Sex & Gender Archives

Cockadoodie Fangirl

I freely admit that I'm a fangirl. When I find something I like, I like it a lot, and I will pimp it out to everybody. I'll buy things to promote it, link to it, and yes, I'll blog about it. So while this entry is about something specific, something I can't really fangirl over, there will be quite a bit of fangirling throughout.

You see, when all I had was a cell phone for my Internet experience, I did a lot less blogging and a lot more reading. I read everything, but I spent most of my time reading blogs. I'd waste days going all the way back into a blog's archives and I'd read every article. I love learning and I love watching other people learn, and I really enjoy reading about their experiences.

I don't quite remember how I came across Sugarbutch Chronicles, but it was probably by Googling something about strap-on cocks. (You may now be entertained to know that I'm writing this blog entry in the breakroom at work.) It's a blog written by a butch that is just so chock-full of information and awesome things and hot stories and touching moments that I just could not put my phone down. I was reading everywhere, all the time. (Though I didn't have the password just yet, I only recently got access to protected posts.) I distinctly remember the time I stumbled across one of the “stories to turn you on” by accident. I didn't even know those kinds of stories were on Sugarbutch, but lo and behold, I was reading one. At work. In the middle of my workday, during lunch.

Yeah. About that.

But Sugarbutch does more than just ruin my panties spontaneously when I don't have a spare pair laying around. (note to self: put a pair in your locker) Most importantly, Mr. Sexsmith (the author) introduced me to the term gender identity, which I had never heard of prior to reading Sugarbutch. I was instantly on the hunt for information. What is gender identity? What is the difference between gender and sex? Does gender identity relate also to sexual orientation? What kind of genders are out there? Why had I never heard of this before?

I also learned an incredible amount of info about strap-ons. I learned the difference between a soft packing cock and an insertable dildo. I learned that there is such a thing as pack-and-play, but that they are not sterilizable. (According to OpenOffice.org spellcheck, not only is “spellcheck” not a word, but neither is “insertable” or “sterilizable.” I am using them anyway.) I think this is the reason why I found my way to Sugarbutch, because I have always been curious about strap-ons, even though Arkanum shows an extreme disinterest in them. There is simply a plethora of information there on the topic, including but not limited to detailed reviews of different harnesses and dildos that will definitely get you hot.

I still don't have a strap-on, or a harness or anything of the sort. A lot of websites I've looked at offer harness/dildo packages, which is nice and cheap, but the dildos that come with it look boring or ridiculous. And all of the really nice dildos (i.e. dildos that got amazing reviews at Sugarbutch) are super expensive. I don't know what kind of harness to get still, since there are even several different types to choose from. The material is important since this is going to be against skin, probably moving around, and fastened tightly (one might hope). So I would probably get leather even though they wear down and eventually break. Leather conforms to skin and is more comfortable than, say, plastic or rubber, imo. Then there's the design. I've seen at least two kinds I'll describe here, the first one being the kind that wraps around the thighs. It looks sturdy and comfortable. But the issue for me is that it doesn't go between the legs, which means there's no contact to the wearer's genitalia. I really want that contact for whoever's wearing it, since that means they might come (and that's what I'm here for after all). So enter type two, the kind that goes between the legs. This doesn't look as comfortable as the other one, but it has that extra thing I want: genital contact.

So, say maybe I don't want a harness. They have something for that, too! Over at Life on the Swingset, I read a review for something called the Feeldoe. I love this review and it made me really want to try it. Since finding out about its existence, I Googled and researched it some more. I have yet to read a bad review about this toy. Also, you can put a bullet in it, which is, you know, kinda nice if you like a buzz. It comes in different sizes, too. I've looked at other harness-free dildos but this one looks the most comfortable, useable, et cetera. The only problem I have with it right now is the price tag.

So, now with more of an excuse to go shopping, I will probably take Kitten and go to a store in person and we'll grope some dildos. I find that if something is too hard, it just doesn't feel good (inside me at least). Dildos, for strap-ons especially, come in all shapes, sizes and colors. I went on several websites and I was just awed by the sheer variety. Some don't even look like cocks. Some have animal heads on them. There was even one that looked like Obama. (WTF? It was purple, by the way.) (I guess that's just in case someone wants to be fucked by the government in a whole new way?)

Anyway, strange dildos aside, the adventure is just beginning. It began at Sugarbutch and I highly suggest you go there, even if you don't like fake rubber dicks. 'Cause that place is just freakin' sweet.

BDSM For My Inner Kitty

Kitten and I have begun discussing BDSM (Bondage, Discipline/Domination, Submission/Sadism, Masochism). It has always been on the fringes of our discussions, because we both have an interest in it, and maybe even exhibit it from time to time in our relationship, but without structure. I'd always known about the scene, maybe obliquely, but my first real knowledge of it comes from reading Exit to Eden when I was in sixth grade. I don't think my parents knew what was in that book, because if they did, they probably wouldn't have allowed me to read it. I liked Anne Rice, and at first to me, it was just another book with the possibility of awesomeness.

It was quite awesome. I read the Beauty series next.

I've had experience being a Dominant in a relationship before. My ex-boyfriend and I played around with light bondage and sensation play. The scenes were usually light and playful. For instance, I would tie him up and tell him that if he could escape the ropes and chains by the time I got back from the kitchen, then he wouldn't get treated with the ice cube I was bringing from the freezer. I was always Dominant—I never once felt the urge to be otherwise.

I met a girl in a club at high school, during my senior year. She was tall and lithe and had blue eyes and spoke with an accent. She was a transfer student from overseas. From the moment I saw her, I was totally in love. I primped and preened on the days when I knew I would see her. When she laughed at the comedy in my stories, my heart soared. I kept quiet, though, because if you're a girl loving another girl in high school, that was just what you did. And anyway, I knew she had a boyfriend back home. I was happy to admire her and befriend her.

What struck me the strongest was the urge to submit to her. Not really in a slave or servant kind of way, but more as a free person choosing to kneel before another free person and offer to do anything for them. Or, more appropriately, as one wolf rolling over to expose her belly to the Alpha. I had never felt this way before, this complete feeling of worship—yes, that's how I felt—and how I wanted so much for her to just ask me to do something, anything, so I could do it for her.

Because of this, I came to believe that I was just a gender-related switch. That for men, I was naturally Dominant, and for women I was submissive. Time went by, and in my relationship with Ark, my BDSM skills have rusted quite a bit, but I still identify as a switch. Ark and I are fairly even, with me still topping him most of the time, but every now and then I let him be the owner to my inner cat, knowing that if I want to overpower him, it would be easily done.

When I met Kitten and as we grew closer, I started to feel the same kind of urge to submit as I had with my crush in school. I have stars in my eyes for this woman, and it had to be plain to see. I clung to my Dominance for a while, and we played together as two Alphas, never really topping the other. I make small, subtle acts of submission to her in other areas of life, but when it comes to sex, if I give her the reins she doesn't seem to want to take them (or perhaps she isn't sure where to steer). She had mentioned previously that she wants to be my bottom, but up until this point, we hadn't really talked about it seriously.

The whole conversation started after I got her to sign up for FetLife, which is kind of like Facebook for kinky people (or people who are just curious). I've had an account on there for a while, and I've met a lot of local people, so I've been pushing for Ark to get an account, too. Now, all three of us are on there (with growing “fetish lists”). I don't remember how the conversation began, but at some point Kitten said that she would really like for me to Dom her.

At first, I was apprehensive. I am not, by nature, a cruel person. But I have the steel in me to be a strong, firm Dominant and I am not yet confident in my ability to STOP when the scene is over. It will almost assuredly overlap into my life, particularly in my relationship with Kitten. To further explain, suppose we are doing something normal, like grocery shopping. If Kitten should wander off and not tell me where she's going, the Dom in me would want to find her, scold her for wandering off without my permission, and get her on a short leash. I am very fond of the collar/lead—even when I'm a sub, I love to have a collar around my neck and if I don't listen, I expect to be yanked around (or led) by it.

I don't want to accidentally hurt her, in play or outside of it. This is a fear I've had for a while, not just because of BDSM-related things, but even in regular wrestling around kind of play. I always hold back and don't bite as hard, or don't scratch as deep, or don't use all of my muscles to hold her in place, because there's the fear in the back of my head. I suspect these fears are rooted in my past, from playing with my little sister, who was frail and sickly for much of her childhood. If I'm going to top Kitten and stay the top, I will have to assert myself physically, and it will be more of a reflex to do it continually, so I remain the Alpha. I like to fight for the top, and I like to win, so having a sub who is always subservient wouldn't work for me. I like that Kitten has a good bit of fight in her and that she's quite strong.

We trust each other completely, and this is a very important key to a working, happy BDSM relationship. I need to think about what kind of Dominant I am and what kind of submissive Kitten is, to figure out the dynamics of that aspect of our relationship. How firm am I? What are the rewards? What are the punishments? A D/s relationship is really controlled by the sub, so I have been asking Kitten some questions, but I think I need to look inside myself, too. There's a panther in there who wants to be on top, and I guess I should let her play once in a while.

Loving Myself; or, My First O

I was seventeen or eighteen when I discovered how to bring myself to orgasm. I remember I was so excited about it that I called my boyfriend and told him every detail. Then, when I got off the phone, I did it two or three more times before falling to sleep.

I was hooked. Orgasms were great! I looked forward to every night when I'd get to lie in bed, on my stomach, with my fingers doing their thing between my legs. It took forever for me to figure it out. I read about it, I read about sex and masturbation and orgasms. I'd felt arousal and I'd given my boyfriend handjobs. But my body, my own ecstasy, was a mystery to me. I remember laying in bed and getting o frustrated with my body that sometimes it would bring me to tears. I wanted release, I needed it, and once I discovered it, I treated myself at every opportunity.

What had I been doing wrong all those years? I'll tell you: I thought sex, and therefore orgasms, were all about penetration. I tried candlesticks, hairbrush handles, even eyed the cucumber longingly (but never tried the vegetables, too many chemicals). Then I read online about this magical little nub called the clitoris. Mostly what I read was about how men had so much trouble finding it. I had absolutely no trouble finding mine, and when I did find it, I quickly discovered that it was way too sensitive to touch directly. It wasn't long before I was working around it, trying to find the rhythm and pressure needed to get me over the edge.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that an orgasm was something I'd been giving myself when I was a little girl! I recall laying in bed at night and tightening my kegel muscles because I liked the way it felt... and the more I did it, the better it felt, until it was like they were tightening on their own—tight, quick, hard, making me shudder and quiver in bed, biting my pillow. When I experienced my first orgasm through masturbation in my late teens, I remembered the feeling as soon as I had it. Why didn't I realize--!

Ah, well, here I am today. My masturbation technique has not varied too much over the years. My preferred method is still laying on my belly. I can use either hand, or both. Sometimes I slide my fingers inside, but it isn't what gets me off, and I usually don't do it at all. I begin slow, just thinking sexy thoughts as I rub my clit from the side. Slow and steady in the beginning as whatever scenario I'm imagining builds up. As I get wetter, I increase the tempo and pressure, but always from the side, never directly. When I come, if there's no one home, I'm loud. I ride the waves of my climax as long as I can keep it up, milking it for all it's worth. Then, once I'm done, either I go right to sleep, do it again, or clean up and go about my business.

I am still the only person to give myself a clitoral orgasm, though in recent attempts, Kitten has come very, very close. She's learning to read my body language and respond to it, and I find myself clinging to her and gasping as her touch sends electrical currents down my spine, tightening my whole body, but only climbing and not yet toppling over the edge. My inability to achieve orgasm has been a sore point for her, because she doesn't like that I can give her climax after climax, but she can't repay the favor. It makes her feel inadequate, and in turn makes me feel like I'm failing somehow.

We are not so ready to give up, though. We have been talking for some time about buying a dildo and harness, discussing options and sharing ideas about it. Though I know for sure I can come via other methods besides vaginal intercourse (with a real or fake dick), it's one way that is almost certain, so she has been wanting to try it. I have a vibrator at home that is insertable, and I asked her if she wanted me to bring it over so we could experiment with it.

Yesterday, we did just that. We started off with me on my back, and she leaned over me, kind of holding the dildo in the general area where it might be if she were wearing a harness. I like the closeness and I prefer her to be within kissing/licking/biting range during sex, and I thought it was hot anyway (that my girlfriend was going to be fucking me with a cock). Once I was wet enough, she slowly started to work it inside of me. This toy is bigger than what I'm used to, and it took some time for my body to adjust around it.

I realized that I am not able to orgasm on my back during intercourse, so we switched positions, me straddling her hips and she held the dildo as I lowered myself down on it. I have to say again, that thing was big! And it was still and effort to slide down onto it. But, in this position, I am more in control and I am more “at home.” I felt the familiar waves of pleasure washing over me. I got so excited, realizing I was going to come for her! My toes curled up and finally the orgasm came, vibrating through my body, making me shake, making me cry out.

This is not the best nor the most detailed description I can give of this event, but I'm still a little high from it (and, well, it's a personal account!). I am still just so happy I could give this to her. And I'm so happy that I can kind of let go, let my body relax and just feel her and feel the pleasure she can give me. This is just another step closer, another step into my relationship with her, and I can't wait to see where we'll go next.

erotica: My Prerogative

I wanted her to make me come with her body. I brought the dildo, just in case, but I left it in my bag, telling her that I wanted her to use what she had to bring me as close as possible. I told her, “I know you can make me come. I have faith. I might change my mind [about the dildo] though, but I am a woman, and that is my prerogative.”

I'd also told her that I wanted to make her come, I wanted to feel her thighs tighten against my head, blocking out the sound, as I made her come with my tongue. I love the way she tastes, and I always thought it was silly how authors described a woman's sex tasting like fruit or flowers. Kitten is salty, and almost like a peach, kind of tangy, but much sweeter when I go deeper. I was worried I'd hate the way she tasted, but I really love it, which probably stems from my love of giving orgasms in the first place.

It was late afternoon when we got back to her apartment, not leaving us with much time. As we fell into bed and into the usual rhythms, she beat me to the punch, slipping her hand down the front of my work pants and rubbing circles around my clit. I get so wet, so easy for her, sometimes I feel embarrassed by it. She dipped down for some more lubrication and came back up, teasing me with light pressure, her fingers flickering back and forth over my hyper-sensitive nub.

Every time she dipped down, my hips rose—I wanted so badly for her to slip her fingers inside of me, but she didn't, instead flickering back up to nudge me ever so higher up the hill.

I kept getting close. So very close. My whole body tensed up and my breaths came shorter, quicker, but I could never get over the edge. I'd scrabble at the cliff's end only to slide back down the mountain. It was starting to drive me crazy.

“I think,” I panted between breaths, pausing a few times as she would sometimes touch a particularly delicious spot, “I think... I want to use my prerogative...”

“Oh?” she said softly, her fingers unrelenting.

I disentangled myself from her. It wasn't easy—she kept rubbing me and making me squirm, making me groan and making me not want to get up at all. But my dildo was in my bag, and my bag was in the living room. I hurried up, making a pit stop in the bathroom to run it under hot water both to rinse it off and to warm it up. She was waiting for me, laying on her back in bed.

After I handed it to her and crawled back into bed, she met me with those kisses that I simply cannot get enough of. She held it at her hips and I straddled her, my hand guiding the tip of the silicone vibrator between my lower lips. I was soaking, hot still from our warm-up, but the cock is too big for me and it took a moment for it to start sliding inside. Kitten is impatient—I felt her pushing it up into me, which forced my whole body forward. I let her.

I know I make noises. Especially at the initial penetration, that feeling of stretching, the total consciousness of something inside me and feeling every inch, every ridge. Kitten says I growl, Ark says I purr, but no matter what you call them, they're noises of pleasure. Indulgence. I'm not always vocal, but when something feels so very good, I can't help myself.

My fingers clutched at the edge of the bed, at her pillow, her hair. I was getting hot. My thighs slid farther apart, my back arching. Kitten was pushing into me harder, faster. “Slower,” I urged her. “Longer, deeper strokes.” She complied instantly and I felt the difference. I moaned, letting the sex move me. I was kissing her, licking her throat. The dildo was nudging my G-spot as it slid in.

I wanted to grind against her—I wanted so bad for it to be a cock on a harness, so I could feel her hands on my hips, my tits—I wanted her to pull my hair and grab my ass, I wanted to rub my clit against her on the down stroke or I wanted her to rub it. Though I could feel my climax building, I couldn't help but think about the extra intensity I'd get from clitoral contact.

I didn't have long to miss it, though. My orgasm crashed over me. My whole body tensed, my head curling down, my thighs squeezing her hips between them. It rolled through me starting with an explosion in my loins, shooting up my spine and curling my fingers, my feet, my toes. Suddenly, my muscles released, and I shook with the waves of the climax. My own voice rose in my ears, gasping and crying out in perfect harmony with my pleasure. I was filled with happiness not just because I was coming, but because I was coming for her.

It's almost as sweet as getting her off.

Sitting In

I really want to watch a couple having sex. How this happens and who the couple is doesn't matter to me. It could be a heterosexual couple, or lesbians, or gay men. I could watch just one couple in the privacy of their bedroom, or I could go to a club or a resort or a party where there are swingers. I'm not interested in participating in the sex, and I don't have any intention of touching myself while I'm watching. If they want, I can take pictures or hold a video camera. But I don't want to keep the images. I just want the experience. I'll be unobtrusive and quiet.

I'm not sure when or how this idea formed in my head. I've always loved watching porn, so I guess it really isn't that different. I have a few friends who I talk to about sex, and we share experiences on varying levels of detail. I really love hearing about the things people do, and whenever someone tells me a story about what awesome sex they had, I get all hot and bothered. I imagine that watching the sex happen, right in front of me, would be an amazing experience. I want to do it. I really, really want to watch live sex.

I wonder how hard it'll be to find a couple who's willing to let a girl sit in on their sex session?

Gender, It's Fucking Interesting

Yesterday, I spent a good deal of time browsing blogs that I had never before browsed. I started simple, following Sinclair Sexsmith's tweet linking to her other blog with Sexis Magazine. I finished the article that was linked directly, loved it (of course, since I love Mr. Sexsmith), and decided to peruse through Sexis to see what other interesting bloggers I had yet to discover. I came across Kal Cobalt, particularly this article about role playing. You can read it now, but I'm here to tell you, I'm going to write about it (and some other articles that are BDSM/kink related) in the near-future.

Kal Cobalt wrote an article titled Genderqueer Etiquette. Since I'm a spaz about gender, I totally clicked on it and read it and freakin' loved it. (Kal, prepare to be pimped out.) I learned how to politely ask for the correct pronoun. I enjoyed Kal's writing style, and laughed while reading his articles. I found KalCobalt.com and bookmarked it for later exploration.

Kal identifies as “pangendered,” which was actually a term I had never come across before. I had to Google it.

The article on Wikipedia says that the “factual accuracy is disputed,” and the article itself is woefully short. Almost every other informational link I came across led to, or quoted, the Wikipedia article:

“Pangender is a term used to describe people who feel that they cannot be labeled as male or female in gender. As such it has a great deal of overlap with genderqueer. Pangendered people feel that they do not fit into binary genders, instead identifying as mixed gender (both male and female) or as a third gendered. The term is sometimes used by some in the LGBT community, such as the Radical Faeries to be one that is inclusive, meaning 'all genders.'” [sic]

It also says:

“Pangender individuals, as well as transsexuals, are sometimes dismissed as fetishists ignoring the issue of gender identification altogether.”

I don't like this article, and I'd really, really appreciate it if someone who is pangender would update it. I don't feel like I learned anything from reading it, though as a pansexual, I already knew that “pangender” could also mean “all gender,” and someone who doesn't know the meaning of the prefix “pan” may not have that foreknowledge. (Ark didn't.)

Having said that, I could not find an appropriate pronoun (or at least, a widely accepted one) to use specifically for pangender individuals. I did come across a Wikipedia article about a language called Ido that has pangender or third gender pronouns, but unfortunately Ido is a dead language.

Internet gender exploration having failed (for pangender, anyway), I just asked Kal what pronoun he preferred, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm using male pronouns. Win!

Pronouns are really interesting. I know some women who use female pronouns in regular daily business, but prefer proper pronouns to be male. Take, for example, Sinclair Sexsmith, who is like the greatest blogger ever. (Plug. Plug.) I have some books in which her works are published, and (though it uses her real name), female pronouns are used to describe her. The same is true on her blogs, in her profiles, which are written in the third-person. But I know, from reading her blogs and from paying attention, that she appreciates the use of some male pronouns as well, like “Sir” and “Mister.”

Kitten's almost the same way. I've spent most of my life working in retail, and have the habit of adding a somewhat-Southern-sounding Ma'am at the end of certain phrases, and Kitten just hated being called Ma'am. For a long time, she wouldn't tell me why not to call her Ma'am and wouldn't give me something else to call her. Finally, she did ask me to use “Sir” instead. I've since graduated her to “Raja,” and this suits us both just fine.

The whole gender identity crisis is very confusing to Ark. It's very amusing to prattle on about all the different genders and watch his facial expressions.

Anyway, back to Kal Cobalt's article. I mentioned it at the beginning of this entry, remember?

In just one article, he describes (in better prose than anywhere else I've seen) the different types of gender identity, that don't (usually) fall under the umbrella of genderqueer. Then, after he describes perfectly the look on my husband's face when I try to talk to him about gender or non-vanilla sex acts, Kal gives us the meat of the article: etiquette.

Talking to anyone about their gender is like walking through a mine field. Even if you're super careful, you might step on a bomb that has been waiting to go off for twenty years.

When I was calling Kitten “Ma'am,” for instance, instead of politely asking me not to call her that, she could have blown up in my face. I'm quite glad she didn't. All the same, if I was a less open-minded and accommodating person, I suppose I could have refused to accept her request to be addressed with male proper pronouns.

I think she is still finding herself, gender-wise. I am interested in trying to cross-dress, for instance, and going the whole nine yards with a binder and a packing cock, et cetera, but Kitten already wears nice shirts and suit jackets and slacks almost every day, and I'm more likely to wear a dress than a suit. I think I'm pretty happily female with occasional male tendencies. When choosing a harness to get for her, I chose one that was supposed to be very comfortable for extended wear and soft-packing (as well as being easy to clean and good for fucking). While she hasn't shown interest in soft-packing, the first cock we're buying is a pack-and-play. Who knows, maybe she will want to pack all day eventually? I'm prepared to support that choice.

Speaking of cocks, Mr. Sexsmith posted this beautiful article about how living in New York helped to give her “cock confidence.” (You knew I couldn't get through an article about gender and dick without mentioning her, didn't you? What? I already mentioned her? Well... get used to it!) I suggest you go read it. In fact, I'm going to let you go do that right now. It's okay. I'll wait.

Have you read it yet?

P.S. I'm not done with gender yet. There's no way I can get everything I have to say about it into one entry, so just keep your eyes open for another article on it! 'Till then... get your pangender friend to work on that Wiki article! Seriously.

Asking For Dominance

I want to be dominated.

I want to be told what to do and I want there to be consequences if I talk back, refuse, fight. And I will fight. I want to be topped, I want to be made the sub, the bitch. I want to be directed with words and with forceful hands. I want to be bound, to be made to stand still, or sit up pretty. I can be bound with rope or with leather or with words. Pleasing my master will be my reward. There will be days when I'll be eager to please, and days when I rebel, when I'm wild. I want to serve, I want to worship.

I want it badly.

Let me make a few things clear. I'm a switch. I'm usually pretty dominant in my daily life, but I willingly submit to those who I've deemed “worthy” in my head. In a way, I guess I am a naturally competitive sub, where I'll want to always be on top of all the other pets. As a cook, my greatest aspiration is to be sous-chef to an amazing Executive Chef. I have no urge to hold all the reins, all the time.

But, especially lately, I've just wanted to surrender. I read somewhere that being a good Dom is about pleasing the sub. Nothing gets me hotter than making my lover sigh and moan and gasp and... well, you get the picture. I love to please. I am so turned-on by the pleasure of my lover that it's basically my trigger. I can't get off without my partner getting off... either in actuality, or in my very vivid imagination. The best foreplay for me would be to somehow give my lover an orgasm (or two, or three).

So, I'd get what I want... just by my Dominant telling me what to do to please them. I have to be honest with you here and tell you that just writing about this is getting me hot.

Both Ark and Kitten know I'm a switch, and I have expressed my urge to submit to both of them at different moments during our relationships. Ark is just naturally a submissive—a loyal pet, my guard dog. Asking him to top me puts him in a very awkward position. He doesn't know what to do. But I gotta give it to him—he has tried. It just doesn't really put me into subspace knowing that I can escape him if I wanted to... that, in a fight, I would win.

Kitten's a bit different—I know she's stronger than me and I know that most of the time, she would be able to conquer me without too much of an issue. As I mentioned before, I have a natural disposition to submit to women, so my “baby kitten” side perhaps comes out a bit more when I'm with her. (With Ark, I don't know. Maybe I'm a ferocious barn cat?) This is not to say that I don't still rebel against her—we tussle around from time to time, and sometimes I win and sometimes she wins. But at this point, neither one of us is more dominant than the other. Or, I guess maybe I am, though somewhat reluctantly, because I am pretty much constantly fighting this urge to lay down at her feet and purr?

I'm not really sure how to proceed—how to either teach Ark how to be more dominant, which will likely change the dynamics of our home relationship as well (outside of the bedroom, that is), or keep waiting for my relationship with Kitten to evolve, and for us to fall into our more comfortable roles. I remember reading in an Astrology book when I was younger that a relationship between two Aries (sun sign) would work swimmingly if they can decide who gets to be on top (because, I assume, they would be fighting to be King of the Mountain). Ironically, it seems like Kitten and I are sometimes both trying to be on the bottom.

Strapping Lesbians

I'm realizing that there might be lesbians out there who don't want to talk to me because I'm not a lesbian. If I was straight, or if I was gay (lesbian), they'd probably still talk to me just fine. But as soon as I mention that I'm pansexual and polyamorous with my husband and my girlfriend, well, sometimes they are just plain not nice. Like I'm not allowed to like pussy AND dick.

I bet those are the lesbians who don't like strap-ons. I don't get it. Isn't it all about love, anyway? I love who I love and you love who you love so let's just love them and get on with ourselves.

All right, so, this blog entry wasn't supposed to be about that. I just got to thinking about it, because I have an account on this website called okCupid. And I was perusing the people it said were good matches (for friends—it gives percentages for that, too!) and one woman's profile said something along the lines of, I won't date you if you're bi—you have to be a lesbian.

I guess I can see that, to an extent. A lot of women apparently go around saying they're gay and even kiss and fool around with other women, when really they're just experimenting and/or doing it for attention. Sometimes, male attention. Women who are flirtatious and physically affectionate towards other women (i.e. kissing, fondling, etc.) with the sole intention of getting attention bother me. I don't love Kitten to make other men want me. I don't kiss or hug her or hold her hand to draw attention to us (though, thinking about it now, it probably does, just not the good kind).

Anyway, I wanted to write an entry about something else and I keep getting super distracted. Sorry about that.

I've been thinking a lot about binders, packers, men's clothing and such (on women, of course). More recently, because of Kitten. Well, wait, first, we need to make an important transition here.

I may or may not have mentioned previously that sometimes, I call Kitten “Raja” (which is an Indian term for a king). I have decided, for reasons you might figure out just by reading past articles, that I want to change her online nickname to Raja. So, from here on out, Raja = Kitten. Got it? Good.

Let's continue.

People ask all the time which one of us “is the guy” and which “is the girl.” Well, I hate to break it to you guys, but we are both girls. At least physically. Sometimes she's dominant and sometimes I'm dominant. Sometimes she's acting like a chick and sometimes I'm acting like a chick (usually both of us are mental around our periods—can you blame us?!). But, I suppose, when it really comes down to it, the guy inside Raja is bigger than the guy inside me. Mine is more of a costume, that I wear sometimes. (Dear god don't let me say 'sometimes' again.) There is someone else “inside” of me, but that person is a fierce female.

Inside of Raja is a man, and she channels this much more strongly than I ever channel masculine.

Sure, at work, they call me “dude” and “man” and I'm “one of the guys.” I was a tomboy growing up and, up until just a few years ago, I owned hardly any women's clothing. My wardrobe (aka the floor in front of my closet) is still compiled (lol piled... cause it's on the floor... get it?...) largely of jeans, t-shirts, comfy things. I have a few pairs of boxer shorts still that I wear on occasion because damn they are comfy. Also, damned if I'm gonna let some stupid gender binary dictate what kind of underwear I'm supposed to own.

But I am, slowly, leaning. Towards the Other Side. I have this... insatiable urge... to go out and buy dresses.

I know.

Me, in a dress.

Shocking.

Although, not all together that shocking anymore. I bought my first skirt, freely, willingly even, in '04. I still have it (though it's a bit too big now). I got two other skirts since then. Dresses, though, hmm. Well, I got married in one. It was white and FLUFFY. The skirt looked like feathers. (This was 2009, before the Black Swan thing turned every wedding dress into a repeat of mine.) It was awesome. I am deeply considering throwing a party where people get to wear their wedding dresses just so I have an excuse to wear it again.

I even own, and wear, high-heeled shoes.

These get more mileage because I can wear them with my argyle trouser socks under jeans all year. I'm stylin'.

My husband, Arkanum, just doesn't like to dress up. But I want to. SO BAD. I want to dress up and be the pretty thing on the arm of some dashing gentleman, and go dining, and dancing, and see a show, and just... be that couple. On a date. Glamorous. Ritzy.

Since Ark doesn't like dancing, or taking long, pointless walks in a suit, who ever do I imagine clinging to? Who is my dapper gentleman?

afterellen.com

You guessed it. It's Raja.

On a regular day, Raja is wearing dress slacks, a long-sleeved button-up shirt, and usually a suit jacket. She always looks sharp. When she dresses up, she is stunning. I want to take her out and show her off and be like, that's right, I belong to her.

It's getting warmer out. Too warm for long-sleeved button-up shirts and suit jackets. Raja doesn't have much in the way of summer clothes—probably because she (like me) prefers to spend the evil hot days inside, though (unlike me) she doesn't spend any time poolside. If the occasion should arise where Raja wants to come with me when I go to the pool, she would need swimwear. Swimwear that she'd be comfortable in. Swimwear that... well... wasn't swimwear, apparently. Ladies, we have terrible choices in swimwear for the bodily self-conscious!

Raja really doesn't like it to be obvious that she has breasts. (This is, I understand, a common issue with butches/studs/whathaveyou.) Even though I know what she looks like under those layers of cloth, and I think her body is spectacular and delicious, she doesn't like attention and she doesn't like it especially when other guys are staring at her. So, I Googled options. Swimwear. For butches. Swimwear for dykes. I even read about options for FTMs, which made me kind of sad (The fear of being found out! Having to hide in the locker rooms! Why do we even have separate locker rooms? Like nobody's seen boobies or a dick before. PFFT.), but had some really interesting information about packing while swimming.

I don't think Raja needs a cock while in the pool area with me though, so let's stick with the clothing theme here. It appears that the general consensus is “board shorts with a sports bra/a-shirt combo.”

After seeing about 1.5 pictures of this combo, I decided Raja would look FUCKING FANTASTIC in it. I asked her first, of course, and she said it sounded good. So, if she goes to the pool with me, we have a plan! YAY!

This post is coming off a bit impersonal. That's because I'm really EXCITED. I'm in a great mood today. I think it's because I made the decision to take a day to myself. For the past year or so, every day, when I wasn't with Raja, I was with Ark. I was starting to feel... I don't know how to put it... lost? Not in a bad way, mind you. I was immersed in loving them. My every second of every day was saturated with love. But I am, by nature, a loner. I needed alone time and I knew it. So, with the opening of the pool, I said, “I think I'll take Wednesday to myself.” And so it was.

One fashion crisis down. I keep talking to Raja about “dressing” her. I'd love to buy her clothes, but I want to get her explicit permission first. Maybe by the end of the year, we will be the couple at the club, all dressed up and dapper and dandy!

I'm gonna go before I get distracted again.

Dude

So, I never really noticed how much sex I have. I guess I didn't think about it, really, and it's like something you notice only when you aren't getting any. I downloaded this app for my new phone that keeps track of my menses and my ovulation cycle, which is handy (I think), and it has several options for labeling days. One of the labels is “had sex.” I thought, huh, how interesting, and started labeling days when I had sex.

It appears I average about 4 times a week, varying on many things, and sometimes I have sex more than once on the same day (with Ark and with Raja, separately), and there isn't a way to add more than one “had sex” label on the same day. This isn't a huge amount, but it's more sex than I thought I was having.

Sometimes it seems like my life is becoming saturated in sex. This isn't a bad thing, because I do keep it balanced with other things. Sex was already almost always on my mind. I am fascinated by sex, and fetishes and kink, fascinated even with the gender aspect of sex and the sex aspect of gender. Nothing really squicks me and I am eager to at the very least read about, and at the most participate in anything I haven't experienced before.

I'm getting spoiled, I think.

Now that I'm getting more sex, I want more sex. And my partners aren't always DTF. So, if I'm putting on the moves and turning on the signals, but they don't respond and/or they just say no, I get a little... hurt. Moody. Pouty. I almost, almost, sometimes think about just masturbating with them present to make a point (but I don't do it... I'm not that mean).

It seems kinda strange writing this after the interesting weekend I've had. On Friday afternoon, I went over to Raja's apartment and she went down on me, making me come so hard, I got a leg cramp that hurt until Monday.

Then, Friday night, I had a special treat. Remember awhile back, I posted this entry about wanting to watch some people have sex. Well, I got to do that! To be specific, I got to watch two guys blow each other. I'd never even watched gay (m/m) porn before, like on the computer, but the idea of it didn't turn me off, and I figured it couldn't hurt to give it a try. My friend Miles was setting something up with his friend and asked if I'd like to come watch, so I went.

Umm. It was pretty cool. There was no buttsex (I know that's what you're thinking!) but they did 69 which... was... really hot, actually. I was squirming in my little wooden chair from time to time, but I was too nervous to get up and get closer. I'd never met his friend before, and it was my first time seeing people doing something so intimate right in front of me, so I had reverse-stage-fright.

Here's something, though. I got home and I was excited... but Ark was distracted. He was working on leather, watching TV, texting. It was late and I had work in the morning, so I went to bed alone and appreciated (quietly) the simple joys of my vibrator.

Now, I know this is my fault, too. At the time, I was feeling ignored and hurt, but I know I could have said, “Baby, let's go play,” and he would have stopped whatever he was doing and gone to bed with me. But...

I don't know.

I'm a woman.

I make things harder than they have to be, sometimes.

And yes, I do expect him to just notice me and pay attention to me. I know this is wrong and I know I am not the center of the universe (not even the center of his universe), but I am allowed to be moody and... I just am, sometimes.

Anyway, I notice different things about sex, I think, than men notice. When they notice women, too. I realized this as I was watching my friend and his buddy on the bed, as I was looking at more than just their cocks, as I was appreciating their expressions and sounds. I liked the way Miles murmured encouragements, and the way the muscles in his friend's leg twitched when he really enjoyed the feeling of whatever was being done. The curled and stretched-out toes, the tell-tale unconscious humping, almost animal, primal, pure. Oh, and orgasms.

I love orgasms.

Hey, so, guess who got to have two of those today?

THIS GIRL.

That's right! I did it! At Raja's place! TWO! Just a few months ago, I was writing about how hard it was for me to achieve orgasm and that it was a struggle for she and I but... wow! Look at us now! Two in one day! I know. I'm shocked, too. And I have more news for y'all. Apparently I like to receive oral sex.

I remember thinking, “eh, oral sex, it doesn't really do it for me...”

Well. That's a little different now. Okay that's a LOT different now. A tongue on my clit feels so different than a finger or a vibrator or... well... anything! I think I like it enough to beg for it. That, combined with her fingers pressing inside of me, is what made me come both times today. It feels so good it makes my head spin. I'm getting a little dizzy just remembering it.

Yeah, it was that good.

Well, here was another article all about sex. I sure think about sex a lot.

I even text about it all day.

But that's for another article. Until then!

The Cat's On The Counter

If you follow me on Facebook, you saw that all went well with the negotiations with Sir.

When Ark got home from work, he told me he was really nervous and a little afraid. I said, “What on earth are you afraid of?!” Laughing, of course. I mean, I was the one getting ready to sign a piece (at least one day a week) of my life away. He said the whole thing made him feel nervous. Okay. I told him I figured we'd both feel better about it once we got there and talked to Sir.

We arrived a little late, which worked out okay because Sir had been working on his car. He needed some tools and we hit the grocery store on the way back from Lowe's so they could get some groceries, and not have to worry about walking to and from. We got back in, and sat around chatting for a while, before we got down to business.

The guidelines we decided on were very basic. This is just a month-long trial contract, at which point we'll sit down and see if we think it'll work, then we'll make it longer. I'm a hardcore n00b at the D/s, contract, protocol thing, so I wasn't really sure what should go in it. I followed Sir's lead.

One of the things was that I should call him 'Sir,” which of course I've been doing and trying to remember to do, not just when talking/texting with him, but also when I'm talking to other people about him, instead of using his name. On my phone, I changed it from his real name to 'Sir' so that's what I see whenever I look at the contact.

Then there were other little things: I'm to perform household chores, and cook dinner on the night I'm there. I don't sit on the furniture except during meals. My limits will be honored. If at any time either of us feel that the relationship isn't working, we have the power to end it.

I'll also be attending “play parties” with Sir. I'm not entirely sure what happens at these, but I have an idea, and I have been really looking forward to going. I'm to make salsa for a play party happening soon.

On the note of food, I was considering just posting about what food I made here. But I realized I didn't want this to turn into a food blog. I have run a food blog before and it was a TON of fun, but after a while, we lost Internet, and I just stopped taking pictures of food. But I've started taking pictures again, and I have Internet intermittently. On several occasions I've danced with the idea of reopening it (it was called “yiff the cook!” in honor of my sometimes furry-like fancies), and I even have a FurAffinity account dedicated to my food pictures.

Now that I know I'm going to be making something delicious at least once a week, I think it might be a good idea to start a food blog again. I was thinking of titling it “the cat's on the counter again.”

Well, I thought it was funny.

Pierced

I watched my cousin get her tongue pierced at the beach a few years ago. I leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, watching with mild interest. I don't like needles, and I don't like piercings. The only piercings I had were my earlobes, which were done when I was too young to have a valid opinion about the whole thing.

The piercer told her calmly about the procedure. He clamped her tongue, pulled out the long, hollow needle, and stuck it through her tongue. Blood welled up instantly from the wound, and I saw tears appear in my cousin's eyes.

Suddenly, the room spun. I had to sit down—I was going to pass out. I didn't watch the rest of the procedure but I knew I would never, ever, get another piercing.

What can I say? This is where stubbornness gets me. As I sit here, typing, I'm playing with the barbell that's been in my tongue for just over a week. So, what changed my mind?

Every once in a while, I get to thinkin' about something. I admired tongue rings in other girls' mouths, and I loved the variety of barbells available. I don't have the stomach (literally) for a belly ring, and I don't have the stomach (figuratively) for nipple or genital piercings. I didn't see the *challenge* in getting another ear piercing. When I thought about getting my tongue pierced, I felt excitement, and I felt fear, and I felt the urge to conquer that fear. (Not to mention, the **other** benefits of having a tongue piercing... *wink wink*)

As soon as I get in this state of mind, that I am **absolutely going to do something**, there is really no deterring me. I did some research, talked to my lovers about it, and finally went in and made the appointment.

I went in straight. No painkillers, no liquor. I held the vodka, and the ibuprofen, before I left, but I put them down. Like getting a tattoo, I didn't want the piercing to be affected adversely by something I put into my body prior. I sat down on the edge of the table in the piercing room. It looked like I was in a hospital—this really did nothing to settle my nerves. My heart was thudding in my chest.

Mouthwash. Pincers. Needle. *Owwwwowowowowowowow!* Barbell.

I made it. I did it! I have a tongue piercing!

Success feels like not kissing for 2-4 weeks.