A Summer Lover (For Spring, Fall, and Winter)

Both sides, now!

2008-07-18T01:03:00.003-04:00

Side A: "Hurt"
A week or so ago, I had a session with RHF, who I am renaming Hephaestus. After he caned me for my first time, a while back, I realized that there was a Place I wasn't quite getting to, a Place of catharsis and tears. A Place of release and cleansing. I was teetering on the edge of this Place when he caned me. When we talked about plans for last week's session, I decided that I wanted to fall over that edge. We agreed on a rough session, an "endurance" session, not so much about pleasure as about me allowing my limits on pain to be pushed, me taking what he gave.
I was already emotionally shaky, that day. There was a lot going on, and Apollo and I had been Talking quite a bit. I wondered if this was something I should be doing when I was already in an iffy place emotionally...but decided that the catharsis might be just what I needed. Hephaestus got me up on the cross, and he began. I can't remember the order. I can't remember everything he used on me. Nipple clamps were first, I remember. I was not crying yet. I remember the fierce little rubber flogger, so ticklish on my breasts and so unendurable on my back. He had me beg him to use something else. I begged him for the black thuddy flogger, begged him for that satisfying impact, that sure trip out to Liminal Space, out to Zen Pain Space, out of this blinding pain. My nose was running, and my eyes dripping. I was weeping as he continued to use that demonic little instrument on me. He eventually granted my request, and brought the black, thuddy flogger back out. For a moment, it was better. For a moment, it was ok. But, oh, my back was already so worn, so laced with pain, that even that became agony. There was the paddle. There were other, harsher floggers. There were more tears.
Then there was the moment when he told me to come, and I had to choke out, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I can." And I cried harder, for the realization. Me, not be able to come? It was unthinkable. But it was true. There was too much pain, too much turmoil, too much wild grief for my body to consider giving itself pleasure. I remember that I expected to be punished, though I didn't find it very fair, but he only went back to hitting me, with whatever he was using at the time. The last thing I remember was his braided flogger (I think it's a cat...I'm not certain) striking me...and suddenly, it really was too much. Too much crying, too much pain, too much emotion at once. I flashed my hands at him, our agreed-upon signal for STOP. He asked me, "I was going to end with three strokes of the cane. Can you do that?" What the hell, I thought, three with the cane. Can't make it any worse than it is already. Three biting strokes on my back, wrapping to leave raised lines on my arms, and it was over. I wanted to cry more, but it was over, so I didn't. I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and laid on his bed, recovering. I was numb, but dangerously close to both laughter and tears. I left, eventually, and went home.
That night, Apollo wanted to have sex. I had been listening to my body, waiting for myself to click back into Normal Functioning Modes, wherein I am very present in my body, very desiring, and quite willing...but I wasn't there. The idea of sex was almost repugnant. Pleasure? In this body? This same space where all of That Pain happened? No, I did not want to be present in my body. It was a Bad Place, a place of endurance, a place of pain and tears, a place that had stopped functioning as I expected it to function. I couldn't. There are some Moods that can be pushed aside in deference to a partner's desire - headaches, tiredness, and the like. This was not one of those. I simply couldn't find it in myself to be touched. I had to tell him no. And tell him why. And that was hard, because it has been my goal to see to it that what I do with others doesn't affect our sex life (negatively, that is), and here it was, doing just that.
Now, a week and a substantial amount of processing later, I'm pretty ok with the fact that I'm not ready for that. That sort of play is more than I can handle right now -and that's alright. That's proper for me right now. But I do feel a little weak. A little failed. It was just pain, right? I should be able to take pain, right? It's not like it was humiliation or degradation play. It was just pain. But it was too much pain. And I Do Not Like how it made me feel afterwards, how I related to my body afterwards.

Side B: "Everything's Alright"

That night, I had a movie date with the Magician, the Cloaked Norseman, and CN's wife to watch Hellboy, in anticip......ation of the second one coming out. I went, expecting that we'd watch the movie, and for once, the Magician and I would essentially keep our hands off of each other, as I was so out of my body, so unwilling and unable to feel sensual pleasure. I was off. I knew it. I rubbed the Magician's back, played with his hair - usual movie-watching activities. But I felt closed-off. Cut off. As the movie progressed, this faded a bit. I faded, my issues and aches faded, into Story, into the images and characters. Still cut off, but time and Story were doing their work, helping me away from the pain.
The movie ended and CN and his wife left. The Magician led me back to his room, as was rather usual, as I tried to form the words to tell him that No, I can't connect like this tonight. In his embrace, I managed to whisper that I was feeling Off. Not Right. He asked why, and I shared that I'd had a bad session. That it was more than I could process properly. That the place right in the center of my solar plexus was in knots, and I wasn't connected to my body, and could he please just hold me and not expect more. This last part came as a shock. I realized that I felt safe. I was far enough away, in time and in mindset, from the experience that touch was healing, rather than oppressive.
He was so patient with me. His hands on my body, tracing my curves, avoiding overtly sexual touch. Brushing away the pain, the need to hold tight, the need to endure. Whispering in my ear that I am safe. Comfortable. Loved. It felt like a sacrament. It felt like a benediction. Slowly, wonderfully, he helped me settle back into my body, helped me feel it as safe, as sexual, as sacred again. I felt myself shine again.
The next day, he told me in an email that he'd thought of lyrics for me, which he should have sung last night, but were better late than never:
"Try not to get worried,
Try not to turn onto
Problems that upset you,
Oh, don't you know
Everything's alright,
Yes, everything's fine.
And [I] want you to sleep well tonight." - "Everything's Alright," Jesus Christ Superstar
Oh, perfect. A song of healing and anointing, of soothing the wounded spirit. Myrrh to my soul.

Bonus Track: "Love Me Two Times"

The Magician and I have progressed to having intercourse. This is a bit of a big deal. Right now, intercourse carries more weight than some other sexual acts. It carries more risks, and thus requires more caution and care. It is, for Apollo, a slightly more thorny issue as his emotions go. For these reasons, I will not ask about having intercourse with a partner unless I want it so badly that I cannot see straight. Otherwise, I'm perfectly content with less risky, less emotionally loaded acts. I'm easily pleased, I love skin, and I come easily. It's not difficult for me to be quite satisfied with something waay short of full-on penis-in-vagina fucking. But, sometimes, I want it. I do. And when I want it, I Really Want it. I want it because I'm comfortable. Because I'm safe. Because I find the other person incredibly hot and/or compelling. Once I want it this much, I'll talk to Apollo about it. It's not worth bringing up otherwise. Really, why push his comfort zone if it's not something I Really Want? That just doesn't make good sense.
So I asked. And we talked about it, and Apollo agreed. And, friends and readers, sex is a good, good thing. Sex is so unique. Sex is inescapably different with every different partner. Different angles and positions suddenly come into their own with the Magician, while some that I adore with Apollo take a back seat. Different internal spots emerge, trumpeting their own glory. Different sounds, different glances, different words whispered. I am astounded by the brilliance of the differences.

Musings on Kink, Power, and Accoutrements

2008-06-26T00:53:00.008-04:00

Today, I went over to RHF's place. And hit his girlfriend, Columbia, with various floggers and paddles - which was excellent practice. She's a lovely bottom - more responsive than the Cloaked Norseman. Then, after my arm was tired, and RHF had cooled her down with judiciously applied ice, I bit her. Hot damn. I am hesitant and very much still finding my way with regard to impact play, when I'm on the giving/topping end. But when it come to biting and hair-pulling, that I can do, confidently and joyfully, given an enthusiastic subject. And Columbia was quite enthusiastic. I learned, in college, that there are several boys who melt into a little puddle when you firmly grasp the hair at the nape of their neck. I learned that these same boys tend to make very pretty noises when you sink your teeth into their shoulders. Oh, I love that. I love the rush, knowing I'm awakening those pretty, pain-filled pleasures in them. I looked at Columbia, nekkid on the cross, and relished the thought of those shoulders, bare to do with what I pleased. I wrapped my hand in her jet hair, and pulled, tight and firm. I bit into the top of her shoulder, above her collarbone, wide and hard. And I felt the protectiveness well up in me, the caring. The profound knowledge that I have responsibility for this creature, that she's trusting me to hurt her, to push her, and to bring her through safely. I stared in wonder at her hair, the curves of her back and ass, open to me. When I top, that's what I want to feel. That wonder, at the gift I'm given. That enthusiasm for giving sensation. The profound satisfaction in the care and safety I provide.
I am, I believe, still primarily a bottom. But it was interesting to find what triggers the top in me, what pushes me to lose myself in action rather than reaction. And to observe how I top, what my goals and feelings about it are. Mm.
After I left Columbia and RHF's place, Apollo and I went to meet Church Goth Boy, hereafter Eldil, and his wife, hereafter Pomona, for dinner and gaming. Pizza, wine, ice cream and Munchkin made for a lovely night...then Eldil took me to his room (not like that you perverse people) to see the flogger he offered to loan to me (he found out, over lunch one day, that I was kinky and eager to learn to perform the skills I enjoy receiving). It's pretty. It's purple, and not too light, not too harsh. Not quite as spongy and thuddy as I'd like - but it'll do very well for a practice flogger.
Then he asked me, "How do you feel about collars?" "Um, well, I've only worn one once, for a very short time, when I was at my friend's house and she was showing me, very informally, all her tools...but they're something I'd like to explore..." Next thing I know, he's pulling a very plain black leather collar out of the closet, and telling me to turn around and lift my hair. As he fastens the collar and locks it, I feel the weight of subspace start to descend. Eldil is not a playmate. Since, to my knowledge, he is not poly, he will never be a playmate. As such, I should probably not let him put a collar on me again, even so informally. The weight descended, and my latent attraction to him rose. He commented on the fact that it fit me perfectly, where it's not quite right for Pomona, and proceeded to remark that I now had something new to wear to the upcoming fetish event.
"Oh...er, I don't want to appear as though I'm actually collared," I said. Really...I don't want to look as though I'm off-limits - that might spoil potential fun! "Well, you could turn the collar around so that the D-ring is out of sight, or you could attach a chain to the D-ring, then attach it to your own wrist, showing that you own yourself." My immediate reaction to this was, "That's what a fluffy sub would do! Someone who just wants to wear the pretties, not walk the walk that goes with them." But I've been thinking. I really like the idea, at this point in my exploration, of the collar, of my collar being first and foremost about my sovereignty over myself. My right to say where and how and to whom I give myself (of course, this is tied, at a higher level, to spirituality, with my first binding and commitment being to Deity - and I give myself in accordance with Her wishes for me). When I put it on myself, I am signaling that I am in control. When I permit someone else to put my collar on me (if I permit it - I have not yet decided), I have given that control willingly into their hands for a fixed time, a scene. I am not ready to commit my collar into the control of any one person, any one lover. Granted, once offered, any lover to whom it is offered will have the option to use it or not, as they see fit...but they are not the sole owners/users of my collar.
I feel, on some level, that I'm misusing the symbol that is the collar by making it about my own control and sovereignty (under Deity, of course). This, though, stems more from my fear of public opinion and what others will think about "that sub who owns herself" or "that sub who carries the key to her own collar" than about any personal objections. Hm. I'd appreciate thoughts on this.
On the note of personal sovereignty, a word about the Magician. In the midst of my kinky exploration, there is RHF and my Lovely Long Distance Friend/Mentor who are very much helping me explore what my submissive side is all about, helping me feel out my boundaries for giving up control, and helping me relish the sensation of surrender. By contrast, the Magician doesn't play power games. They don't interest or amuse him. He is all about sensation, and, more relevantly, about asking for what you want. In that sense, he is all about personal sovereignty and owning your own desires. And while it might be strange that I care so much for such diametrically opposed relationships, I care for them precisely because they are so different. They are causing me to grow in equally important, wonderful ways. RHF and My Mentor push me to learn about endurance, about giving up control, about taking what I'm given, and serving another's pleasure. The Magician pushes me to name my own desire, to search myself and ask boldly for what I want. He pushes me to find my voice, so often silenced in arousal, to give words to the longings in my heart and cunt. I am so very grateful to have this sort of balance in my life, in my exploration.

Lyric meme....

2008-06-18T16:44:00.002-04:00

Because I like these things, and thus do them on a semi-regular basis.

Answer each with a song lyric:

How has your day been?
"Hot town, summer in the city. Back of my neck gettin' dirty and gritty." - Lovin' Spoonful, "Summer in the City"

What's the status on your love life?
"Sisters, lovers, some of you must know about water brothers. And in time, maybe others." - CSNY, "Triad"

Have anything to say about your exes?
"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful beautiful. Beautiful boy[s]." - John Lennon, "Beautiful Boy"
"Don't forget what I told you; don't come around; I got my own hell to raise" - Fiona Apple, "Sleep to Dream"

Have a crush on anybody?
"Try to understand - try, try, try to understand - he's a magic man. Ahh, he's got magic hands." - Heart, "Magic Man"
"Send whips of opinion down my back, give me more. It's you I've waited my life to see." - Jeff Buckley, "Mojo Pin"

Do you drink?
"Pour me a glass of wine - talk deep into the night" - Over the Rhine, "Drunkard's Prayer"

What's your attitude like today?
"Everything under the Sun is in tune" - Pink Floyd, "Brain Damage/Eclipse"

Your idea of a fun time?
"I'm feeling devious/You're looking glamorous./ Let's get mischievous/and polyamorous/Wine and women and wonderful vices/Welcome to the cult of Dionysus" - The Orion Experience, "Cult of Dionysus"

Do you like your parents?
"Oh, my mama loves me. She loves me. She get down on her knees and hug me, oh she loves me like a rock. She rocked me like the Rock of Ages." - Paul Simon, "Loves Me Like a Rock"
"Sometimes I wanna rip out your throat, Daddy. For all those things you said that were mean. I'm gonna make you just as vulnerable as I was Daddy." - Jewel, "Daddy"

Morning or night person?
"My girl, my girl, don't lie to me - tell me where did you sleep last night?" - Leadbelly (via Nirvana), "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?"

Has anyone wronged you in the past?
"It always seems to me, sorry seems to be the hardest word" - Elton John, "Sorry Seems To Be the Hardest Word"

How old are you?
"Maybe she's 19 going on 30. Or maybe she's really 30 now, it's hard to say. Hard to keep up with time once it's on its way." - Ani Difranco, "Tambuitza Lingua"

Do you believe in God?
"Oh bless the Lord my soul. His Grace to thee proclaim. And all that is within me join to bless His holy Name." - Godspell, "Bless the Lord"
"Sancta Sophia, peace is born to thy victory. Athena Sophia, Thy will be done." - Cruxshadows, "Sophia"
"Remember the truth that once was spoken: To Love another person is to see the face of God!" - Les Miserables, "Finale"

Do you like to dress nice when you go out?
"Yes, I wore a slinky red thing - does that mean that I should spread?" - Tori Amos, "Me and a Gun"

Do you have any siblings?
"The papa said, 'Oy, if I get that boy, I'm gonna stick him in the house of detention'" - Simon and Garfunkle, "Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard"
"The years spin by and now the boy is twenty. Though his dreams have lost some grandeur in coming true, there'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams, in plenty before the last revolving year is through." - Joni Mitchell, "The Circle Game"

Have you ever done drugs?
"Go ask Alice - I think she'll know" - Jefferson Airplane, "White Rabbit"

Are you a virgin?
"I can scream as loud as your last one, but I can't claim innocence." - Tori Amos, "Leather"

Do you have any secrets you want to tell now?
"Don't ask her for the water, cause you'll sink like a ship." - Ryan Adams, "Don't Ask for the Water"
"She is benediction. She is the addicted to thee. She is the root connection and she is connecting with he." - Patti Smith, "Dancing Barefoot"

In Which Joy Goes To A Party

2008-06-02T14:59:00.004-04:00

So, I'm not fortunate enough to live in/around NYC, where sex parties are sort-of normal. Where people like Jefferson and Adam have Those Parties on a semi-regular basis. However, there is, in my local community, a couple who throws one of Those Parties (tm) every so often - every three to six months, depending. And they had one on Saturday.
Originally, when I heard about this (from the husband, hereafter Hedonist), I thought "Wow! That's a great opportunity to get Apollo out into this community...let him at least see some of what I've been enjoying." Because, as Hedonist explained to me, the parties are low pressure, high on consent. No one will be pressured to "participate" at all, much less to do anything beyond their comfort zone. And, unlike Jefferson and Adam's parties, He and Shedonist's parties are really Parties At Which Sex And BDSM Happen rather than Sex And BDSM Parties. Granted, most folks there are there for the sex-and-bdsm factor, to one degree or another...but you could also keep your clothes on all night and just stand around the bonfire talking. Of course, you might be talking to a naked girl...but you could just talk. So, I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to allow Apollo some exposure to the kink/non-monogamous community. We'd go together, observe, talk, and not play unless we both agreed to. It would be wonderful.
Too bad Apollo's job had him working this weekend. Fuck. Working both Saturday and Sunday, even, so no chance of even going for a bit, early on. Curses. And I had really been looking forward to it. He and Shedonist are wonderful people and hosts, so any chance to go to their lovely abode and partake of their hospitality was an opportunity I wanted to take. Especially as the Magician had offered to go with me, and my friend Ceres had urged me to go with her.
So I asked. Making it very clear that, since we had been thinking of this as an "us" event - something to give Apollo a chance to get integrated into What It Is I Am Doing - that I would absolutely Not Go if he had any objections. But he didn't. Granted, he wished he could go - but saw no reason for this to hold me back. So I went.
It was, according to all outside opinions, pretty tame as Those Parties (tm) go. There was no fucking on the coffee table, or around the bonfire (though, I'm sure the upstairs beds and couches saw some play). There was no blood drawn in the BDSM room. But, damn, it was a good time. As soon as the BDSM room was set up - the cross for impact play and the bench so the Magician could use his violet wand - I got a Crash Course In Topping, with Hedonist as the instructor and the Cloaked Norseman as my bottom. The last time I had been at He and Shedonist's abode, CN had informed me, in a voice that brooked no dispute, that at some point I needed to whip him. He evidently has a thing for being people's First Time Topping experiment. So I went through the gamut of instruments - the rubber flogger, to the deerskin, to the slapper, to the crop - and back to the deerskin, finishing with the bullhide flogger. It was fun. Not as fun as being hit with those things, but it was fun. I think I would have preferred fewer spectators for my first time topping - but so it goes. I wasn't aware that I had the ability to kindly request that they get the hell out of the room during my scene - but now I know. CN was very patient with me, giving his preferences when asked and letting me know how I was doing. I found the deerhide flogger to be very heavy - it has a helluva handle on it - and the weight combined with the length of it made it very difficult for me to control. Which resulted in quite a bit of wraparound. But, as first times go, it was fairly good, with only the requisite bit of Awkward.
After that, CN and I cuddled and bit (well, he bit me) while the Magician finished tormenting his first victim of the evening - a lovely, slender girl who seemed like she could come from the electricity alone. When she finally left the bench, the Magician asked if I'd like to take my turn on the cross. But of course! I stripped out of my shirt and bra, and mounted the cross, sliding my hands into the fantastic cuffs. He began with his rabbit skin flogger, which I'd never experienced before. Oh, it was delicious. I was a bit amazed at the satisfying amount of force - not pain, but force - which it can deliver. When he switched to the deerskin, I had been hovering on the edge - but now I flew. Off, off into the land of Liminality, of Incoherence. Oh, the steady beating on my back, the rhythm giving the pain a trance-like quality. The occasional, much sharper blows, disrupting, while at the same time deepening, that liminal state. I opened my eyes, once, to see a face below mine. The Goddamn Gorgeous Asian Man that I met at the fetish night was present at the party. I had seen him downstairs, talked a bit - he remembered me - and had observed me topping CN. He was standing, looking at me with a slight grin. I believe he observed that I like being hit much more than I like hitting, and I think I nodded. I don't know. Then, his face was replaced by CN's. CN thrust his hand into my hair, pulling firmly, and asked if I was enjoying myself. "Yes," I said, "very very much." "Very very much?" CN queried. "Yes. Very very much," I repeated. "Good," he said. Their faces. In that state, seeing their faces while being transported by the pain and the rhythm...was shockingly powerful. The intimidating beauty and strangeness (as I don't really know him at all) of the GGAM sent me reeling, spinning with mingled delight and confusion. The bearded face of CN, framed by his looong, soft locks made my breath catch, and his voice sent me further, further Out There into the stratosphere. I want him, very badly. The predatory look in his eyes right before he bites me - oh, it makes me tremble. And the force of that desire combined with the flogging to put me Right Out of normal modes of functioning. When I finally came down off the cross, the Magician cuddled and helped me ground down (a bit, at least. Enough to function. :P ). And it was sweetly lovely to come down into his arms - a safe, stable place, still filled with desire.
The rest of the night was a melange of people and experiences. There were continual bites from CN, kisses and hair-pulling from the Magician, good coffee, and roasted marshmallows. There were cool girls to talk to, and the Magician's redheaded friend who asked very nicely for access to my breasts - and was most gracious when I told him that I wasn't sure about that, as I didn't really know him at all. Though, if his attentions to my neck and ears are anything to go by, I think I may acquiesce to his request the next time he makes it. On a trip to the upstairs bathroom, in the very wee hours of the morning, I was ambushed by CN. We ended up fooling around on the breezeway above the living room, since the upstairs couches and beds were already taken by other partygoers. Not for the first time that weekend, I cursed the fact that the moon has a cycle, and so do I - and I was On It. So it was hands only. Probably for the best...but, oh, did I mention how much I want this man (Did I mention that he wears a kilt?? Hot!!)? Not that I particularly want intercourse with him, but simply that I want to be able to fuckin' roll around naked with him. And the really neat thing about this is that several times, when I had my hands up under that kilt of his (Oh yes. That's right. It's true about what they don't wear beneath their kilts.), people came wandering upstairs, mainly for the bathroom. But, it was ok, because it was one of Those Parties. And being "caught" at Those Parties...is ok. It was still a little embarrassing for me...a little strange...but neat to know that no one was judging me for it or thinking that I should "get a room."
When we finally detached ourselves from one another, I looked at the time and realized that I would not be getting back home (I had ridden with the Magician because it's out in BFE and gas is expensive and I don't do well with finding places in the dark) until after Apollo had gotten up and gone to work. Oops. I had not realized that this would happen. Had not realized just how late/early it was. So, I called Apollo and apologized profusely. Fortunately, he was very understanding, and told me not to worry about it. By the time we finally got back to the Magician's place, I did not feel competent to drive, even the short distance to my home, and dawn was breaking. So, I burrowed down in the Magician's bed and...well, we did eventually sleep. But, oh, it was pretty before then. Again, I cursed my period. But even so, it was beautifully fun. And the Magician...now, him, I want intercourse with. As much as he turns me on and makes me come, I also feel very comfortable, safe with him. He's lovely and patient - except when he's passionately telling me just how much he wants to fuck me. But he wouldn't ever try unless I told him it was ok, that I had permission. And knowing that makes it incredibly hot - knowing that he wants me so badly, but will wait until it's truly alright, expressing desire but not pushing. It makes me want him even more.

In conclusion, my right arm and shoulder muscles are very sore, my body is spotted with bruises and marks, and I slept twelve hours last night. It was a good, good weekend.

Where to begin?

2008-05-31T14:47:00.003-04:00

Indeed. It has been a full month...full of lessons and orgasms and ponderings and pleasure. Loooots of pleasure. Since last I wrote, I have had several more glorious times with the Magician, spent hours in scintillating conversation with a long distance...friend? Lover? Mentor? Clergy? ...uh, yes, and had long, involved talks with Apollo about time and schedules and why this (poly-non-monogamy thing) is so important to me.

A few of the lessons I have learned:
- Kink is better sober. And not just because of safety issues. I genuinely process pain a lot better when I'm sober. Of course, I don't think the state I'm in after engaging in sexual or kinky activities counts as sober per se...but alcohol is best left out of it. :)
- When I get uncomfortable with a situation, it's often hard for me to sort out what it is about that situation which isn't working. Fortunately, I have someone in my life who's very wonderful about presenting ways for me to get at the heart of situations. :D
- D/s activities will stay within the context of a scene. As much as I'm fascinated by this dynamic and want to explore it, Thou Shalt Not Tell Joy To Come in Public. No one has that privilege with me, to exert their power when it's not clearly defined that I'm giving it to them. What made this instance worse was that I was coming down from a brief scene, so I was already in subspace, in compliance-space. So when the order came, I complied automatically, even as my brain was screaming that "All of these people don't have the privilege of seeing you at this level of vulnerability...no, no, no!"
- One interesting thing about multiple relationships is the conception (in my head) that they should all be moving at the same rate. If I'm comfy giving oral sex to X, I should be comfortable giving it to Y too because I've been involved with them for the same length of time. This really isn't so. But it's been an interesting thought patten to come up against. It also adds to the feeling of wonder and uniqueness to realize that each relationship is distinct. Each has its own rules and boundaries, and just because something works in one relationship does not mean that it will work in all of them. They are separate entities.
- When I deal with and confront the things that are making me uncomfortable in a relationship, my attraction to the person goes way up. Surprise, surprise.
- This exploration of poly/non-monogamy is not just my hedonism, my selfishness. This is part of Me. This is part of who I am and part of what fulfills me as a person. And it is part of my calling to make sure that I explore and fulfill that.

Most recently, I have begun learning that I can take pain. Lots (for me) of it. Before my most recent playdate with RHF, we had discussed and reevaluated boundaries. He wanted more sexual contact. I was not, and am not ready for that with him - largely because I was not comfortable (see above lessons). We talked about the things that were making me uncomfortable, and he was very gracious about resolving them in a manner which indicated that he genuinely respected my boundaries and cared for my welfare. As sexual contact (of some sorts) was still a bit touchy with us, I mentioned that I'd like to start pushing my limits with regard to pain...see how much I really could take.
Aaaaand, now my ass is an interesting shade of purple. :P He began by spanking me. Now, spanking in and of itself does not really crank my engine. I mean, I much prefer the set of connotations that go with flogging to those that go with bare-handed spanking. But, it wasn't bad. It was a surprisingly powerful sensation - surprisingly strong pain. When he switched to a wooden paddle, I had my first thought that afternoon of "Should I safeword? This really fuckin' stings..." But I held on. Rode it. And it was like riding a wave, cresting and coasting. Eventually he stopped, and put me up on the cross to begin flogging me. Mmm. He pushed it into the area where it was hurting, where I was not constantly in my Serene-Yoga-Breathing place. But...I could step back, I found. I could turn my attention to my breath and just be in it. Or I could suffer the pain and squeal. Both were interesting experiences. I really, really want to be pushed far, far with flogging. I like it so much more than most other impact play that I've tried thus far - though of course other instruments and methods have their place. Anywho.
After he flogged me, he had me come, several times, with manual stimulation. Then, as I was still riding the edges of my last authorized orgasm, he placed the Hitachi between my legs. I screamed, and my fading orgasm reasserted itself, crashing back over me. "You'd better not be coming," he said. But...my brain said...but I wasn't done, when you turned that thing on! I...aw, damn. "Sorry, sir," I whispered. Immediately, the Hitachi stopped. I felt a tapping against my ass, something thin and cruel. He did not hit me, it felt, with much force, but oh gods, it was painful. My first caning. I felt myself nearing catharsis, nearing tears, nearing a letting go of something... but then he stopped. And I was grateful. I wasn't sure that I could have taken what would have been required to push me over that line. I had thought, several times, about calling out, about making it stop. But then, there was always that part of me, reminding me that I could step back. That I didn't have to be suffering so intensely (which is not the same as not feeling it...I still felt, but it wasn't bad, it just was). That I could do more, take more, even a just a little more. Looking back, I probably could have taken the pain needed to push me over the edge into Whatever Was Waiting, but I'm rather glad it didn't happen then.
I went home feeling....tired. So wrung out. In a good way, but wrung out. Apollo was a bit incredulous when he saw my ass...a little stunned, little shocked. I was too, frankly. But it's all good. It doesn't hurt at all, really, just looks like it should.

And now, to prepare for Apollo's homecoming (poor boy has to work weekends now, gorramit.) and the activities planned for tonight. *grins*

"But the May Day is the Great Day"

2008-05-04T17:39:00.004-04:00

But, really. It's fuckin' Beltane. And I don't care if you celebrated it on May 1st or May 3rd or are waiting till tomorrow - whenever you celebrate it, remember that It Is A Season, so we've got till Litha for all this hotwethoneysweetsex-energy.

My Beltane - Let Me Show You It:

Wednesday, April 3oth -
I went and watched Firefly ("War Stories" and "Trash", for those Browncoats out there) with the Magician and his roommate. I had been promised a Good White Russian (my hands-down favorite mixed drink) in exchange for a Good Back Rub. Mmm, liquor drinks. After the drink and back rub, there was cuddling. And my First in a Long Time handjob-to-completion - I'm out of the habit with Apollo...we normally just get to fucking after a little bit. I get so neurotic over giving pleasure - it's like I'm afraid I've forgotten how. But it was a goodness. As are the Magician's soft hands and sweet nails.

Thursday, May 1st -
I went out a-wandering around my neighborhood, making a clover chain to the Goddess, admiring Her loveliness and re-committing myself to Her work. Later that evening, I had drinks with my Victorian Lit class. After that, I went home and jumped on Apollo. Because yes.

Friday, May 2nd -
Acted as a chaperon for the alternative prom that my church was sponsoring for the GLBTQ kids in the area from 7-9. What amazing clothes! I should've been queer in high school...alas, alack. I felt really wonderful about helping to provide a safe space for these kids to dance and have a good time - and so VERY pleased that my church was so supportive. After that, I headed over to the club for the Voltaire show. It was my first Voltaire show, and hot damn. That man. Would let him fuck me six ways to Sunday. I already knew he was clever, much like his historical, satirical counterpart...but damn. The Magician showed up, and Church Goth Boy (CGB) was there with his wonderful wife. My friend Ceres brought her middle-school-aged daughter and her daughter's friend - and they were terribly cute in their excitement and embarrassment. Also, about half of the normal RHPS cast was there...so I was wondering who the hell was working the show. I think the highlights of the night were his parody of the Dresden Dolls' "Coin Operated Boy" as "Coin Operated Goy", the Star Trek song about how Data is "fully functional...and anatomically correct," and his final encore song. He introduced this song by saying that it was not one of his...but a song from a movie which he felt had definitely influenced him, and probably most of us, in becoming the perverse people we are today. The light was coming on at this point, but I didn't dare hope. He continued to say that we should sing the words if we knew them...and the other words, if we knew them. HA! And he began:
"Micheal Rainer was ill the day the earth stood still
and he told us where we stand! ("On our feet!" "On your knees!")"
Ahhh. The Rocky folks in the audience supplied the (fucking, sucking) callback lines, and it was wonderful.

Saturday, May 3rd -
Got up and went to the Magician's for breakfast (ok, brunch) and hanging out. I had told him, last night, that when we hung out today, he owed me a back rub this time. This back rub ended up with me topless on his black satiny sheets - which, let me just say, is a luxurious experience. There were nails and hair-pulling (ahh), and my hand on his cock (an observation: the more familiar and varied your experience with genitals are, the more attractive they look on their own merits. I don't think that before Wednesday night I had ever actively thought "What a pretty cock."). After he came, we cuddled, me still in jeans, him nekkid. Laying there, just being in contact, was lovely, luscious. But I was starting to ache for more. On Wednesday, I had initiated the taking-off of pants. I was hoping, quietly, that this time would see a reciprocation of that. But part of the Magician's charm and beauty is that he doesn't push. He has Patience. So, I lay there stewing in desire before finally working up the chutzpah to ask him for another bite, at least. He cheerfully obliged, staying to run his hands, his fingers over my breasts, tweaking and pulling. Eventually, his nails crept to the border of my pants, slipping under, slipping around. Then slipping over my jeans, pressing between my legs until I gasped.
"So, um, I guess this might be a good time to have the 'rules and boundaries' conversation," he said.
"Yeah...well...my boundaries are pretty flexible. I have standing permission for...pretty much whatever I want to do. I would want to check with Apollo before we have intercourse, if we get to that point, but that's it. Oh, and...well...I guess you should know that it generally takes me a long while to be comfortable giving oral."
"Ok. Well, you get to set the pace, so that's fine."
Then the conversation dissolved into the movement of hands, hands down the front of my jeans, hands helping me remove my jeans. Fingers pressing through my undies as I spasmed on the bed - so gentle, yet so effective. Really. I...I sometimes despair of a partner's manual clitoral stimulation being truly orgasmic, but my faith is hereby renewed.
"Are you always so responsive, or am I just special?"
"You're special, and I'm always this responsive," I grinned, "I do tend to prefer penetration to clitoral stimulation..."
"Well, if that's how you respond to clitoral stimulation and you prefer penetration...I'm not sure if I can keep up with your moving."
"Mm. Well, honestly, you're better than most. And besides, I figured those nails would make penetration pretty difficult anyway."
"You just have to be careful. It is possible." And yes, yes it was possible. And beautiful. And utterly...wow. I came down, slowly, walking to my car, clutching my prayer beads, grounding into them.
From there, I headed off to Ceres's place for the Beltane ritual and party. As usual, Pagan Standard Time was in full effect...so the ritual started an hour later than it was supposed to. But it was lovely. I started in my cranberry colored robes, and read to the participants about Shadow and Bast, and hot, feline sex. Then I led them into guided meditation to meet their Wild Love - the personification of their desires and passions. While they were in meditation, I slipped out of my robes so that when they opened their eyes, they saw me in fishnets, black underwear, my crimson corset, and my knee-high boots. We're talking transformation here. :)
Afterwards, we poured drinks and got ready to watch Secretary. Before we got the movie in, however, I found myself chatting with Ceres's friend, the Amazon, and her girl - a beautiful, newly transitioning girl, Kwan Yin. At some point, Kwan Yin remarked that it would be really hot if the Amazon and I made out. Of course, I began blushing furiously, and asked if she was serious. The Amazon gave me her best "come fuck me" look, and Kwan Yin assured me that she was, indeed, serious.
"But...the boys are watching. I don't know that I want to put on a show..."
"Why the fuck not? Who the hell cares, really?"
Well, when you put it like that...I edged towards her, and she extended her arms. And her lips, woman's lips, soft and succulent. Strong passion and soft body. Lips creeping to the neck, my shivers beginning. Kwan Yin touches my shoulder, and offers me her lips too. I kiss, oh, I kiss. My hands weave into her hair, and she responds. She, too, finds my neck, finds my shudder.
"You're so much fun," they agree, "You're so easy." I am easy, that way. Easy to please, easy to arouse. I like it that way.
We've formed a pile of arms and legs and hands - making out on the floor. I don't remember that the boys are there. And they are there, watching. But it doesn't matter. All that matters are their lips and their hands in my hair. Amazon gets up for a moment, and returns, saying:
"Ceres has cleared off her bed...I mean, no expectations, but we could take this in there...it'd be more comfortable and more private."
"Let me call my boyfriend," I say. Apollo gives me his full blessing, and I join them on Ceres's bed.
"I don't know how I feel, " Amazon says, "about having sex with you. Or about Kwan Yin having sex with you. But I definitely want to play with your breasts." Oh, that's fiiine by me. Beautiful. She undoes my corset, slow and careful, praising the softness of my skin, the luminescence of me, the responsiveness of my nerves. Kwan Yin is at my mouth, and what kisses! I am confused, though, when Amazon goes for my undies and fishnets.
"Wait...what constitutes 'sex'?"
"Oh, I don't count hands."
"Excellent!" And it was. Friendly and passionate and gorgeous. I watched them in ecstasy, kissing them while they went down on each other. I put my fingers inside my second woman, ever, and felt the wonder of clenching vaginal muscles. I felt their fingers inside me, heavenly, heavenly. Kwan Yin, merciful lady that she is, was fingering us both, at one point. I clutched them in my passion, and embraced them in theirs.
I had only met them that day. And still, it was sacred. Still, it was holy. Still, it was my Beltane.

My Beltane Bliss, Let Me Show You It.

"Beg"

2008-05-02T15:30:00.002-04:00

That's what he said. It was a week ago, my second formal playdate with RHF. We went out for sushi (a first for me!), and back to his place for BDSM. We'd agreed: Below the waist is fine, but manual stimulation only. No oral, no intercourse. Honorifics would be used.
"Do you want something?" he asked, after he'd flogged me well, and left a sizable bruise on my ass with his palm. He'd finally taken my panties off, and was slowly creeping up my inner thighs.
"Mm-hmm," I moaned.
"What do you want, then?" he inquired. Oh gods. I was already so high, so high...I could have just stayed there, as long as he kept touching me. I didn't care, didn't know what I wanted, just that I wanted.
"I don't know...just...I don't know, Sir." His fingers made contact with my labia, and I shuddered. They split my lips, teasing me, just brushing my clit. "How much do you like to be teased?" he had asked, while we were discussing limits for today. So much, I told him. So much. In this space, teasing...isn't. It is its own fulfillment.
"Have you found words again?" he asked, "Can you tell me what you want now?" I had the feeling that he was looking for something along the lines of "I want to come," but that wasn't in me. I didn't specifically want an orgasm...I was happy where I was.
"I...I...want something in my cunt, please, Sir." Penetration, though, yes. That, I craved.
"Beg." Quiet. Struggling within myself for words. Struggling to ask for what had always been freely given.
"Please...Please Sir. Please."
"Please what?"
"Please Sir, please put your fingers in my cunt." And two fingers, immediately, inside me. My knees bent reflexively, bearing down, aching with sudden need. My arousal rose to that plateau of orgasmic bliss, and I cried out.
"Remember, you have to ask before you can come." Shit. I had forgotten, because he hadn't specifically reminded me beforehand, that he likes to practice orgasm control. Shit. Part of me wanted to confess my sin, but I was still on Orgasm Plateau, that place where I'm flying in orgasmic bliss, with random Peaks of even more intense pleasure. I couldn't figure out if I should, how I should, or how to explain myself if I were to confess. So I asked.
"Please sir, please may I orgasm?"
"Beg." But I am begging, I thought. What more does he want? I tried to let go even more, let my most uninhibited self speak, but all she could say was "please".
"Please, please Sir, Please let me orgasm. Please. Please!"
"Come." I tightened my Kegels, and got a Peak, crying out. He withdrew slowly, and helped me sit on the ledge at the bottom of his cross. I lay my head on my arms, panting and weak. There was a tearing sound, like a condom wrapper.
"You might want to look and see where this condom is going," he said, but I didn't need to. I knew. When he found out that I'd never used a vibrator before, he decided that this session would introduce me to the Hitachi Magic Wand. He had it on the "low" setting, and placed it between my legs. Ahh. Pleasant...though if I shifted, just a bit, it landed on my clit - and suddenly, I began to understand. He kicked it up into high gear, and I only barely remembered to choke out "Please, please Sir, may I orgasm? Please, I need to." Silence.
"Please Sir! Please, oh please. Let me orgasm sir, please!" Finally, after a few repetitions, I heard:
"Come." I screamed.
"Come." A cry.
"Keep coming." Guttural moans, all the while pressing myself against the Hitachi, feeling an exquisite-ness to the orgasm that normally doesn't happen with clitoral orgasms, normally reserved for the Almighty G-Spot.
Finally he turned it off. Finally he helped me to the bed, disrobed himself, and snuggled with me. After I had my brain back, I 'fessed up to my Unauthorized Orgasm. "I know. You get one free day. Don't do it again."
And I lay there wondering, and I'm still wondering, how on Earth I'm going to manage it. The Orgasm Plateau, for me, is a place that I come to suddenly, without warning, when one little thing goes very right...no telling what that'll be. And on that plateau, it's several minutes of deeply orgasmic bliss with small peaks, but even the baseline is ecstatic and orgasmic. What do I do, for orgasm control? Ask before I hit a peak? Ask before I hit the Plateau, period? I don't understand. I really doubt that I can hold back either the peaks or the Plateau. It almost makes me want to forgo the whole orgasm thing in general in the context of kink. I mean, not that it wasn't nice, but I feel well-fucked from a good flogging, with no actual orgasm involved. And there's no stress about holding off, or defining what is or is not an orgasm.
On an unrelated note, none of the sex bloggers I read/have read ever mention the fact that pressing oneself enthusiastically against the Hitachi can result in one's labia feeling bruised. For days. That was interesting.
I'm still processing the begging thing. It didn't feel wrong...but, again, like I didn't know what he wanted. I don't mind asking for something...it was kind of sexy to plead. But, at the same time, it's difficult. Difficult to form words, difficult to form ideas.

In still other news, Happy Beltane! Wendy encourages everyone to take advantage of warmer temperatures and take the fucking outside. For this Beltane, I will be attending a Voltaire concert, priestessing a ritual, and having snuggle time with the Magician tomorrow. And then Pentacost is next week...all my red clothes are getting a workout!

Try to understand - he's a Magic(ian) Man!

2008-04-27T23:10:00.006-04:00

Last Saturday, I hung out with the Magician. The plan was to hang out in the afternoon - watch a movie, probably, then I'd go home for dinner with Apollo (who had to work that day), then back out to see the Magician sing in a choral concert. I invited Apollo, who declined on the basis of Tired and Worn Out.
I got to his place sometime around three, and after enthusiastically greeting his cats and meeting his roommate, we decided on Batman Begins, since I'd yet to see it, and simply must see the one coming out in July (oh, Heath Ledger. Another teen crush in the Dead Guys pile, along with Jim Morrison and George Harrison). I really enjoyed the movie. Which means that I paid attention. There was minimal cuddling - some back rubbing and head-scratching, but that was it.
Left, picked up food for Apollo and myself on the way home, and had a lovely dinner (and a quickie! Whee!) before going back out to hear my first ever Requiem (Verdi's, for those interested). I thoroughly enjoyed it...though I had to restrain my laughter when I saw "Pie Jesu Domine/Dona eis requiem" in the lyrics/libretto? and realized that it's what the monks in The Quest for the Holy Grail are chanting.
Afterwards, the Magician mentioned that some folks were going to the Mellow Mushroom, and asked when I needed to be home. I called Apollo to find out where he was on the Going To Bed process - and found him very nearly there; thus, he didn't care if I stayed out later - he'd be sleeping either way. So, I decided to stay out. But upon further reflection, we decided that The Mellow Mushroom was very likely to be very, very crowded at 9:30 on a Saturday night. So we went back to his place and watched Spaceballs with his roommate - another first viewing for me! There was substantially more cuddling. There was also a mid-movie pause for the getting of ice-cream, then more cuddling. There was more cuddling after the movie ended.
And by cuddling, I mean deliberate, exquisite skritches - nails on the stomach, legs, arms, back and neck. Thorough backrubs. Fingers in my hair. And he was so careful, so conscientious, skirting the boundaries of being explicitly "sexual" - running his fingers right below my bra and right above my breasts, along, but not under, the edge of my skirt. Oh, shivers. Asking, low and compelling, "Do you want more?" My answer of an enthusiastic nod and a few incoherent syllables led to his hand suddenly on my breast, over my clothes, but still electric. Edging, patiently, under shirt, under bra to run those nails over my nipples as I clutched at him, writhing. His hands in my hair, pulling just right - large sections of hair, with steady, intense force. Acquiescing with no visible annoyance or distress to my need to keep it above the waist. And he held me, grounding and gentling me down, before I left that night.

As the song says,
"Mm, he's a magic man.
Ahh, he's got magic hands."

What an abundance I have at this time in my life. What plenitude of uniqueness. Even with all the work, the balancing, the scheduling, the schoolwork....even with all that, I can't imagine preferring monogamy. There's too much out there. Too many amazing people with too many exquisite talents/selves/bodies. There's too great a range of sexual/sensual experience and joy...from the comfortable, thrilling full-on intercourse with Apollo to random flirtation, with bites and skritches, at Rocky to playdates to militant cuddling on couches. I love it all. I want it all. I don't want to choose or exclude. I'm willing to work at it to have it all. Willing to continue working on communication and time management skills. Willing to keep examining and checking motives and ethical situations. Willing to accept that this...this...greed? ravenous-ness? expansiveness of affection? generosity with myself? ....whatever...is worthy of being nurtured and indulged, within the bounds of ethical behavior. Willing to keep listening to my boundaries for sexual and emotional connection, even when they seem silly to me...understanding that they don't have to make sense, they just are.
Life is so damn good.

There is no smoking in the fucking theater...

2008-04-22T22:43:00.001-04:00

- and no fucking in the smoking theater!

I leaned against the railing, breathing and allowing the Frankenfurter's voice to become background noise. Waiting.
"This is a loud venue, so hand signals will be important," he reminded me.
"Ok. One for yellow, two for red, yes?"
"Yes. Ready?"
"Yes."
Waiting. Then the thud begins. I can tell, even after just these couple of times, that he's hitting harder, faster. Not giving me as much warm-up time. And that's ok. I am pulling back, into the flogger's path, into the rhythm, encouraging a deeper hit. I feel myself floating away, easing out of normal space. He pauses to check in. I am still very good. He resumes. Suddenly, there are hands pulling at my hair while the flogger strikes my shoulders, ass and thighs. I gasp deeper, but don't look up. There are teeth in my neck, teeth on my shoulder. A hand, under my chin, raising my eyes. Oh, beautiful Cloaked Norseman, more serious than I'd previously seen, eyes half-lidded. He briefly confirms with RHF, that yes, it's is alright and even appreciated that he add his efforts to this scene. Then the hands in my hair, and the teeth on my neck, and the flogger on my ass. And suddenly, the flogger licks between my legs, my fishnet-and-underwear covered legs. I tremble. The sensations continue, building, until at some point, there are three sets of hands on me, for RHF's girlfriend has joined, and I'm shaking from the stimulation. Shaking.
"Are you good for now?"
"Yes. Oh yes."
"If I sit you down somewhere, will you stay there for a while?"
"....Yes. Yes."

I am seeing why one doesn't necessarily go to Rocky for the movie...you go for the kink and the company. Time to flirt, time to play, time to drop the seriousness of GradStudentTA self, and be Shining, Touch-Loving Joy.

Send whips of opinion down my back, Give me more!

2008-04-12T18:47:00.005-04:00

So. I may or may not finish out the Spring Break postings. Things are too exciting for me right now to want to go back and recap older events.
So. After last Saturday's first foray into the world of kink, I kept up with the guy who'd flogged me - RHF. Ceres gave him my IM name so he could serve as a contact between myself and the Magician...though I was happy to have an avenue of contact with him, as he was pretty fascinating in his own right. So, we talked via IM. And it became clear that he was interested in playing more. And I was interested in playing more. And he wanted...oh, he was interested in setting up a power dynamic. And immediately, I got a bit scared. What if I didn't like it? What if I *really* liked it, and the intensity got out of hand? What if his style of dominance doesn't match my (theoretical) style of submission? What if it's too soon? Isn't power exchange kinda the Point Of No Return, and once you make that part of a relationship, it's marked as that forever'n'always? But we continued discussing it, and he assured me that if a dynamic doesn't work for me, we could reconsider that, especially at this early point in the game. I felt better about it, talked to Apollo about it and received enthusiastic approval, and before I knew it, I'd scheduled a play date for Friday - yesterday.
We agreed that this scene would be 1. Primarily sensory exploration for me, with light focus on establishing a dynamic. 2. Focused on striking with different instruments. and 3. The explicitly sexual contact would stay above the waist.
Even after we set these boundaries, I found myself constantly worrying. My Inner 2nd Wave Feminist was shouting at me about allowing a Man To Tell Me What To Do, telling me that I Don't Need A Man To Define Me or Give Me Worth. I had to remind her that I can remain intact, as a strong, independent woman, and still submit, as I choose, when I choose, and to whom I choose. I had to remind her that I had already made it clear that humiliation/degradation play is a Hard Limit for me - I *am* worthy, dammit, whether I'm submitting or not. And being made to feel worthless is not my idea of a healthy or sexy time (I do understand that for some folks, this sort of play is cathartic and/or a way to deal with Stuff...but that's not what I Need). One of the funny parts is that I don't think she would have kicked up such a fuss if I were going to be submitting to a Domme...but because it was a man, the situation was much more loaded.
Once I was there, though, in the room, clothes in a pile, the cross cool against my back, it was ok. The fear and anxiety dissipated. I was breathing, slow and deep, staying calm, staying grounded. Then he put on the nipple clamps. They didn't hurt going on...but I will admit that although I know he was doing something else to me during that time, I don't for the life of me remember exactly what it was, except that there was some other sensation competing with the ever-increasing ache of the clamps for my attention. He checked in, and I admitted that the clamps were really pushing my tolerance. "Do you know how I like to take clamps off?" he asked. I shook my head, but inwardly I was accessing my SM101 info on the application and removal of clamps...and was fairly certain that I had a clear idea of what he planned to do. So I inhaled deeply, and held it. "Ready? 1...2..." And I exhaled as he slapped/jerked/otherwise abruptly removed the clamp. Oh gods. This, now this was Pain. And I wasn't sure that I liked it. The process repeated on the other breast, followed by a brief tweak of the nipple, which sent me cringing.
Fortunately, he then had me turn around, and put my hands and feet in cuffs - the cuffs for my hands were rather fancy - they had a bar for me to grip, which turned out to be most useful. From here, the experience blurs into a melange of flogging (ohgodsohgods, I was floating), knife play (I'd told him that I enjoy this...no actual cutting, but knives are sexxy), scratching, hair pulling, and kisses. Damn. Potent, potent combination. By the time he turned me around again to finish up, I was trembling and decidedly not quite with my body...having a beautiful time of it. His final choice was a long, narrow piece of wood, and he informed me that these strokes would be across my breasts. He also informed me that I would be counting these strokes. As the first blow fell on my right nipple, I realized that this, like the clamps, would be an experience of less-than-overtly-enjoyable pain. Once we reached four (I was very proud that my voice hadn't faltered), he paused to check in. "How are you doing now?" I was about to answer, when his mouth closed over my left nipple. I gasped, speechless. "I asked you a question," his mouth still hovering above my breast. I searched my brain, and came up with something to the effect of "Ok, but I can't take much more." "How many more can you take, then?" I thought, and decided on two. I could handle one more on each breast. He doled out these two strokes, then tweaked my nipples. At this, I came the closest to actually safewording, but he stopped there, kissing me and helping me down to the bed. He covered me with a furry blanket, and offered to leave me alone to process, or to stay with me. I asked him to stay, and he curled up behind me, spooning.
We stayed that way for over an hour - me alternately silent, laughing, pondering, and being amazed at just how high I was from that. He assured me that I'd done well. That he'd enjoyed it. That he loved my responsiveness, and was looking forward to playing more. Though, he did modify the last comment with the observation that if we were to play very frequently, at this level of sexual contact, things could get rather...frustrating. I thought this very understandable, and assured him that I did not see our play remaining at this level of overt sexual activity for an indeterminate time. Finally, I felt competent to drive, and he needed to go to work. So we parted ways, me still giddy. So giddy in fact that I went home and jumped on Apollo. Which just made me even more giddy. Not, of course, that I'm complaining about this.
Later on that evening, I decided to go out to Rocky in the hopes of seeing and flirting with the Magician. So I went. I did not dress up like I normally do for RHPS...I was going alone, and didn't want to be walking around downtown in my corset, fishnets, and undies...even a skirt over them would have been too risque for me without at least one other person with me. But I went. And boy, am I ever glad that I did. I didn't see the Magician right away, so I stood in the back of the theater, enjoying the pre-show madness. Not long after, I felt a hand brush my ass, and saw a beautiful, built boy scampering away with a guilty look - I smiled, and he said "Now, I had absolutely nothing to do with that!" But he was playful, and fabulously gay (and thus very safe to be physical with), so we poked at each other, hugging and exchanging pleasantries. He had very warm hands, and a charming smile, and he assured me that we'd share his prop bag. I told him that I generally prefer to simply shout obscenities...but that I'd be happy to partake in props. He ran off to help with pre-show banter, and the Magician showed up. For the rest of the night, with only brief breaks, I was surrounded by flirting and back rubs and hair pulling and much, much happy, friendly, sexually charged fun. There was Hyacinth, the beautiful gayboy, who periodically came to visit me in the lobby, where the Magician and I had migrated for easier talking, and sit on my lap. There was the Magician, whose back rubs were thorough and just slightly less amazing than the skritches from his *incredible* fingernails. Finally, there was the Cloaked Norseman (CN) who had long, soft hair and made appreciative noises when it was played with. He also gave exquisite, vampiric bites to the arm, neck, and shoulder regions. I was elated, lusciously in contact, feeling very free and very spoiled. Feeling, on the one hand, like a bit of a Huge Fucking Tease, but on the other hand knowing that it was all out in the open - that there were no expectations from any of the boys I flirted with, no pressure. They were willing to flirt and play without needing it to be more. Yay. Beautiful boys!

A pause in the Spring Break Posts for First Time Kink

2008-04-06T11:12:00.009-04:00

...which really do need to be written, but, then, this post also Really Needs to Be Written.

Last night, my friend Ceres invited me to go with her to "Temptation Night" at a local club - a goth/fetish night. There would be goth music, dancing, drinks (of course) and a playroom - and this last bit sealed the deal. I've been waiting, for awhile, for a safe set of circumstances under which to start my explorations of BDSM, and this seemed perfect. There wouldn't be anything too intense or too sexual going on - it is a normal club with a playroom, not a dungeon. I would have Ceres by my side, so she'd be watching out for me and could give me references as to the reputation/trustworthiness of folks. Finally, if I got there and discovered that I didn't want to actually *do* anything that night, there'd be no pressure - it would be easy to just watch.
So I went. I put on my scarlet corset, my black pinstripe skirt, my fishnets, high(ish) heels, and a tailored pinstripe jacket. Did my hair Rocky Horror style in two buns. Actually put on makeup, and was ready to go. (I did consider going for a schoolgirl look...but decided that I didn't want the sort/amount of attention that would get me. Not for my first night at a BDSM event, anyway.)
We got to the club at about 11pm. There were lots of people there, but not a lot going on in the way of play. Possibly no one had found the playroom yet - it certainly took us a bit to do so! But, finally we discovered it. The doorway was nearly concealed in a corner, and the room was merely curtained off from the rest of the club. I couldn't bring myself to look, the first time we approached it. So I stood outside the door and read the rules for the room while Ceres went inside to scope it out. She reported to me that there was a bench, a St. Andrew's cross, and a chair - but not much else. After midnight, though, she said, it would probably take off and I'd be able to see some action.
Ceres wanted water, and I wanted a beer, so we meandered over to the bar where I got a Blue Moon (draught) for $2. $2!!! That alone would have made my night a fairly happy one. As we were drinking, Ceres glanced one of the folks she knew from the BDSM community and beckoned him over. We sat chatting until another man, known henceforward as Nemesis because that's how I thought of him all night, joined the first and began chatting with us. Ceres mentioned that I was "a virgin" (to which I said, "I am not! Not in the conventional sense, anyway." She assured me that anyone here would take "virgin" in the correct context.), and here to watch/try new things. Nemesis immediately offered me "some rope," pointing out that it would look wonderful against my corset, and implying that it would be a great pleasure for him to apply said rope. He assured me that it could be merely pretty - or restrictive, and that he had a great deal of experience in this area, and had tied several rope virgins. I immediately felt the wave of "Ooh...giddy!" but wasn't quite sure. I asked if I could have a bit of time to think about it, and find him later, which he said was fine by him. He left us, and I exploded into giggles.
As I reached for my half-drunk beer, I remembered everything I'd ever read about BDSM safety, and how one should not do BDSM while substantially intoxicated. Granted, even at my lightweight status, half a beer wasn't going to impair my judgment, but I was fairly sure now that I wanted to be tied, and perhaps more, in the course of the evening. I consulted Ceres about this, and she confirmed that one beer would probably not hurt me, but that if I planned to be flogged or hit in any way, I should probably start drinking water. We also agreed that it would probably be good if I limited myself to two discrete new experiences tonight - say, being tied up and a flogging. Those were on the top of my list. So, I got a cup of water, and we decided to go find Nemesis.
We found him putting the finishing touches on a woman's rope harness - on the stage, behind the dancers. I watched, fascinated. This was kink, and I was seeing it. This was rope bondage/play, and I was seeing it. After they descended, and the woman went off in another direction, we approached him. "Did you see that?" he asked. "Just the last bit - not the prep work. It was very lovely, though, and...I'd be interested. If you have a moment. When you have a moment." He smiled. "Just give me a few minutes." "Ok, thank you! I'll be in the playroom." The playroom, by this time, was much more active. There was a woman up on the cross, getting flogged. There was a violet wand, and a man using it on another man. There were chair massages being given, and a a signup sheet. There was a rack of tools out - crops, floggers, slappers, and even a bunch of feathers. There was tape of several sorts and a pair of competent-looking scissors laid out on the top of a crate. Ceres signed up for a chair massage, and I gazed at the flogging in process. What would it be like, I wondered, to be bound up to a cross for the express purpose of being hit? I had half expected that BDSM in person would not be as exciting as BDSM in writing/imagination. But it was. The cross, especially, brought up images of holy agony, martyrdom, fanatical monks beating themselves as penance...of all the ordeals that go with and all the ways that pain can play into a visceral, mystical spirituality.
As I was contemplating this, I felt a light touch at my shoulder, and saw that Nemesis had returned and was ready for me. The woman was just coming down off the cross, so we waited till she was clear, and took the space near the cross for our purposes. Nemesis started off by asking if I was claustrophobic, if I'd broken anything in my chest area, etc. He then asked if I wanted something merely pretty, or if I wanted to be restrained. I had thought about this, and told him that although my primary interest in rope is for purposes of restraint, it might be better not to try that my first time. He nodded, and suggested a box harness - a nice blend of pretty and restriction with my arms crossed behind my back. That didn't sound too extreme or too frightening, so I assented. He reminded me that if At Any Point I needed him to stop, he would. I could be cut out of the harness in less than 10 seconds, he assured me - and don't hesitate to ask for it. I nodded, grateful for the attention to safety.
He got out his rope - a lovely blue blend - and began by tying my wrists together. I was concentrating on breathing deeply, noticing how I felt, noting my sensations. I felt the slightest bit of panic when the rope tightened below my breasts, but a breath or two did the trick. The reality that I could not move/use my arms and hands began to come very clear to me. And that was ok. I was in a place of assurance, of peace. I was alright with letting go of the responsibility of using my own hands/arms, and being confident that my needs would be taken care of. He kept talking/chatting to me through the process in an effort to make this merely a tying-up of a rope virgin, rather than any sort of "scene" with serious headspace going on. I was appreciative of this, for while headspace is eventually the goal, I knew that I probably shouldn't be going there on my first night in a playspace. At the same time, though, I wanted to go there. I was almost annoyed by being continually asked to be verbal. I could have easily slid into that fuzzy, warm, non-verbal space that trance or sex put me into.
After he finished, he said something about calling for him or [someone else's name here] if I needed to get out of it. I suppose my face must have gone a bit panicky, because Ceres asked if I needed to come out of it right now. I had not even considered the possibility of walking around the club like that...of being helpless to keep up with my things in a place where I knew almost noone. That, now, was a bit too much. I apologized profusely, but said that I didn't think I could do that right now, in this situation. Nemesis was gracious, and untied me. The freedom to use my arms was...novel. I hadn't been bound for that long, but it was still neat to regain freedom of movement. Verdict: Rope bondage = Yay, and lots.
Directly after this, Ceres was getting up on the cross to get a flogging from one of her good friends in the scene, hereafter known as the Rocky Horror Flogger (RHF). As they were preparing, I began chatting about my rope experience with a guy Ceres had introduced me to earlier. Eventually, a small group formed, and when it came out to the newcomers that I was "trying new things," guy with a fantastic beard asked if I'd ever tried - or would want to try - the violet wand. Now, I've heard great things about this instrument. I know folks who are generally not-kinky who love it. I know kinky folks who love it. But...I had limited myself to two discrete experiences, right? And, well, I really wanted to get flogged for the first time. But...I didn't know if I'd have the opportunity, if there was anyone Ceres trusted to give a flogging gentle enough for me (RHF has a reputation for being rather rough). So I accepted the offer of getting acquainted with the violet wand. The Magician (because a magician has a wand...get it? Hee.) sat me down on the bench, and began explaining the wand to me. The swirly disc-like attachment that he started out with wasn't bad, but could easily be too much. And it wasn't really a sensation that turned me on. When he got out the little metal fingertip/claws, it got better. But, then, I love the sensation of nails or a point being dragged over my skin anyway. And the occasional sharp pain wasn't sexy...it just made me cringe. I felt kinda bad that I didn't enjoy it more - he was really very kind and doing his damndest to make it a good experience. But he didn't seem to take offense, and that's really part of learning, I suppose. Finding out what I don't like as well as what I do like. Verdict: Magician? Yes please! Violet wand? Not so much. Not at this point, at least.
Pretty soon after this, Ceres's beating was done, and we went to wander around and watch the dancers. Goth dancing is awesome. It's cute and hot and funny and overly dramatic. And did I mention the amount of hot boys on the dance floor? Ye-ah. Pretty boys dancing. It doesn't get a whole lot better (ok, it does. But still.). As we were watching, we saw a beautiful (and when I say beautiful, I mean goddamned gorgeous) Asian-looking man with hair nearly down to his ass and a large and lovely flogger at his waist. He was walking past us, and neither Ceres nor I could take our eyes off of him. Oy. Dangerous place, with such lovely boys! Ceres eventually got bored with the dancing, so we decided to go mingle. I popped back into the playroom to check out the waiting list for chair massages, and put my name down. As I was filling out the card, I came to the realization that Goddamned Gorgeous Man (GGM) was standing right beside me. Oh gods.
After I finished filling out the card, he turned to me, and mentioned that he'd seen me being tied up earlier, and asked how I liked it. We fell to chatting about it being my first time, and what the experience was like, and what brought me to BDSM in the first place. And then it was my turn to be massaged. Wow. I've had a few different professional massages in my brief life, and this one wasn't the best. But it was a Far Cry from being the worst, especially for a chair massage. Mm. When I got up from it, I was slightly saddened to see that GGM was no longer in the playroom. Ceres mentioned that he'd been popping in and out while I'd been getting my massage, so he'd probably be back. She also mentioned that her friend, RHF, had said that if I wanted a flogging, he would to his utmost to be gentle. I did some considering, decided that rules were made to be broken, and concluded that I shouldn't pass up the chance for a flogging when it presented itself.
At the moment, RHF was occupied with another girl, helping her into the cuffs, so I had awhile. During her flogging, GGM returned, and we continued chatting. I realized very clearly during this conversation something that had been bothering me all night: I should not expect to be at my most coherent/eloquent (especially with a beeautiful man) when I'm flying high on New Experience/Kinky Endorphins. I may have looked my best, but I'm sure I didn't come off as my normal, intelligent self. I was too busy grinning and searching for adjectives that wouldn't come to my harried brain. After a while, GGM decided to go find his friends - but not before expressing a hope to see me at future events of this nature. Everything from my waist down was begging me to ask him for a demonstration of that flogger of his...but I didn't know him and Ceres didn't either, so I decided that would have to stay in my fantasies for the time being.
RHF finished with the girl, and gestured to me. Here it was. The moment - I was going to be on a cross, getting hit. He fastened me into the cuffs and showed me the flogger he would use, assuring me that he'd start very, very light and check in often. He said I should flash one hand at him for "yellow", and both for "red." I stretched out my arms, grabbed the handles where the chains attached, and breathed. This time, I let myself slip, a little. The first touch of the flogger was whisper-light, more breeze than contact. He built into a rhythm of figure-8 strokes, more contact, but still more breeze. He increased the intensity a bit, and it began to hurt, just a little. He paused, rubbing my back, and asked if I was ok. I said yes, and he continued. The intensity kept building till suddenly there was a pause, and a discrete, distinct single blow on my shoulder, Then on the other shoulder. Then back - five or six times before resuming the figure-8. But oh, those strokes - definitely more contact that air, more thud, more shock, more jolting me out of normal consciousness. During those distinct strokes I could feel myself slipping, slipping into the rhythm, into the pattern. It was not truly painful, yet, but it was powerful. He paused again, checked, and continued. Again, the intensity heightened. This time, I could feel the single strokes pushing my tolerance - not dangerously, but making me aware of the fact that they did, in fact, hurt. When he checked in again, I told him that he was probably at the maximum intensity I could take for tonight. He nodded, and resumed, not going above that intensity. The next time he checked in, I told him I was ready to be done. I could have stayed there longer, but I would have gone farther away than I was ready to go that night. He brought out a fluffy, warm...ball of something, and rubbed my shoulders and arms, gentling and grounding me down. He unfastened me from the cuffs, helped me down, and hugged me. Verdict: Flogging? Yes. And more!!
For the rest of the night (which was not very long), I was buzzing, flying, thrilled. I was encouraged by both the Magician and RHF to attend more of these events, or, due to the unpredictability of scheduling these things, they informed me that they could both be found at the weekly showing of RHPS, hanging out with the cast and crew, and that they both brought their "bag of tricks" with them. Hee.
This was *exactly* what my first experience with the BDSM scene/activities needed to be, for me. Low pressure, lots of support, and good, respectful, safety-conscious people. Wheee!

More about gender...and coyotes

2008-02-25T23:26:00.003-05:00

*** Pagan/spiritual content ahead. If this offends you, or induces eye-rolling, please refrain from reading***

So, I've been thinking about gender, more. Sinclair says that I am not, as I put it here, "gender lazy" just because I don't put Work into my performance of gender. I'm thankful for that validation - there are lots of areas of my life in which I feel like I'm not "hardcore" enough or "taking it seriously enough" because I don't work at it.
But still. It's niggling me, poking me in the back of my brain, now that I'm aware of it. I want words for my gender. I want to name it, dammit. And I am not "femme." I am not "butch". I know that this is a spectrum, and a complex one...but I don't like those names as applied to me. Applied to other people, damn, they're sexy. But not on me, not for me. I'm not genderfuck or genderqueer because those imply, to me, a conscious playing with the spectrum. And I don't do that either. I mean, I do...it's costuming and ritual, but it's not what describes my everyday presence and performance.
My sex is female.
My sexual orientation is bisexual (probably closer to pansexual, but I haven't looked that up yet, so I won't officially use it).
My power preference is submissive/bottom.
My gender is _______
I don't know. I was talking to my Priestess from College Town, hereafter known as Magdalene, tonight about my gender issues and thoughts, and she asked "Why do you need to put your gender in a box?"
"So I can take it out again! Boxes are fun to play with."
And they are. Yes, names and categories can be reductive and restrictive and limiting. But Naming, oh, the act of Naming and claiming something for yourself...it's beautiful. And boxes were meant to be opened, to be broken down, to be played with. But they are still useful for communication, for organization, for figuring things out and sharing said things with others.
Magdalene agreed with me, and told me this story about the year she spend with Coyote:
"The year before I took my First Degree, I hung out with Coyote. I was with my first priest at the time, who described himself as "a male lesbian," and not just in the "haha, that's funny" way. This was also the year that I did my first Fools' Day Ritual, because the tricksters in my life insisted. I'm a Virgo, so I don't like to give them much attention. So, my priest and I planned and did the ritual - using all the wonderful and horribly wrong jokes we could think of - we cast Circle with mistletoe in honor of Loki and had pecan spinwheels for Delerium and Marlboros for Coyote. Now, our clothes did not come off during this ritual. But somewhere in the middle of it, my priest got thrown on the bed. And I was on top of him. Coyote and Mrs. Coyote decided to have fun with us. It was the first time a god had manifested through me. He was Mrs. Coyote, and very pleased to have breasts. He had never come that way before.
And my first degree name? Anansi. So, you see, gender issues are pretty usual around the time for your first degree."
I suppose so. But I really want a name for it.
Anansi, by the by, is an African spider god. When he came over to the Americas, he became, frequently, Aunt Nancy. Quite the genderfucking god.
Conversations like this, though, are why I adore my College Town folk. Less than a week. I see Shakti and DragonCat on Sunday. Mmmm.

A look back...

2008-02-19T23:12:00.004-05:00

Because all is pretty quiet on the poly front right now (and because I have a paper glaring at me that I Do Not Want To Work On), I've decided to take a look back to my college days and share one or two of my more memorable Growing and Learning episodes with the Blogosphere. Don't worry, I'm going back to College Town in a couple of weeks for Spring Break...and hopefully I'll return with more current stories of friendly love and water-sharing. But, for now, a bit of a retrospective.

To start...my One Big Mistake.
Second semester, freshman year of college. I was taking my first upper division class (well...I came in with 30 hours of credit...I was a little ahead. All that meant was that I took my sweet time and finished in four years.). The class happened to be an interdisciplinary course called "The Grail in Film and Literature" - as a budding Arthurian nerd, I was stoked. I was the youngest person in the class. The oldest (other than the 60-year-old professor) was a grad student who shall be known as Ares (yes, I know I already have a Mars. Deal with it.). We got to chatting one night after class - he liked mythology, I liked mythology; he was a grad student, I was an impressionable freshman; I was worried about the first paper, he offered to help. No, really. He did help me. And on the way back from the library, he asked what I was doing for Valentine's Day. I told him that all my single friends were going to have a Lonely Hearts Club night (read: copious booze and illicit making out. Mm.), and I'd already promised to be there. "The day after, then?" he inquired.
"Uhh...nothing."
"Could I take you out, then?"
*grinning stupidly* "Sure!"
He wasn't even that cute. Let's get that straight. He was older and he was a Grad Student. In English. Who was down with Odin and Beowulf. And he was interested in me. Hot damn.
So, Valentine's came and went, with the aforementioned booze and making out. The next night, I dressed myself up prettily, but not scandalously - didn't want him getting the wrong impressions! I was still a Good Girl. He picked me up, presenting me with a white rose and a box of four Godiva (!!) chocolates. Damn. I was sufficiently wooed. He was not, however, quite as smooth with regard to dinner plans. We tried for a Japanese steakhouse (who doesn't make reservations on the day after Valentines? Really?), and ended up at a mid-range chain. I had a tasty steak, which he paid for, and was happy. On our way back to the car, I saw a flier for Rocky Horror Picture Show! Tonight! Midnight! I immediately squee'd. One of our local theaters had done the stage production during my high school years, and I was already something of a devotee (though only bold enough to dress as Janet). So I squee'd, and he asked if I wanted to go. Uh...yeah! And this was Cool Points for him, wanting to go to RHPS.
Being that we still had several hours until midnight, he suggested browsing in The Coolest Indie Bookstore until they closed. More points. Then we got coffee and chatted. Then we kissed in the car. Ooh. I was nervous, but it had all the excitement of doing something Not Quite Proper.
On the way to the theater, we had the Conversation. I had found out by this point in my college career that I needed to be very upfront about my inexperience and boundaries with the boys I fooled around with...otherwise things got awkward and uncomfortable. So I brought it up, saying something along the lines of how I didn't want to disappoint, but I really hadn't done very much and wasn't comfortable doing very much and...
"So...how innocent are you anyway?"
"Well...I've fooled around...never...er...given oral sex, but I've been...umm...manually stimulated..."
"So....you've never had Sex."
"No...and I'm not planning to. I'm just not ready."
"Uh-huh," said in a we'll-see-about-that tone, "Well, when you get to be my age, you'll find that the physical stuff doesn't matter so much."
Cue the uneasy feelings in the tummy.
"So, I guess that brings up the question...How old are you?"
"19. You?"
*uneasy laugh* "28"
Wow. Nine years. I'm a mature girl, I think. Age is just a number, I think. He's a Grad Student, I think. We're at the theater. Thank God.
Once inside, we're waiting. The cast is drifting around the theater, calling out dirty banter. One says something about whips and chains. I respond with "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me."
"Do they?" he asks. I blush a deep red.
"Oh...uh...I don't know anything about that. It's just something we say around the dorm."
"Oh...well...I do."
"....oh...." And the show begins, and I lose myself to transvestites and good, strange sex, and dancing Transylvanians. Afterwards, he drives me home, and we kiss more. I thank him for the night, and he leaves.
A week later, he calls me, asking if I want to come over and watch a movie. He'll pick me up since I don't know where his place is. We visit the Local Indie Video Store, and he vetoes my interest in Fellini's Satyricon (which I still haven't seen) for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (which I had already seen). We go back to his place, and watch about fifteen minutes of the movie before we abandon the pretense. I'm uneasy, but we've had the Conversation, so I'm sure he'll respect my boundaries. I should have stopped him there, but I had not found my No in such situations. We moved to his bed, and he removed my shirt. He told me what amazing "little titties" I had (I hadn't yet progressed to my current full-C-cup), and proceeded to lick, suck and maul them. I enjoyed it. I was uneasy, but I was enjoying it, so it was ok, right? After awhile, he turned me over, stroking my back. I heard him pause, fumbling. Then I felt a gentle strike of his doubled leather belt on my shoulder blade. I had only barely heard of safewords, and though I knew I liked to be bitten, I didn't know what to make of most kink, except that I didn't think it made people perverted or evil. I wasn't sure that I liked him hitting me. After a couple of gentle strokes, I turned over, implying discomfort. He took the hint, and resumed kissing and fondling me, moving to biting my neck and shoulders - this was much better. I began to relax.
Until he went for my pants. I really wasn't sure that I wanted him to do that. Sure, I'd had fingers down there before, even a brief tongue (one of my then-sporadic forays with Apollo)...but I didn't know about him. But my No was elusive, so I let him. He turned on the light as he explored me, admiring my "little pink pussy". I did not know half so much about my vagina as I do now, but even then, she didn't like being called a pussy. But I was enjoying his fingers, enjoying the sensation...so it was ok, right? I came. I always came, in those days. It was even easier than it is now (and it's still pretty damn easy). But when he bent his head, when he leaned in to taste, I shook my head.
"Don't you want me to eat you? Don't you want me to make you feel good?"
"No, not now, no." Finally, that No that had been hiding all night. Finally he pushed me enough to tell him he didn't have that right.
"I have to go home," I said. It was true...I had class in the morning.
"Aww, you can stay here." Uhh...No. No. No. I am NOT staying the night with you. Presumptuous bastard. My No was stronger, more confident now that arousal was fading.
"Um, you don't want to get up to take me to my 9am class."
"You're right, I don't. Ok. I'll take you home in a few minutes."
"Ok." Silence.
"I want to ask you something first."
"Ok...sure." He leaned back, and pulled at the waistband of his pants.
"What do you think of this?" I found myself staring at the first cock I had seen in full light, peeking out over his pants. And it had a ring in the tip. Hell, I thought, I don't care what you have done to your cock...but...this wasn't how I imagined getting my first good look at one....
"Uh...I don't care," I fumbled.
"Ok. Just thought you should know about it before you were expected to do anything with it." Expected?!?! Oh, buddy. You've got another think coming. Fuck expectations. Any attention I give to your cock is a Gift, of trust and respect. It's a damn sight easier to give my body to your hands and tongue than it is for me to play with yours. (I know it's a double standard, but it was where I was sexually. I was annoyed with myself for it too.) But all I said was:
"Ok...I really need to go home."
"Ok." So he took me back to the dorm. I thought it through...I felt exposed, vulnerable, and not in a good way. I realized that I didn't trust him enough to have given him as much as I did, and I certainly didn't trust him enough to give him what he wanted of me. I was not angry. After all, I had consented, right? And when I didn't, he didn't force me. He didn't rape me. He just pulled out his dick. So I was embarrassed, sad, and vulnerable...but resigned.
Until I told my guy friends. See, I had this amazing coterie of guys who were my friends/brothers/fucking-around-buddies: Dionysus, Anansi, Lugh, and Eros. You'll hear more about them later, I'm sure. But I told them the story, in the dining hall, and they all asked, "Did you slap him? Did you break it off?"
"C'mon guys, he didn't force me to do anything...it's not a slap-worthy offense."
"Oh yes it damn well is! The guy's an asshole. Do you want us to beat him up for you? We will."
Now, apart from Lugh of the Long [Fiddle] Bow, none of these guys could've stood up to Ares in a fight. But their anger, their righteous outrage that anyone would have presumed to ask more of me than I offered (they, too, picked up on that "expected") - that gave me the strength to be angry about it. The strength to expect my boundaries to be respected, to know that though I failed myself in not speaking up sooner, that he knew my stated boundaries, and I should be able to expect those to be kept.
Ares confronted me a few days later, asking if we could get together again. I said no, that I thought we were rather putting the cart before the horse, that I wasn't comfortable with how things were progressing. He protested that I was being silly, that that's the way relationships worked. That sex wasn't a big deal. I told him pointedly that it was a big deal to me, and walked off.
We pointedly ignored each other for the rest of the semester. I felt smugly pleased when he screwed up his final presentation. I also found out that he was rather in the habit of randomly showing off his genital jewelery at random moments, usually in semi-public environments. I found that very funny, and wondered how many other girls in town knew just how his junk was adorned.

Obviously, I've changed a lot since this happened. Sex isn't as big a deal...but it is a big deal. It's not something that I, personally, can do happily and joyfully without a certain Connection. I'm exploring kink...but consciously, with people I trust and in small, talked-about, negotiated steps, not out of the blue on a second date. I am not clinging to someone's dominance and confidence to give me courage to be in a situation...I will enjoy someone's dominance and confidence because I have the courage to be in that situation on my own terms.
This was my one big screw-up in college. It could've been a lot worse. Fortunately, this can turn into a much shorter, funnier story for those gossipy, worst-dating-story-ever nights. I mainly laugh about it now...but I am still angry sometimes. And glad that I can let myself be so.

In Which Things Get Literotic

2008-01-31T22:54:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen (and everyone in between), my paen to my literary loves.

To My First Roommate:

You told me
in high school,
“You’re such a book slut,
giving your mental
passions to every suave
motif, every deft
allusion – and
the more multilayered,
the better.
Length is of some
consequence – but
girth of meaning
really gets you off –
admit it.”

“With pleasure,”
I replied.
And I continued my epic tryst
into the narrow top bunk
of the dorm room we shared.

You took to your bed
every paperback pagan priest
with a pretty cover and a big
dragon, and devoured him
in one night – you were
a plot-only kind of gal,
no frills, no eloquence,
just the beginning,
middle and
end.
Dry, and without
organic structure –
like a ninth grader’s
5-paragraph essay –
your one-night novels.
Each predictable, disposable,
each a temporary
bedtime companion
to drown the day’s bitterness
with adventure like
a dinner-and-movie date
and love like
a half-hearted kiss.

You observed the etiquette of
library-rented lovers:
no rough handling, no doggy-
eared pages or pen-stain
hickeys to commemorate
your brief affair.
Even those bought and kept
retained their virginal shine,
never showing evidence
of fervent handling.

But 3 feet above you
I took works of character –
though not always noble or pure.
In these knightly poems
and libertine fictions,
I found literotic loves,
compelling me to return even
after the last page was spent.

I was not gentle, nor polite,
ravishing regularly those whose
words tangled in my hair
and left their letters in my clothes
until their spines broke
and their pages grew worn,
bruised by my pen’s exclamations.
They wore their duct-tape braces
with pride, and compared marks
to see who was loved more.

They remain my harem –
my fine bookshelf of
roguish novels, tender
gothic tales, voracious verses,
and the occasional,
thrilling philosopher –
but chief above them all
are the well-worn works
whose inky whispers leave my
pages ruffled, my binding weak,
and my bookmark right
at the best part.

You see, this is really how it goes. I had serious literary crushes before I had a crush on an actual boy. The short list goes something like this:
Peter Pevensie and Prince Caspian (Chronicles of Narnia) - Childhood. These boys were probably my first literary loves. Boys in shining armor, in a land of magic and chivalry and Greek gods and creatures? Oh yeah. I still think Prince Caspian is truly sexy, and am really looking forward to lusting after him on the big screen this May.
Mr. Rochester (Jane Eyre) - 6th grade. Ok. This was my first sexual crush. I wanted...oooh, I wanted Mr. Rochester to do terrible things to me. And the things just kept getting more terrible the older I got. Some would say that this should've been my first clue that I'm submissiveish.
Petruchio (Taming of the Shrew) - 10th grade. I know, it's reeeely dorky to have a crush on a Shakespearean character. But the guy who played Petruchio in the school production was so compellingly hot...I fell in love with the character. Another dominant man. Hm.
Micheal Valentine Smith (Stranger In A Strange Land) - Sophomore year of college. Mm. A man who knows *exactly* what I want. Mmm. I hadn't had sex yet, but I knew that was a good good thing. And, he's just darling.
Wizard Howl (Howl's Moving Castle) - Jr. year of college. It's probably kinda wrong to find a literary crush in a children's lit class...but Howl is most certainly of age. And he's got the Rochesterian infuriating/dominant attitude. *melts*
The Vampire Lestat (Vampire Chronicles) - Jr. year. *bites lip* I feel a little guilty about this one. I mean...it's pop lit. But he's so damn sexy and compelling. He can bite me any day of the week.

Those are the major ones, the ones I like to spend a long afternoon with. There are other books that are on this level, but these are my literary men.

My gender...

2008-01-24T20:15:00.000-05:00

Ariel has recently been posting about gender, and what hers looks like. I got fascinated, and started thinking about how gender applies to me. Ariel mentions that "I have a lot of gender but very little direction," meaning that she likes to present a wide variety of gender-y appearances.
I think, perhaps, that I have a lot of sex (as in, identification with my biological sex, being female), and just enough gender to come down on the side of "feminine". I read about Sinclair finding her butch identity, and performing gender - and I wonder at the amount of work it seems like, to have to be so deliberately oneself. But, on the other hand, the intentionality appeals to me - gender must matter if folks are willing to take such pains with it.
But I'm gender-lazy. As I said in my comment on Ariel's blog, I am high nothing. Not high femme, not high butch, not high tomboy, not even high-scholarly, for crying out loud. I am female, and generally somewhat feminine, but that's about it.
I love my RHPS corset, fishnets, and heels, with heavy makeup and space-age hair.
I love dressing hippie-boho-girly and sharply elegant with makeup to suit.
That's about 5% of the time, though. The rest of the time, I wear sweaters and t-shirts and comfy pants and Birkenstocks and the occasional skirt. I just got a pair of nice brown flats and a pair of tall black boots (with no heels) for Christmas, and that was a huge step for me. I don't want to put so much effort into how people see me, how I appear, most of the time.
I was a dancer for many years. From sixth grade until my senior year in high school, I was in at least one full-length ballet per year. I learned, through those experiences, to love the high-maintenance required by performing - but it was a special thing. Only a few nights out of the year does one put on the makeup, slick the hair, and wear the costume - take on the part. It's ritual, this dressing-up, which requires adequate scenery and lights and music to go with it. I couldn't do it every day. Dressing up, performing, is for me a way to explore and relish the sides of me that are not the everyday me.
For instance, I absolutely LOVE going to Rocky Horror, once in awhile. I love yelling the callbacks, love putting on my eyeliner and darker eyeshadow to go with my crimson corset, black panties, and fishnets. I love putting my hair up in those two, Leia-esque buns. This is my Shadow, my overtly sexual and crude self, my self who seduces. My self who revels in the sounds of the woman being flogged in the back of the theater, and the looks the ticket-taker gives me as I walk past.
But this is not someone I want to be any more frequently than once or twice a month (in public, at least). I need and crave that outlet, that stage...but only on occasion.
I understand that, to one degree or another, I am performing my gender everyday whether I think I am or not. But it does not feel like it...I'm really not even sure what my gender is. Comfortably feminine? Low-maintenance? I associate gender so much with appearance and fashion that I can't separate the two. I know gender is more than appearance....but I think it's reflected in appearance, at least when in "high" forms. I don't know, though. Hm.
This is what I know: I am feminine. I am female. I am submissiveish. I like boys and girls and girls who used to be boys (and probably the other way round, if I ever meet one). I am attracted to androgyny, femininity (not girly-ness), and masculinity. I am attracted to dominance and confidence, in men and women. I love being bitten and having my hair pulled. I'm fascinated by kink and power exchange. I'm deeply spiritual, and conceive of God'dess as Lover. I wear my hair down as much as possible. I am poly.
Some of this is biological sex, some is sexual orientation, some is preference...does all this together make gender? Maybe?

2008-01-19T15:11:00.000-05:00

So, a few weeks ago, I informed Apollo that this year, for my birthday, I want him to round up all the highly unattainable men with whom I'm in lust and schedule a week of debauchery for me. He said that he'd get right on that, as long as he could have his way with Kaylee.
I think that's perfectly reasonable, as Kaylee is Really Hot.

Anyway, we began discussing the lineup for my Week Of Sex With Highly Unattainable Men, and this is what we came up with, in no particular order:

Nathan Fillian. Mal is Sex Incarnate. I realize that this makes me a Firefly Fangirl, but I don't quite care.

Damien Rice. Melancholy Irish singer-songwriter with a penchant for allusions to the darker sides of sex and relationships: "Amie, come sit on my wall and read me the Story of O", "Don't hold yourself like that, you'll hurt your knees." And, well, he just gets downright sexy at times. Mmmm.

Ryan Adams. Not Bryan Adams...Ryan Adams. Exceptionally eclectic singer-songwriter with an attitude and a feeling for good rock-n-roll (except when it's not. Namely, Rock and Roll and Easy Tiger). He has a little bit of the junkie look about him...but on him, it's hot.

Colin Firth. Sexy accent, good actor, and damn, not many folks are as good at the on-screen kisses as he is.

Neil Gaiman. Ok. Yes. I'm a Gaiman Girl too. Not so much because he's hot....though his is...but because his books move me. You know - laughing aloud one minute, throwing the book across the room the next, weeping the next moment...then laughing again....books like that make me want to have the author's babies. And I don't want children.

Johnny Depp. Yes, yes. I know. How typical. But, well...I can't say no to this. Or this.

So that's only six. I imagine I'd need a day of rest after that week. This list was my Still-Alive-and-Good-Looking list, as it's the most realistic (as these fantasies go). My Would've Fucked 30 Years Ago, Hot Dead Guys, and Fictional Fantasies lists are all much less...shall we say, tangible? Though someday, I may share them for the helluvit.

So, folks. 7 days, your choice of any 7 living people - who'd be on your list?

The Lady speaks...

2008-01-18T14:02:00.000-05:00

This is an older piece I wrote around the time I started gearing up to have The Poly Conversation with Apollo. Not all of it is as applicable now as it was, but it's still very much me.

"I cannot name this,
cannot explain this.
And I really don't want to -
just call me shameless.
Can't even slow it down,
let alone stop it.
I keep looking around,
but I cannot top this." - "Shameless", Ani Difranco

That's how it is, except I am going to name and explain as much as I can. My vagina has started talking, and she's not willing to shut up and play nice. It's a little (more than a little) worrisome. She wants to say her piece:
I have a vagina, labia major and minor, and a clitoris, to my gynecologist. In bed, in my private life, I have a cunt. I do not have a pussy, however catlike she may be. I have a cunt and she's strong and hungry and passionate and delicate. She bruises easily, but is not easily quenched. She's insatiable, and proud of it (I am not always proud of it. I find it annoying, especially when I have a partner who's too tired most days to give her satisfaction.). She likes masturbation and clitoral play, but craves penetration - her muscles cry out for something to grasp. Clitoral orgasms please, but leave her wanting more. Penetration-induced orgasms wear her out and wring her dry - and she needs that. She pouts - a lot - when she's denied for too long. And once she's pouting, masturbation won't cut it - it'll make it worse. She's selfish - oh, she's so selfish. Her mantras are, "Take me!" and "Again!" and "Hold still - deep!". My cunt knows she's beautiful, tight and desirable. She knows that she can ripple exquisitely along a cock and evoke pleasure. She comes easily, but tires slowly. One orgasm doesn't begin to quell her. She usually aches afterwards, sometimes severely, but that doesn't stop her from wanting it just as badly the next day. Her desire is often strongest when she's bleeding. She resents our white sheets with all her heart - and resents the blowjobs Apollo sometimes gets when he's horny during this time. She can't be happy for him, or even for herself with his generous efforts at manual stimulation - she's been disappointed, and she's like a child - she doesn't grok in fullness. So she pouts afterwards and makes Apollo sad. Despite all her selfishness and childishness and needyness, she's also shy. She'll complain loudly to me, but she won't initiate anything unless the situation is truly desperate. She wants to be pursued, taken, claimed, rather than be the pursuer. She hates the idea of having sex less frequently to increase the intensity of each instance. She admits it can be so, but absolutely maintains that it's better to walk around in a pleasantly satisfied state than one of intense, noticeable desire just for the sake of making it better (I agree with her here - it's MUCH better not to have her complaining all the time. Much.). It's good enough, better than good enough as is, she says. She wonders, sometimes, what other cocks are like. She's had lots of fingers and tongues, but only one cock. She doesn't really expect that they'd be better, but she doesn't know. She thinks, though, that if things go right, someday in the far future, she might get to know. She frequently considers and rejects the idea of an insertable toy. She just can't believe that it'll be able to get her off via penetration, and she does well enough w/ clitoral stimulation on her own (besides...I don't have the money). She also has a tendency to yell very loudly when she's in bed with Apollo, and he's too tired, and she hasn't gotten any in approaching a week. Seriously. She doesn't like to let me sleep when there's a male body next to me, and she's feeling Really Deprived.
So, yes. Not a pussy, only clinically a vagina - I've got a real cunt between my legs.

Several things have changed since then -
Apollo has more energy, more frequently, to give her what she Craves.
She's become acquainted with other cocks, and has realized that they're as wonderful and individual as Apollo's.
She has become acquainted with another woman's cunt, and found her a kindred spirit.
She now has a toy, which she enjoys, though she still prefers a lover to the cool glass.
She's gotten even more curious and adventurous with regard to exploring the worlds of kink and power exchange, though she hasn't had a chance to to much in this area yet.

She's so much fun - I love my luscious, lascivious, lusty, lovely cunt!

When the Moon is in the seventh house...

2008-01-10T19:46:00.000-05:00

...and Jupiter aligns with Mars...
Ok, no "Age of Aquarius" here. No more, in all probability, of Jupiter aligning with Mars (Jupiter is my ruling planet, btw). In the wake of my amazing week in College Town, I think I'm getting closer to defining What Is Enough For Sex. It has to do with the DragonCat/Mars difference. That feeling of comfort, of safety. As much as I may like Mars, and objectively trust him, and even want him (though, I'm a little ashamed to say, now that the novelty's gone, I don't even want him so much), I don't get that easy feeling of comfort and safety. Of being absolutely OK as I am, cherished for who I am. I get that from all my Murfreesboro/Nashville lovers. I get that from Apollo. The thing that makes it significant that I feel that from/for DragonCat is that I don't know him that well. I can't tell you his favorite movies or what music he likes (ok, he does like Ween. I know that much), or if he has any food allergies. So, I'm wondering if what makes it "enough" is that feeling of ease and comfort and safety, rather than any specifics of number of dates or time knowing the person or deep, dark secrets shared. I mean, I don't think I'd fuck a stranger simply because he exuded this feeling...but I think this may need to become a primary criterion. Which may well mean ending things (sexual things, at least) with Mars soon. Hmm.

And now I'm thinking about that 17th century poem (by Donne?) that talks about "sublunary love" and all the perils thereof. For, "everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the Moon" to quote a twentieth-century poet.

And love is difficult to navigate. And sex is a thorny issue (screw them roses, though!). But I think that there is too much good, comfortable (within myself - not painless, not without the broadening of conceived limits and horizons, but comfortable in myself), thoroughly pleasing sex in my life to deal with or have sex that makes me unsure of myself or feel in the least unsatisfied or uncertain. This doesn't (necessarily) contradict the Ecclesiastical Theory of Sex:
(A time for spiritual sex
and a time for carnal sex.
A time for girl sex,
and a time for boy sex.
A time for fun and pleasure,
and a time for connection.
A time for power exchange,
and a time for equality.
A time for bondage
and a time for embracing.
A time for masturbation,
and a time for threesomes.
...etc.)
This just means that I should be thoroughly comfortable with my partner and with being wholly myself around my partner for all these types of sex. Even if it's just (just! Ha!) fun and pleasure, there's no reason I should be less than fully confident in who I am or that I should feel uncertain about being accepted for me, limits, requests, kinks, neuroses and all.
So. I still need to write my story about Mars, but it will probably be post-relationship. That's ok, though. There are beautiful boys (and girls!) with whom I connect and am safe. And that's more than good enough for me.

In Which Joy Muses on Bisexuality

2008-01-04T12:23:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned previously that I think I have a harder time thinking of myself as "bisexual" than it is for Apollo to think of me as such. Granted, the events of this week have made a lot of what I was going to say in this post much less relevant and made me feel much more "qualified" to use that label, but still. It's been an interesting adjustment.
When I came to the conclusion that I wanted physical relationships with women, it was something of a cool realization, rather than a burning epiphany. I was thinking over my longings for a poly-relationship, on the intimacy-with-friends line, and suddenly it just didn't seem right that I couldn't share that level of physical intimacy with my women friends. I mean, I experience love and affection most profoundly through touch - that's the root of my desire to broaden my sexual partners to include those I treasure, not just the one I live with. It seemed, to me, to devalue my relationships with women if I said, "I am willing to be loved and love in this way, to this depth, with my men friends, but not with my women friends." Likewise, I had been struggling with my conception of the Sacred Feminine, of God'dess, God as Woman. She didn't seem as tangible, as real and accessible as my God. I addressed her as Mother, as Friend, as Sister...but none of these were as visceral an image as my favorite image of my God - my Holy Lover. Suddenly, bisexuality became a bit of a spiritual necessity. When She became my Lover as well - well, damn. It just made sense. So there was no secretly harbored crush, no deep-seated attractions to women - just a realization that it makes sense for me. Granted, I have always liked androgyny, in men and women, but I was attracted to the androgynous women because they looked like pretty boys (of course, I realize this could be self-delusion here...that may have been the only psychologically safe way for me to rationalize my attraction at all). Even now, I don't experience the same random lust for a lovely, attractive woman that I can experience for an equally attractive man. The women I want, really Want are those with whom I already have a touch-relationship - we already are comfortable and loving enough to hug, to rub backs, to play with hair. But, oh, I do want them pretty badly. And my God'dess? Well, I've known for awhile that I'm the sub in a holy D/s relationship (forthcoming post on my crackpot ideas about D/s and spirituality/courtly love)...but now I have Two Owners (though, of course, really I only have One, but still). And she's gorgeous.

Happy New Year!

2008-01-03T15:20:00.001-05:00

...The Sexy, College-Town Remix.

So, my holiday plans involved taking one week of my Winter Break (I love being a grad student!) and going home, seeing family and friends there, and then departing to spend New Years Week in my Undergraduate Town, and the metropolitan area 30 miles to the north of it. That first week, of necessity, has no truly sexy stories associated with it. This week, however, has been full of Exploratory Sexual Goodness.

**I realize that there are lots of names with no descriptions or context in this post. I will make a Lovers of Joy page detailing my Usual Suspects very soon. Promise.

Sunday, December 30th:
Arrived in College Town and went to Imladris, home of the Hobbit Ladies (who do not have hairy feet - but they resemble hobbits in their love for good food, good alcohol, and questionable smokeables). There has been a long-standing attraction tween me and them, so when I found myself naked between them, slightly fuzzy-headed from the pipeweed, it wasn't a huge surprise. What was surprising was how...clumsy and inept I feel when dealing with women's bodies. In the moment, I could not for the life of me think of any particular techniques used on me in the past. Fortunately, their lovely breasts seemed to respond nicely to my amateur efforts. I was also reminded of the fact that women are (in my experience to this point) infinitely better than men when it comes to fingering (though, from all accounts, Jefferson has a special way with that Special Spot.).
Quick sidenote: I get off on penetration. Like, a lot. Oh, I love my clitoris, don't get me wrong...but the orgasms are so different, acute and defined and short. I love the long rolling, peaking and plateauing of G-spot orgasms. I love my incoherence afterwards.
Anyway. Lovely, long night with the HLs. Still did not get my fingers or tongue into their nethers - I'm painfully shy and nervous about giving pleasure to women - but they helped each other, and much fun was had by all.

Monday, December 31st:
Went to the House of the Spider Woman for a La Vie Boheme NYE party. No particularly explicit stories this night, but I met a girl who had had surface piercings in her back, had done suspensions, was into shibari, and had an amazing set of nails. I also cuddled with the Cuddle Owl, who was newly single and thus much more willing to share his amazing hugs and backrubs. My Qabbalist Water Brother (QWB) cried over my present to her - a collage Tree of Life - and nuzzled and nibbled and generally made me a happy Joy. The Spider Woman was resplendent in her Mimi-inspired outfit, and in high teasing form. Shakti informed me that her partner, DragonCat, was "curious" and wanted to join us for my planned sleepover at Shakti's place the following night. As DragonCat is one of the most adorable men on the planet (and Apollo and I had already discussed this possibility a few nights ago when we found ourselves in a "Who do you want to fuck from College Town?" discussion) I assured her that I would be more than happy to have him there.

Tuesday, January 1st:
Awoke at the House of the Spider Woman. Headed to the QWB's place for afternoon hanging out. I had mentioned my unexplored submissive tendencies to her, as well as my fascination with kink, knowing her to identify as a Domme. She, beautiful creature that she is, was very willing to help me explore, in a non-sexual context, as she is deliberately celibate. Sadly, though, she lost a childhood friend at the beginning of the month, and thus felt mentally and emotionally unable to offer me a formal "session". However, (and this was probably even better) she generously showed me her tools and demonstrated their uses on me in an informal context. This means that I experienced: a whip, used several different ways, through my clothes; hot wax on my stomach; different sorts of non-cutting knife strokes on my belly and forearm; and perhaps most profoundly, the weight of a collar and cuffs. These were decorated with large and numerous spikes - which would not be my choice - but the feeling of that weight on me was something I knew I wanted to experience again. After they were removed, and the demonstration was over, I stood up from her couch and thought "I feel a little drunk. But I have not had a drink. Hee!" We also talked, seriously and happily, about my sexual journey, our lives, and things spiritual and intellectual. But this is the sexblog *grins*.
From there, I headed to Shakti's place. When I got there, she and DragonCat were eating homemade pizza. We sat, catching up on the events of each other's lives, while they finished dinner. My stomach was home to a whole nest of butterflies - I really didn't *know* DragonCat all that well, but he's one of those people who simply radiate comfort and trust and safety. There was not a question in my mind that I would be safe, treasured, and respected by these two people. But...still. I was minutes away from kissing a HOT man and from (I had decided) finally getting acquainted with another woman's cunt. I was nervous. Fortunately, Shakti is incredibly good at easing into these situations without pretense or awkwardness. We migrated to the bedroom, where tickle wars ensued and DragonCat giggled and wriggled when he realized that I slip into CatTalk (TM) when I'm feeling playful (he and Shakti have whole conversations in mrows and mews). Soon after this, Shakti decides that she needs to go take a shower, and orders us to "cuddle amongst yourselves" in her absence. Now, DragonCat is a 5-star Cuddleslut. At any party, he will be draped over/have draped over him at least two women, if not more. This is never sexual - he's just got an infinite capacity for cuddles. Knowing this, I curl right up to him, and we sink into a comfortable, silent touching.
His hands. Oh my. His hands. We were not overtly sexual yet, but every touch of his was pure affection, pure joy in the skin of my belly, the curve of my hip. I felt holy. I felt that he was both worshiper and god to my goddess and devotee. I eventually found my voice to remark about how much I'd wanted to cuddle with him at the NYE party, but that I couldn't bear to interrupt his cuddling with the blissed-out girl who stayed attached to him the whole night - she looked as though she needed it. This launched some small talk, which concluded with him remarking that as much as he loves cuddling, it's "always hard for me to not play with the boobies. They...they're just there and so appealing." "Well, you don't have to worry about that with me," I said. Gentle, so gentle and so hot. And his kisses were meltingly sweet, soft, and intense. Shakti returned from her shower to see us making out, bare to the waist. Since she was already naked, DragonCat and I followed suit. What followed was a delicious exercise in Taking Turns. They began, like the generous souls and good hosts they are, by thoroughly exploring my body and Shakti fingering me into my first set of orgasms for the evening. Soon after, I found myself rolling through my second set as Shakti and I clung to each other in shared bliss while DragonCat fingered both of us and broke my Girls Finger Better Than Boys rule. After recovering from that for a few moments, Shakti diplomatically asked DragonCat what he'd like to do. He wiggled with excitement (like a cat about to spring, thus earning him the second part of his name), and flicked his tongue suggestively. "Would you like to do that to Joy?" Shakti asked. More wiggling accompanied by nodding. "Well, pull up a chair, then!" I took this as a figurative invitation to lay back and settle in for some prolonged, amazing cunnilingus. DragonCat took this more literally, and actually pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed.
Now, I've heard of men who Genuinely Love going down on girls. I've always been fortunate to find men who at least like it, like making women squirm and moan, and are pretty damn good at it. But, at our last encounter, Shakti definitely instituted a Girls Give Oral Better Than Boys standard. DragonCat breaks this, too. It sounds cliche, but he treated my cunt like an oasis in a desert. I felt like I was the "flower in the desert, water in the dry lands" for him, a source of endless wonder of which he could never be bored. It wasn't a preface to anything "more important", not an appetizer or a bit of foreplay - this was Sex. After he finally came up for air, and allowed me to do the same, Shakti asked me, "Have you had the chance to play with a woman yet?" "No..." "Do you want to?" "Yes..." After playing with her breasts, trying to pay attention to her reactions, to figure out what worked best (no, I don't over-intellectualize things!), and admiring the beauty of her more prominent nipples, one hand drifted towards her mons. But I hesitated. I didn't want to go in blindly, so to speak. I was so scared of doing something wrong - I needed to see what I was doing. "Do you want to look at me?"she asked (she says I think loudly. I can't refute this.).
I moved myself to kneeling between her legs, and looked at her. Browner than me, she was, though still pinkish. I then noticed DragonCat at my side, with his beautiful, open grin. "He wants to watch," Shakti said. I almost had an attack of "Sex is not a performance! I refuse to put on a show!" (which...I realize that for some people that's part of it, and that's wonderful and cool...but I get anxious when I feel like I'm performing. See my upcoming post on oral sex.) but DragonCat was so nonjudgmental and supportive that I didn't feel like he was watching porn, but rather lending moral support. Truth to tell, I was eventually pretty glad of his presence beside me. I parted her lips and gazed, probing experimentally until I found everything I was looking for - surveying the terrain, so to speak. Her vagina looked so dark, so deep. It looked like it did have the potential for holding worlds, for being the primal place of Beginnings and Birth. I decided to start with her clit - it seemed at little less...intimidating. I learned that direct stimulation is too much, but that above, below and beside are effective and wonderful. I learned that I, too, can give women orgasms, and that holding down a woman's thigh and belly while you stroke her to ecstasy is a profound and beautiful pleasure. After a time, I moved down, and cautiously inserted a fingertip. She was So. Wet. So warm. So soft. I inserted my index finger, and beckoned. Ahh..response...and a little to the right evoked an even stronger response. This was *much* easier than figuring out the breasts, or even the clit. I pressed up in fast, small pulses - and Shakti screamed. Wow. I added another finger, noting the snugness of her, and tried for a second scream. Instead I got a "Honey, be careful of your nails." Ooops...lesson learned. So I backed off for a moment, contemplating, screwing my courage to the sticking point, before leaning in and touching my tongue to her clit. Shakti is a natural goddess, so I soon found that it is difficult to breathe when one's nose is pressed into luscious pubic hair. Even more difficult when said goddess starts writhing (not that I minded this, you understand). DragonCat helped steady both the Shakti and me, holding us both in place. I got that second scream.
The rest of the night was spent playing with DragonCat's cock, and playing out one of Shakti's fantasies - DragonCat fucked her doggy-style while she buried her face in me. After, she announced that "Shakti is broken! and needs to sleep!", so we all piled onto the queen-sized bed, with DragonCat in the middle. Shakti dropped right off, which led DragonCat to cuddle up to me and (we were all sleeping naked), begin to make it very difficult for me not to disturb Shakti with either sounds or fierce movements. I was tired. Fuck, was I tired. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, and had just been thoroughly worn out. But I cannot resist that man's hands and mouth: "I can't believe your hands and mouth did all of that to me. And they are so daily naked for all the world to see." ("Rexroth's Daughter"). Eventually, however, he let up and we did go to sleep. When Shakti left early in the morning for work, though, it all began again. Now that we didn't have to keep quiet or still, he looked at me and said, "You want to 69?" "Err...I tend not to do it because it requires multitasking...and I never have the presence of mind. But...I'm willing to try it! Or we could just take turns..." He decided that we'd try it...and it seemed to work out fairly well. At least, well, he didn't complain. And I can't either. I still don't know how people give an effective blowjob with someone's mouth on their cunt, but I did my best. When my jaw was to tired to continue (my stamina is pitiful. Sad.), he brought me to another series of orgasms with his incredible fingers. After which we promptly fell back asleep. When we awoke, we made out slowly, sweetly until he said, sadly, "You know, I kind of wish we could do everything." I nodded, "It's alright. Wait..you do mean that Shakti isn't ok with us having intercourse, right?" Because if you think I'm not ok with it, buddy, you've got another think coming! "Yes," he said. "Ok. That's fine. But I'm still allowed to give you an orgasm, right?" "Oh yes. Oral's fine, just no 'actual sex'". So I went down on him. I am no blow-job queen - Wendy and Avah would shame my ass back to the South if I ever tried to compete with them. But I gave it my best effort. After a goodly time, I crept back up into his arms, feeling slightly disappointed with myself. "Yeah...I don't often come from oral. Or from anything apart from masturbation or 'actual sex'...I guess I should've said that beforehand...but it was still amazing." Ok. I'm ok with that. I want my lovers to be fulfilled, and if orgasm isn't necessarily a part of that, I am perfectly alright with that. We went back to cuddling and kissing, until I realized that I was overdue for my afternoon hanging out with another friend. It is incredibly difficult to get back into clothes when a beautiful, lanky man is perpetually ready to love your naked body and distract you with kisses. But I managed.

Part two to perhaps follow, if anything notable happens in the next few days!

In Which Joy Muses on "Casual" Sex

2007-12-29T01:42:00.000-05:00

I over-intellectualize things. I know this. It's a fact. So, if you're not into mental strife, go ahead and skip over posts with the keyword "ponderings".
So.
My first instance of acting on my newly-gained Permission came about over my Fall Break, when I went to visit some college friends. I ended up receiving all manner of beautiful attentions from one of my wonderful, succulent woman-friends, hereafter known as Shakti. It was a single event - the night before I went back home -with no indication of a future repeat. And I was perfectly and utterly OK with this.
My next instance was with Mars, a boy I met via OKCupid. We met; we flirted; we drank coffee; we explored comics shops, and after two weeks, we kissed. Oh, man, it was high school all over again. A month later, we had sex (after Apollo and I thoroughly discussed it). We have had sex twice....and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
The difference here has a lot to do with my definition of what is "casual" and what's not. The first instance does not get classified as "casual sex". Rather, because it was with someone who I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, loves me whether or not I'm fantastic in the sack and whether or not we sleep together again, this is friend-sex. We're friends first. And that's not a casual thing - that's important, vital. Thus, our sex is not casual - it is drama-free, stress-free and obligation-free, but it was and is a part of our larger relationship. But, with Mars, I don't have that assurance, that closeness. He's thrilling, exciting, flattering - but afterwards, I still wonder: Is the thrill enough? Oh, I like Mars. He's fun to talk to, fun to hang out with, and a great cook (and a FUN lover). But I could let him out of my life without missing him too much. He's not a Friend, a Beloved One.
My original intent, in opening up my relationship with Apollo, was to make space for friend-sex/flirting/cuddles. But, this casual-sex thing has been fun. Intellectually, I hold that more casual sex is perfectly acceptable and a valid practice, if done ethically. I find myself desiring fewer and fewer limits on what is "acceptable sex" - and celebrating the differences in Relationship-Connection-Sex, Spiritual-Sex, Friend-Sex, and Fun-and-Pleasure Sex. I'm Ecclesiastical - to everything there is a season, and a time for every type of sex under Heaven. Yet, at the same time, I'm confronting the persistent conviction that it is worthier to limit one's sexual possibilities (to people that I have a given level of intimacy with, to a certain group of friends, etc) than to be open to all kinds of sexual interactions. Tied up with this is the assumption that casual sex, by being what it is, devalues other, more traditionally "meaningful" forms of sex. I think this is a very flawed assumption, but I have to admit that I'm still struggling with it. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, just as the love I have for Neil does not diminish or lose value in the fact that I love my other friends (and lovers), neither does the sex I have with Neil (or with Friends) depreciate in value or meaning because I have casual sex with Mars.
Spiritual connection has value.
Human connection, love, and communion have value.
Pleasure and Fun also have value, and should be valid ends in and of themselves.
Ideally, my sex life would reflect these priorities. I think it can. I think part of my hesitations and misgivings surrounding my experience with Mars may center on Mars himself, rather than the fact of the "casualness" of the encounter. However, specific thoughts on Mars, and why he makes me a little less than comfortable, must wait for a later post.

How I Got Here

2007-12-29T01:22:00.000-05:00

...the Abbreviated Remix.
Over the summer, I finally worked up the courage to tell my boyfriend of two years that I was curious about the possibility of a polyamorous relationship meaning, really, "I want to be able to snuggle and kiss freely with my existing close friends." I also made it clear that these friends were not just of the opposite sex (I think I have a harder time thinking of myself as bisexual than he does), and that he was free to have the same privileges. He was game, and very game, and two OKCupid accounts later, the definition I started with is no longer quite the definition I'm working under. Casual (ish) sex, my unexplored submissive tendencies, and a fascination with kink have all become relevant issues...and I'm not so sure how I feel about most of them, in practice at least. This is all happening rather fast for the girl who'd had penis-in-vagina sex with one boy, and that in her current long-term relationship.
So there are questions. There are concerns.
But, Damn! This is a helluva lot of fun.

Lovers of Joy

2007-12-06T01:51:00.000-05:00

So, because this is a sexblog, here a brief list of descriptions and contexts for the more regular players in Joy's Sex Life:

Joy: Hi! I'm your hostess. Naturally blonde, blue eyed and freckled, I'm always taken for younger than I am...though my Venus curves would give it away, you'd think. Apollo maintains that I remind him of Bottecelli's rendering of the goddess...with less hair and more breasts.

Boys:
Apollo: My primary partner. He's blonde and blue eyed, like me. If we ever have children, they will sizzle in the sun. I met Apollo while we were both in college, and he's a great one to wake up to. And a great, great one to go to bed with!
DragonCat: Shakti's primary partner who lives in the College Town Metropolis Area. DragonCat is skinny with shaggy brown hair, a soft beard, sparkling blue eyes, and very red lips. He also has objectively amazing hands. I met DragonCat via Shakti, whom I met via the group of Frequently Poly Pagans that I hang out with when in College Town.
Mars: My sometime-lover who was my first male experience after Apollo and I began opening our relationship. Dark of eyes and hair, Mars is cute, but nervous. Something in his manner sets me ill at ease, and the jury is still out on whether or not this is a relationship I want to continue. But damn, is he a fun lover!

Girls:
Hobbit Ladies: Demeter and Luna are partners, who are kinda-poly (Luna is, Demeter's figuring it out), and my dear friends from my years in College-Town. Also, now, my dear lovers. They like full-bed snuggles and are big, beautiful women in every sense of the terms.
QWB (Quabbalist Water Brother): The gorgeous metal-head harpist who's one of my Favorite People Ever. Another inhabitant of the College Town Metropolitan Area, QWB is deliberately and indefinitely celibate. But that doesn't stop her from being willing to help me explore BDSM and submission.
Shakti: Curvy Goddess whose door bears the sticker "Registered Companion." It fits. She's priestess even as she's lover. Another of the CTMA crew, Shakti, perhaps more than anyone, has provided support, encouragement, and sometimes reality checks as I've run from, run towards, and in general run around with this journey of sexuality.

To be updated as more folks appear....