pansexual.” It wasn’t an occasion where I woke up, or stopped short in the middle of doing something with a lightbulb illuminating the crown of my head. It was a more gradual sort of evolution brought on by a combination of factors.

Not least of which is whenever I see or hear the word “pansexual” I automatically think of frying pans. Plus, it just sounds so… scientific. Not that there’s anything wrong with science, but I’m not a fan of cold, laboratory-esque terms around my sexuality. Sexuality is a soft, malleable, golden red word. Pansexual is hard, sterile, gleaming steel and unyielding edges.

Of course, now that I describe it, it still sounds sexy.

Okay. Back on track, woman. There’s also the fact that “queer” is not only easier to say but easier for others to understand. Sure, your typical non-queer person thinks “queer” is synonymous with “homosexual,” which isn’t always the case, but getting any kind of comprehensive response is better than a blank stare.

Oddly enough, queer also feels more comprehensive than pansexual. I couldn’t tell you why that is, since pansexual is a comprehensive term by definition, but there are still those unyielding edges around it that queer doesn’t seem to have. If these terms were people, in my mind pansexual would be the clique who closes ranks and shoulders out anyone new, whereas queer is the crazy, lovable chick going around hugging everybody.

I know I’m probably going to piss at least one person off with that statement. Oh well. Candor for the win.

So there you have it. I’m queer. Among other things. But, as is said, actions make the person, so… I guess I should go be weird now! Oh, wait…

SSC vs. RACK

There was a prompt over on Kinky Sex Link that caught my eye, mostly because I think this topic has been inexplicably on my mind a lot lately. It has to do with the BDSM mantras of SSC and RACK. For those who dont know, SSC stands for Safe, Sane & Consensual, and RACK stands for Risk-Aware Consensual Kink. It's generally accepted in the BDSM world that SSC is a little stricter than RACK, shying away from play without safewords and most forms of edgeplay.

But enough on the vocab lesson. The question at KSL asked if the reader followed either of these mantras and if not, what safety measures did the person follow?

Ever since I found out about RACK as opposed to SSC, it's made a little more sense to me. I believe safewords are very useful and possibly even essential in certain environments, but I also believe there are situations in which they are not essential. For example, any time I go to a play party and engage in any kind of play, or witness any kind of play, safewords are made very clear and their freedom of use is made very clear - by which I mean that if a person is feeling less than 100% in any way, they should safeword. Of course, I should also explain that in my local scene, the commonly used safewords are "red," "yellow" and "green." Red obviously equals STOP, no ifs ands or buts about it. Yellow is pause for a moment, let's discuss. Green... well, you get the idea.

However, M and I have never used safewords in our play. Do I say it's because we know each other so well that we read each other's body language, gestures and facial expressions rather than a word coming from the mouth? Possibly. But I know there are couples as deeply connected as we are who use safewords, and that makes them no less connected than we are. So it's hard to say. I can say, however, that not using safewords works for us.

Then there's the other side of SSC vs. RACK - that of edgeplay. Of course, what constitutes edgeplay is highly subjective, but I think I can safely say that M and I are both into more than bondage and flogging - although I must say, my opinion of bondage and flogging is VERY high! We both love knifeplay, for instance, and I love needle play. I'm curious about bloodplay in general, as M and I are fluid bonded. Various other curiosities, and "one days."

If nothing else, however, I think there should be two rules abided by always: keep it consensual, and don't spread disease. I think that about covers it. And at least for me, that seems fairly easy!

How has BDSM enhanced your relationship?

Kinky Sex Link posts a writing prompt every Monday, and I follow them because I'm always looking for something good to write about. This past Monday's prompt was:

"How has BDSM enhanced your relationship?"

This one resonated with me because it's something that's been in the back of my mind for a while. M's and my relationship HAS gotten better not only since we discovered BDSM but also since we discovered that we were both switches and that I was not the hard-line, set-in-stone Dominant. To write about why I think this is, I feel I must first start with describing how our relationship might have been if we had not discovered BDSM.

It's odd because I can't imagine vanilla sex anymore. I can't imagine me having vanilla sex and I can't imagine anyone else having vanilla sex. I don't know how anyone could prefer plain vanilla sex to sex with even a little bit of kink in it. (Of course, that could take me into a tangent about the exact description of kink, but I'll save it for later.) That being said, M and I would still have had a relationship without kink and BDSM. Our relationship has a solid foundation even outside the realm of kink. We largely share the same interests in books, movies and music; our political and general views on life are very similar. Hell, we even share the same preference for breeds of dog!

Those things, and others I haven't defined here (the things that should be in any relationship: trust, honesty, appreciation, humor) make a good relationship. They have made ours a good relationship. Getting into BDSM, though, has made this good relationship a great relationship. A superb relationship; a memorable, unforgettable, strong lifetime relationship. How is this?

Vulnerability.

I really think that's what it is. The key to making our good relationship an amazing relationship is vulnerability. Otherwise we are both a couple of very proud, somewhat walled-off women who would not have been able to connect and give 100% to each other.

Even just talking about BDSM gives us an advantage. We're both admitting an interest in something that is absolutely not mainstream, that is often frowned upon and persecuted. We're opening ourselves up just a little, reaching out and saying, "Hey, I'm different," and allowing ourselves to be either accepted or rejected. Obviously, we chose the former for each other.

And then there's the physical aspect of BDSM. How much trust does it take, how much vulnerability does it open to allow someone to restrain you into helplessness and inflict pain upon you? To trust them to toe the limit and not break that bond of trust? To trust them to respect your safewords and not continue to push after you've asked to stop? All of this takes an enormous amount of trust, and in trusting we open ourselves up to vulnerability.

Then there's the appreciation that goes along with that. What kind of an ethical person could not appreciate being trusted in such a manner? It's an odd feeling of pride and humility mixed, that another person could turn themselves belly up and trust you not to eviscerate them.

Summarily, being into BDSM has forced M and I to break down our walls and be vulnerable to each other. We have both cried in front of each other. We have both talked about this vulnerability, and how best to not take advantage of it. BDSM requires such extensive communication that we have almost unwittingly gotten to know each other better - strengths, weaknesses, needs, desires. It's a powerful thing. It is power, knowing that much about someone. It takes a great strength of will to not take advantage, to not use. Upholding that trust only builds more. It's a not-so-vicious cycle.

Not to mention every relationship needs a little fun!

I find myself craving the bottom more lately. I was flogged by M a few nights ago and it was... incredibly intense, but amazing. Now I want more. More flogging, and other things - caning, slapping, spanking. I want to be tied up something fierce.

There's that funny thing about pain. It wasn't entirely enjoyable. Even the pain when I had the needles in my boobs wasn't entirely enjoyable. But I still had a smile on my face. And I still liked it. It's so backwards. But hey, I guess that's what "alternative" is all about.

God, Christmas is far too close. I really need to get going with shopping.

The Un-HNT Post

Well, it's 10:45pm where I am tonight and of course I just remembered that tomorrow is (Half-Nekkid) Thursday, so I attempted a pic. I stripped down, put on my new black fringed top that will be on me for the next play party on Saturday, put on a brand new pair of lacy black boy short undies and plopped the camera in M's hand.

Ugh.

Just... ugh.

It was wrong. I tossed the camera aside in disgust. Pasty, dimply thighs, hunched back, ungraceful hands. What the hell was I thinking? I don't think I've ever felt unsexier in my life. I stripped back down and put on my SpongeBob jammies in frustrated resignation.

M is frustrated too. She couldn't keep her hands off me - almost literally. I kept having to push her away so she'd take a picture, only to have to do it again once she'd snapped the (awful) shot. She apparently thought I was sexy. But how much does that help when I feel like the Michelin Man trying to be a Playboy Bunny?

Oddly enough, though, as I sit here writing this (still in Spongebob jammies!) I'm feeling sexy again. Lord only knows what my hair looks like. Probably not great. The top accompanying those oh-so-couture cartoon pants is an old, faded black tank top. The elastic lining the shelf bra inside the top is about to fall off completely. Any makeup that might have been on earlier in the day is totally gone now. (Anyone else experience total makeup meltdown? It sucks.)

But I feel... comfy. And sexy. Just like I felt pretty sexy earlier this evening in my black track pants and the black v-neck top I had worn to work. Funny how things work.

So apparently I was trying too hard. And that definitely is not sexy, on anyone.

I guess next time I'll get M to take a pic of the jammies, eh?