In my fantasy you show up at my hotel room, sweeping me off my feet with your suave and dapper style, but it’s Daddy’s hand on my backside that makes me melt. I can’t stop kissing you. I want you in my mouth. Oh Kyle, we only have a few hours. Whatever will we do?
(Special thanks to Kyle from Butchtastic for helping me to shoot this fantasy sequence! Stay tuned to see what happens when a couple of gender queered sex-positive bloggers get wild. There’s lots of kissing, talking, giggling, and strap-on wars…)
When I look in the mirror I am usually pretty happy with what I see. I like my body, my hair, my face – but sometimes I get frustrated when what I see doesn’t fit with how I feel inside. I like being female, but there are times when I feel very male. I struggle with how to present myself as a male. How do I express who I am as a man?
I recently fulfilled a long time fantasy to dress as the man I see myself as and it was really pretty much a perfect evening. I had so much fun! My friends got married and held a masquerade ball. (Congrats guys!) The invitations said, “dress to impress” and I immediately thought about wearing a tuxedo. I’ve always wanted to wear a tux. It seems the epitome of men’s fashion, suave and debonair. What could be sexier?
I fetishize tuxedos to such an extent that just picking up the tux gave me a high like participating in a BDSM scene for a couple of hours. I went to the Tuxedo Club in Kirkland and they were amazing. I had a lot of anxiety going in because I worried that it wouldn’t be right. I was there for over an hour while they explained each piece. I love the details – cufflinks, spats, pocket watches and such. They worked with me to make sure that I had exactly what I wanted in a tuxedo. I left feeling exhilarated.
I wanted the perfect date for this wedding reception, so I invited DW. I got dressed at his house and he was full of useful information, like tips on how to better use a compression vest to bind my breasts. (“Pull together and you’ve got cleavage, pull up and out toward the armpits and you’ve got pecs.”) I am so grateful to DW for all of his graceful instruction and sense of humor. He also looks damn hot in a tux.
We had fun at the party. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years, and a few of them didn’t recognize me! I felt amazing: strong, sexy, grounded. DW and I got increasingly friskier, groping each other surreptitiously while everyone focused on the bride and groom cutting the cake. It felt good when his fingers brushed against my clit, but I kept wishing that I had decided to pack so he could feel my cock.
We left while the night was still young. We stopped at a grocery store because DW insisted on getting me food I could eat, something that earns him a hundred gold stars in my book. Walking through the store in a tux made the experience real. I was not just going to a costume party, I was in public. It was awesome. I want to own a tux so I can put it on to run to the grocery store. (After 5:00 p.m. of course, as DW pointed out.)
Once we had taken off the tuxedos and I had eaten, we retired to the bedroom. DW has a perfect way about him. I feel comfortable and I trust him, which makes it possible (just barely) for me to submit to him. He brings me right up to the point where I would have to stop. I find myself sitting in uncomfortable places that I would not normally tolerate with anyone else. And then I feel amazing afterward. This man has incredible skill.
He called me “boy” the entire time. I dropped to my knees in front of him. He urged me to take his cock deeper and deeper into my throat, slapping my face when I didn’t try hard enough. I gagged and tears ran down my face, but I eventually found my rhythm.
He wrapped his fingers in my hair and dragged me to the bed. He bent me over the edge and bit my back while I squirmed in protest. He was gone briefly then came back with what I think was a belt. He used it to encourage me to use proper responses to his attentions. It sounded like this: “SMACK. (breath, breath, moan…) Yes Daddy! SMACK. (sucked in breath, exhale) Yes Daddy!” Between the belt and his hand I started to get the hang of it.
Our play got gentler after that. I did more cock sucking. We snuggled. I orgasmed. He is a fabulous kisser. He wove incredible fantasies for me. He rolled me over and fucked me hard, like I had been wanting in a desperate kind of way. I also wanted him to come all over me, so he straddled my hips. We took turns with lube and his cock. He talked dirty to me (cuz I’m a dirty boy). I played with his nipples and really felt like a boy. I could feel my cock and I wanted him to sit on it. I wanted to fuck him with my cock while he spilled on my chest. It was toe-curling, back-arching, super-hot fucking.
I had so much fun. I’m still on that high a couple of days later. It’s interesting to me that none of the (sometimes crippling) anxiety I feel in social situations plagued me at the reception. Perhaps it is the power of the tuxedo. Maybe I feel more confident as a boy. Could be that DW puts me at ease. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
I’ve felt great all weekend. I put on the tux again to take some photos with Harold, this time with me on top. Those images turn me on so much. Like crazy horny. I’ve never had that experience with photos of myself before! I don’t even know what to make of it. Renting a tux has been more than a costume for a party, more than cross-dressing, and more than a fetish. It’s been a dream come true.
My head is still swirling with images from last weekend – memories of taking the train to Portland, experiencing my first leather event, and swanky hotel threesome sex all invade my mind. It was a good time. I felt like a teenager running away from home, full of excitement tinged with a trace of fear. I felt like I was getting away with something wicked and I relished every moment on my own. I made it all count.
Harold dropped me off at the train station, where Hobbit and her Princess Girlfriend found me. On the way down to Portland they explained the basics of leather culture and titles. They were both very gracious in answering all my questions. Although I’ve spent most of my life on the edges of the LGBT and BDSM communities, I have never directly attended a leather event. (I love new experiences!) In Portland, we met up with Woody, DW, and Shawna.
My Sweet Girl, Shawna, was running for Ms. Oregon State Leather. I wanted to be there to see her in her element. And I was there, with the taste of whisky in my mouth, the smell and creak of leather around me, music blasting, and the trace of a lover’s fingers along the back of my neck. I felt alive in a way I rarely experience, but value more than anything. I got to see Shawna and the other competitors explain how they would serve the community. I watched the outrageous manifestations of their fantasies come to life onstage. I witnessed the contestants poise when answering pop questions. I learned a lot about leather culture observing their numerous outfit changes. Underneath everything was a sense of humor and unapologetic sexuality.
Everyone I encountered was warm, respectful, and self-contained. It’s the first time I have ever been in a bar or club and not had someone come on to me in a sticky or obnoxious way. People did talk to me. I had fascinating conversations with interesting people. But I never even came close to having to tell someone to fuck off. It’s nice to be fully and comfortably in my sexual self and not have to defend my boundaries because someone else thinks that all my shiny is for them. I think these leather folks are onto something.
Mostly, I was happy to see Shawna win the title. My Sweet Girl is now Ms. Oregon State Leather 2014! I’m so proud of all that she’s accomplished and I know that she’s going to spend the next year doing great things for the leather community. I am endlessly amazed by her humility and grace, as well as the strength of her convictions and iron will. I love her.
I was proud of myself because after the contest was over, I did exactly what I wanted to do. I did not go to the after party. I did not go out to eat with friends. I went back to my lovely hotel and engaged in self-care. I ate food that I brought with me, that would not make me sick. I put ice on my broken toes. I read my book.
While I enjoyed alone time, I was excited when DW texted to say that he was in the lobby with Shawna. I took the elevator down to get them. In a surreal moment, we went back up with a couple that had just gotten married. They asked about Shawna’s Ms. Oregon State Leather sash!
It’s such a joy to sit and talk to friends. Even better when we snuggle up in bed together. I think DW delights in helping people actualize their desires because soon hands were roaming and Shawna started moaning. DW had her ask me for fisting (which I had mentioned being into earlier). We had her spread across the bed between us – DW’s cock in her throat and my whole hand inside her beautiful cunt. Fisting is such a deeply spiritual experience for me, although I normally have more of an opportunity to check in with the person I am inside. Her vaginal contractions were so strong, she would force my hand out over and over. It was the most amazing thing.
When Shawna felt she’d had enough, she switched to giving DW head from on top. I played with his nipples and sat on his face until I came. Shortly after, DW orgasmed.
It was four in the morning. I usually go to bed no later than 10:00, but some things are well worth staying up for. Shawna and DW left to return to their hotel room, but Shawna confessed that this was her first threesome. I feel honored that she chose to spend the evening with me. I hope I did right by her.
I tumbled into a contented, dreamy sleep, only to awaken at 8:00 a.m. That’s sleeping in for me! I stumbled around figuring out coffee and rejecting room service. Woody texted me from the Bolt Bus on his way back to Seattle. I got him to sext me while I used my vibrator to come over and over. I wonder what the person next to him thought.
My own trip home was good. I thought lots of deep thoughts. I felt both satiated and hungry for more. I really love the train. It’s so relaxing to stare out the window and think in peace. My fantasy life is rich, but occasionally, real life eclipses my imagination.
Have you wondered what it would feel like to make love for hours on end? Could you take sex to such a sacred level that everything you do together is about sustained attraction and pleasure? Could you open your heart and let your partner flow through you?
We had 40 hours alone together in an alpine chalet. We made love for every minute of it, so happy to share company, so enraptured by each other’s pleasure, that everything we did was infused with love. Every time we are together we create a bond that goes deeper.
We made love for 40 hours, holed up in a tiny rundown a-frame. I said “made love”, not fucked, although we did lots of fucking. No, I mean we created love between us. We slept wrapped in each other’s arms, breathing in the scent of our sweat on each other’s skin. We slept in blissful golden safety.
When we woke in the morning, our desire peaked. The river rushed by our window and we simply merged – his mouth driving me wild, fingers inside me, my orgasm stretching out, taking his proud erection in my mouth. We paused as he entered me. Is this what we wanted? We had all day…
For 40 hours we made love with every action. We nibbled on finger foods, drank orange juice and coffee. I feel loved when I am fed. He shows love by providing for me. Food is such a sensual joy when we take time to enjoy it.
I meditated on the bed, feeling his presence strong beside me. I spiraled deep inside myself, seeing everything laid out before me. Anchored by his love, I healed parts of me that had been broken. Stretched out beside his warm body, I experienced a clarity that is often elusive. When I opened my eyes to his smile, I knew he could feel it too.
We cuddled in the hot tub, rain pouring down, but the mountains gorgeous around us. I couldn’t keep my fingers from his skin. I watched his lips when he talked, needing to kiss them.
We surrounded ourselves in music, filling the small space with rhythms and lyrics that conjured up our past, times before we were together and since our lives have slowly grown together. Sometimes the music felt like it was my whole being and sometimes it was the backdrop of our conversation. We danced.
I laid him out in front of the gas fireplace. Naked in a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor, I sat on his hips and made up his face. Touching a lover’s face is one of the most intimate things I can imagine and I loved making him my art. I was conscious of my cunt moist against his semi-erect cock, but I was intent on applying eyeliner. He never looks effeminate in make-up, it’s more that his fey nature shines through.
Talking seamlessly moved into oral sex and back. I hovered on the edge of orgasm. We fucked in spurts, laced with making out and kinky bits. I spanked him with a hairbrush, but it was my soft caresses that made him cry. We made love before and after eating, in and out of the hot tub, all over the cabin. Always, we stopped short of coming, letting our energy build.
We tumbled into bed, a bit sore, yet still full of need. A storm raged outside and the power went out, plunging us into total darkness. I felt afraid and slept holding his hand, a flashlight clutched in the other. There was a kind of isolation in that darkness, like being wrapped in a cocoon, but in some way we were still making love. It was just the two of us, far away from the rest of the world.
In the morning, he pampered me – an array of breakfast delights, my vibrator, and kisses all over. I finally found release with the help of his hands and it was incredibly sweet. I took over and spent some time focused on his body. It’s such a gift to have him give himself to me like that.
We talked more in the hot tub. He broke through some wall I didn’t know was there. One moment we were drying off and the next I was crouched on the floor sobbing. He wrapped his whole body around me and held me while grief thundered out of me. I dripped snot into his hair.
We cleaned up and left. It wasn’t nearly enough, it’s never enough, but we so desperately need these times to connect with each other. We had 40 hours together in a run-down a-frame and we made every second count. What I know is that every second always counts. I want to make love every moment because I don’t know how much time we’ll have together in this world, but the love we make is real and will stay with me forever.
Cleis Press and Rachel Kramer Bussel always deliver quality writing on the topic of sex, and this year’s Best Sex Writing is no exception. This collection of 20 essays span a broad range of topics, writing styles, and voices that are all provocative. While a few stirred me sexually, largely this book challenged me to think more.
The point of Best Sex Writing is to bring together all of the most fascinating essays published in the past year. Since I read a lot about sex, some of these pieces were a reread for me, but most of them were fresh. I was surprised to see a brief reference to Harold in an essay about polyamory. Weird!
I enjoyed reading through this book, but I have to say the overall tenor was discouraging. Best Sex Life’s tagline is, “The state of today’s sexual culture.” I suppose that’s true, but I found the collection to be strangely flat and depressing, almost as though a fog obscured nearly every piece. You can’t write interesting things about sexuality without engaging the emotions, and I’m afraid that very few of these grabbed me. Several made me feel very negative about sexuality. I’m afraid that our culture is still far from pleasure positive.
Still, I had to share my favorites with Harold and we’ve engaged in a little He said/She said for you enjoyment…
Very Legal: Sex and Love in Retirement, by Alex Morris: A report on love and sex in an assisted living facility.
He said: I am getting old myself… wait, can that be? Yes, I’m coming up on 65. What strikes me about aging so far is how little the core of my sex life has changed in 50 years. Well, it’s true I can’t get a good hard-on any more without Viagra, and I don’t jerk off four or five times a week like I used to, but the overwhelming joy of reaching ecstasy and sharing intimacy is still there, just the way it always has been, at the center of my life. Alex Morris writes about people in their 80’s and 90’s, people coming up on death who are living with the inevitable failing of their bodies, who seem to be finding the same thing… sex may get more difficult physically, but still has that vibrant emotional kick to it. The story makes me happy.
She said: How delightfully refreshing to be talking about ninety-year-olds’ relationships! These are all things that I’m not thinking about yet, so I really enjoy seeing that romantic interests and libido doesn’t die as one ages. In a way, the people discussed in this essay have more freedom to be honest with themselves and each other about what they want. I’ll totally be sneaking into Harold’s bed 30 years from now.
Baby Talk, by Rachel Kramer Bussel: A personal memoir about the author’s first experience with age play and being a “Mommy.”
He said: What happens when your lover asks you to treat him/her as a child in bed? I’m a father, I adore my children, and I’ve always felt very protective of their personal boundaries. I’ve known too many people whose fathers let sexual desire leak onto their children explicitly or subliminally, causing lasting damage. I would never want to impose adult sexuality on any child. But then… my lover asks me to make love to her as if she’s 13 years old. Oh no, I couldn’t. But she shows me that it’s healing because of her past, it’s a kind of acceptance that would be precious to her. I understand, but… does this make me a pedophile? How real is it? Are there boundaries within our imagination? It’s not an easy place, truly. I’ve gone there though, and it was possible, and healing, and good. That’s what Bussel is writing about too.
She said: Having myself been confronted with a lover’s odd kinks spontaneously in the middle of sex play, I really commend Rachel for going with it and immediately seeing the potential. Age play can be such a minefield. My heart just opened up reading this account and her willingness to push her own boundaries. This is a very sweet essay, and a bit wistful over the outcome.
Ghosts: All My Men Are Dead, by Carol Queen: A love note to the men the author is mourning, as well as a coming of age story.
He said: While sudden death can tear a hole in the fabric of reality, lingering death eats away your heart. Carol Queen writes simply and beautifully about her friends and lovers who have fallen over the years to the plague of AIDS and related syndromes. It’s so hard to know what to do with death in our culture. As she says, “I think we are ashamed to die.” By celebrating their memory and honoring her own grief, Queen makes it easier to face the losses we have to deal with and the end we all come to.
She said: This is hands down, the best essay in this book. I read it with tears silently streaming down my face. Carol is so honest, so authentic. Talking about death could easily become manipulative or maudlin, but she doesn’t go there. It’s so easy to see myself in her writing. I was incredibly moved by her account of self discovery and personal evolution entwined with dying lovers and the character of the city she loves. Hauntingly beautiful.
Lost Boys, by Kristen Hinman: An exposé on the inflated numbers of underaged girls being sex trafficked, the numbers more likely to be real because they’re based on science, and how many boys in sex work fail to get aid at all.
He said: Sex work is like recreational drugs: criminalization and demonization blur all distinctions in a fog of myth, and create the very horrors people say they want to prevent. Hinman reports on the best studies of underage prostitution in the U.S., and makes clear that nearly half the young sex workers are boys, and only around 10% work through pimps. The kids don’t particularly like doing sex for money, but they like the money. What is clear is that their main exploitation is economic: no one will offer them any other work. And the worst of this is that horrendous trafficking by adults, often parents, in very young children is put in the same bucket as teenagers choosing to make money the only way they can find, by selling sexual services. The former is a devastating crime of violence, while the latter is a symptom of our society’s economic failure.
She said: I’ve been hearing some outrageous “statistics” lately about the 3 million underage girls being pimped out and it makes me angry. Don’t get me wrong, I know that sex trafficking happens and I want it stop, but this essay made it clear that many of the organizations set up to help rescue trafficked girls exist mostly to make money for themselves. It’s a lot of politics. They aren’t even trying to understand their demographic. I really appreciated this article because it was understated and let me come to my anger on my own.
As always, Best Sex Writing is a must read, if only to get a snapshot of the year in sexuality. This year, I came away with two main points, one personal and one a universal truth. Personally, I discovered that I really dislike the term “open marriage” to describe polyamory. It’s kinda like asking a pair of lesbians which one gets to be the man. It is using the rules of the cultural norm to define something totally outside of the rules. But, whatever. The most important thing I learned was that sexuality changes all the time throughout life. I find that very reassuring.
- Power tools and lingerie
- When I’m a boy
- Evoë, in the library, with the…
- Sexy hip waders
- Peace and joy to all
- Tinsel and ass
- The inside voice
- May mud
- Book tour: Say Please, edited by Sinclair Sexsmith
- Review: Soft Pack
- Getting ready
- Review: Crystal Delights Minx Plug with Tail
- Fantasy #23 – fuck me like an animal
- My inner boy
- Elliott Bay Sauna & Hot Tub Company
- A midsummer night
- No rest for the wicked!
- Seattle Erotic Art Festival
- Celebrating fertility
- Queers on vacation!
- Rock star haircut
- Dangerous Girlie
- Portland adventure day 2
- Portland adventure day 1
- Curvy grrrl needs lingerie!
- Oh my socks and garters!
- Merry Christmas!
- Orgasm relieves holiday stress
- Best wishes for a bright Solstice!
- Nearly Naked, Gender-Fluid Santa
- Weekend get-away
- Seamless sex
- A day for odd things
- Cross-section of a sex life