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.
I used to be able to have sex without using anything other than body parts – mouths, hands, cunts, cocks. Nothing will ever take the place of flesh, but I now find that there are certain…tools…that I pretty much can’t live without. Since I don’t often have kinky sex at home, I have a sex kit and I carry it around in an innocuous black backpack. I never use everything in one sitting, but I never know what I might want. It’s become a bit of an art determining what my necessities are.
Wanna know which sex toys/tools I care enough about to carry around with me? I recently emptied out my bag and took a picture so I could share…
- Play piercing supplies – I have sharps of various lengths and gages, antibiotic cream, and tiny corks to put on the ends of needles if people want to wear them around a bit.
- Scalpel – This is a surgical grade scalpel with disposable blades that I use for blood play. Sometimes I just feel moved to carve a heart in Harold’s ass!
- Nitrile gloves – A must have! These non-latex babies get used any time someone puts fingers inside my vagina (my pH balance is delicate) and for anal play.
- Condoms – Not just for safer sex! Condoms are also awesome for easy toy clean up. Mine are latex free and non-lubricated if I can find them. I react badly to most lubes.
- Lubricant – My current favorite is Sliquid Naturals Sassy because it’s thicker, lasts longer, is non-irritating, and doesn’t taste like anything.
- Band-aids – This is more about being prepared for little mishaps than anything sexy. Not shown in this picture, but equally important is feminine hygiene products!
- Lip balm – For kissable lips and smooth blow jobs.
- Nipple clamps – I carry four types of nipple clamps and a set of sugar tongs for pinching. I have to admit, I like using the clothes pins best (on other people).
- Vibrator – Inside the mysterious black bag is my Mystic Wand. I have several because I want to have one within reach at all times. If I could only have one sex tool, this would be the one. Not only do I use it to get myself off, a vibrator is tons of fun on a cock.
- Lil Devil – This battery powered electrosex toy produces an electrical shock when both prongs touch skin. It can make for some intense sensations.
- Stronic Zwei – Delivers strong pulse action to the prostate or g-spot.
- Aneros – We’ve tried many different butt plugs and Aneros is far and away the best. Everyone seems to orgasm harder with one of these in their ass. SERIOUSLY.
- njoy Fun Wand – Although this is heavy, it’s so worth the weight. This is the most versatile sex tool I own. And it’s shiny.
- Wartenberg wheel – One of my favorites for sensation play. I have to admit that I like to use it on scrotums so I can watch little drops of blood well up.
- Strap-on harness – My harness is red leather. I love it for pegging. And feeling butch.
- Dildo – I can’t remember what brand this is, but it’s a perfectly average silicone dildo. At about a handspan, it seems to be a perfect size for almost everything I want a dildo to do.
- Rope – I like to carry a variety of rope because you just never know what kind of situations you’ll find yourself in. No wait, I have a variety of rope because I know I’ll be up to mischief! I like the lighter weight stuff for things like cock bondage. Heavier rope is great for tying people to trees.
- Carabiners – Handy for stringing people up! Also good for a quick release when I need to fuck them instantly.
- Chain – This is a 6 foot length of chain. I suppose in theory I could use it for bondage, but really what I like is to insert the length of it into my cunt one link at a time with lots of lube. That’s why it’s sterilized and sealed in a plastic bag.
- Ball whackers – Harold made both of these tools for ball torture. I usually start with the soft solid black one then work up to the harder wooden-handled one. His pleasure really turns me on.
- Fleshwrap – This clever device is like a push-up bra for scrotums. Goes well with #1 and #14.
- Ball Ties – Harold likes binding his balls. Through extensive experimentation, he has discovered that lengths from women’s tights work best. I like bright colors!
- Vise – When I want maximum impact, I reach for the vise. It’s another tool that Harold made for ball torture. See it here and here. We’ve even tried fitting a breast in there!
- Collar – Harold has a purple leather/leopard fur collar that I put on him when I’m feeling especially Toppy.
- Rabbit fur – My rabbit fur is painted to look like leopard, of course. Nothing beats the sensual feel of fur.
- Cuffs – Black leather wrist and ankle cuffs are a necessity. I have a set that Joel handcrafted for me, but it feels wrong to use them with everybody else. This is my general use set.
- Leather paddles – Harold made both of these larger ones. The black one is very well made and fairly standard. The pink heart is like a child’s valentine gone horribly wrong, but I love it. It stings like fuck! (The teeny one off to the side is great on cocks.)
- Floggers – We own a several floggers, but these two ended up in my bag. The black one is a commercial model and Harold made the green leather one. It’s heavier and generally better.
A few days ago Harold (my partner in life, love, and hare-brained scheming) turned 65. He’s not much for celebrating, but we wanted to do something special. Of course we wanted to make love, but what else? We couldn’t think of just the right thing until the day before. I don’t remember now, how tattoos came up. Initially it was sort of a dare or a jest, then we started talking about tattoos as a form of submission to each other – how cool it would be to channel the energy of pain and excitement into sexual energy.
What if I gave my pain to him while I was being marked by his symbol? What if he actually brought me to orgasm while I was being tattooed? We were intrigued by the possibilities, but neither of us was sure there was a permanent mark we were willing to take on. We had feverish conversations throughout the eve of his birthday. Optimistically I made us an appointment.
The next morning we got together early. I wanted to shower and spend some time connecting, so I started up some Janis Joplin and both of us squeezed into a shower clearly made for one. I adore hot water and slick soapy skin. Things were starting to heat up.
With his cock hard in my hand, I asked Harold what he wanted sexually. Like normal, he temporized, telling me to just go with what I felt was right. I’ve been pushing him more to think about and vocalize the things he desires, so I didn’t let him off the hook.
He began to talk about me punishing him somehow. I was in an excited sexy place, so it took me a few minutes to realize that the energy had changed between us. It stopped feeling sexy. I immediately centered myself and opened up to Harold. I sat him down on the toilet seat and straddled him, wrapping my arms around him. I could feel some pain from his childhood there – something that I had triggered when we fought last week. We talked through it until it felt okay for us both. We do this kind of thing a lot and it makes for much better sex.
We walked down to the cabin in the glorious morning sunshine, wearing only shoes and coats. The chill air on my thighs and the thrill of being naked outdoors started to make me wet. There was already a fire going in the cabin. We proceeded to have some of the hottest sex we’ve had in a long time. He went down on me until I came. I strung him up in cuffs and did wicked things to his nipples and balls. I pushed him more than I ever have before and we both reached new heights.
When neither of us could wait another second, I bent over in front of him and let him fuck me from behind, his arms still suspended above his head. This is one of my favorite positions. I bent over the bed, where I had all of my tools spread out. He pounded into me. I rocked forward with each thrust, my breath coming out in harsh gasps, escalating to full throated moans, followed shortly by Harold’s ecstatic bellows.
Evidently my head was bumping my phone in the final throes of Harold’s birthday sex and Siri heard our vocalizations. Her voice surprised us, “I do not understand ‘who, who, who, who.’ I could search the Internet for you.” I laughed hysterically when I figured out what was going on.
From there we drove to to get tattoos, anticipation and anxiety sharing equal space. We knew what we wanted but we weren’t sure where. We talked through the positives and negatives of every possible location. Eventually we went with what felt right for each of us.
Harold went first. You have to understand that he’s never wanted a tattoo before. The fact that he celebrated turning 65 by getting his first tattoo is very inspirational to me. I think he enjoyed the process. He got spacey in a charming way, holding my hand. Afterwards, he was proud and blissed out. I love him so much.
This was not my first dance, but I was shocked by how intense the pain was in the tender flesh of my upper stomach. It got better over time, but initially there was no way that I could have sexualized that sensation. I’m just not a masochist. What I did do, over and over, was send the energy to Harold, giving him my pain, taking his mark. He held my hand and touched my face.
After, we were so high on endorphins. I felt amazing. We had so much fun.
We went home to my darling husband, who had prepared an incredible and gorgeous conch and squid ceviche just for Harold. Joel had even managed to find Harold’s favorite alcoholic beverage, Punt è Mes, which is rare in these parts. (Have I mentioned that sometimes it is unbelievably awesome to have two partners who care about each other?) The children had all made birthday cards and gotten him flowers. More glowy happiness!
Harold spent some time talking with his wife and I put the kids to bed. We fell into each other’s arms and the softness of bed. Tired happiness gave way to gentle kisses. deep probing kisses became grinding gyrations. Without any thought we were making love again. Happy birthday Baby and many more…
I’ve finally figured out what is more intimate and intense than making love with one of my partners – making love with both of my partners at once over a long period of time! Today I am sore in places I previously was not aware of having muscles. Today I tingle and twinge and shiver in remembrance of our time together, but I feel satisfied. I have amazing men in my life, lovers who know every inch of me, inside and out. I feel accepted, loved, and set free to soar.
When we set out, I wasn’t sure it was going to work. It was our first time with three of us going away together. 24 hours in a cabin could be heaven or it might be a trap if things blow up. With our busy lives, kids, and everything, it wasn’t easy to find the time to run away together. We’ve had occasional dates, an afternoon, but not enough time to really relax and talk. This was our chance to sync up.
We work well together. From grocery shopping together, to unloading the car and getting settled, we operated as a team. There was a little bit of awkwardness – like that moment when everything was done and we sat there looking at each other, wondering what to do next. Luckily we were in a beautiful place, in a cabin next to the river, with a hot tub and a king-sized bed. It didn’t take us long to get naked. And start taking photos.
We quickly discovered how nice it is to have three people, because when two people are engaged in some kind of activity, the third person can take pictures. I also really appreciated Joel taking photos because he’s so much of an artist and I rarely get the chance to have him involved. At first I played model self consciously, unsure of our surroundings, but as the evening progressed our sex play got kinkier and I started to ignore the camera.
We did talk a lot, working through things that have been bothering us, but each emotional revelation brought us closer to each other, often inspiring a round of sexual activity. Harold especially is prone to spasms of, “I love you soooo much!” followed by oral sex. It’s a very pleasurable way to work through things that might otherwise be too painful. I felt inspired and supported by their love, making it easier to release the stress and pain that builds up over time. Sandwiched between my Loves, I could cry and they could kiss everything better.
Joel surprised me by being vulnerable in sexual way, which I can’t remember seeing in the 13 years we’ve been together. Maybe in the first couple of years. but not for a long time. Shyly at first, then more clearly so I couldn’t mistake it, he asked me to explore anal with him. Each step of the way he made his consent clear, but he was opening up to me, letting me take him. I cherish his trust in me. It was a beautiful, deeply erotic pleasure to explore him at his request.
After that we spent time outside, under the clear night sky, beside the fierce river, the heat of the fire warming our flesh. When the cold got to our toes, we climbed into the hot tub, where I watched the guys make out and gazed at the stars. I felt soothed and at peace for the first time in about a month. Seeing Joel and Harold be physically intimate lifted some weight I didn’t know I was carrying. The don’t exactly turn each other on, but they do love each other a lot. It matters.
When we went inside, it was Harold’s turn to feel sad and vulnerable. I took him in hand, trying to find the right combination of loving touch and firm punishment. I spread him across my lap and delivered a good spanking, pausing from time to time to give his balls attention. I really get off on spanking and it helped to bring Harold back into alignment with me. We both reached a point where we couldn’t take it any more and had to fuck. We changed positions all over the bed, with Joel giving an assist here and there, before finally settling into an exhausted sleep all together.
In the morning we gathered in the sunroom to drink coffee, eat breakfast, and discuss world events. There’s a lot of comfort to be had in easy camaraderie, sharing a simple meal, having the luxury to meet each other’s eyes and just know that we’re thinking the same thing. I woke up with a new sense of optimism.
We spent more time in the hot tub, sharing business plans. I went in to shower and masturbate. Joel took pictures, his lust building. When he couldn’t stand it, we all three went upstairs and fucked in a flurry of limbs, tongues, and vibrators. My nipples never lacked attention. I was amazed to realize that both of my men seem to be turned on by watching me have sex with someone else. Both are willing to go down on me after the other has come inside me, when I am messy. I love them both so much.
Everything is kind of a blur now – a kaleidoscope of pleasure, sex, and love. I can’t explain what happened. Yes, it was all about sex, but the sex was just the language we used to connect to each other. It was a kind of magic. I think we must each glow with goodness. We make a pretty awesome threesome.
Funny how things stop seeming kinky when I do them all the time. Squeezing Harold’s balls seemed shockingly, outrageously, horrifyingly kinky when he first proposed it to me. Now I knead his testicles pretty much any time we are sexual together. It has become normal. In fact, I would say that we hardly ever do anything kinky any more, but I know that other people think we do. I am beginning to see how the definition of kink would change from person to person and even for the same individual over time.
Today we did something that felt kinky. Actually, a couple of things – we tied up my breasts and filled my cunt with chain. That added edge of knowing that I’m doing something that pushes my boundaries is so sexy! I find that there is a fine line between hot and not when working with kink, so communication becomes super important. I need to be able to let my partner know when things feel more uncomfortable than provocative, but hovering between the two can really turn me on.
I’ve had my breasts tied up before, but it didn’t do very much for me, other than seem weird. For some reason, it was just the right thing to do today. I tied them myself, bending over at the waist and wrapping each breast tightly, crossing over in the middle. The effect was to make my breasts firmer and to stick out more. Having all that blood trapped made my skin so sensitive. Harold couldn’t stop stroking and tweaking. Every touch sent a rush of heat to my cunt.
It was pretty easy to bring me to orgasm the first time. Wow. I might have been able to orgasm with breast stimulation alone, but we added oral sex and then a vibrator. I came so hard with Harold’s hands on my breasts! As the sensations subsided, the ropes around my chest suddenly didn’t feel right any more. My breasts were also turning blue. It was time to unwind the binding, but I was still pretty turned on.
After such an amazing orgasm, I was wet and I wanted something inside me. Our backpack of sex toys yielded up a length of chain that we have tried vaginally a couple of times. (You can read about it here.) Basically, we didn’t start until I was warmed up and we used a lot of lubricant to insert the chain, one smooth link at a time.
Initially, the only sensation was Harold’s fingers pushing the chain into my vagina. Then involuntary spasms of pleasure would clench my internal muscles around the chain and the resistance would make me spasm all over again. I started experiencing a feeling of fullness and the links started to feel pinchy going in and we halted there. (I’m getting good at stopping before things get uncomfortable!)
I can’t describe what it’s like to have my cunt full of chain. Physically, there is a sense of heaviness or fullness that is both comforting and erotic. Intellectually, although I know that we are doing this as safely as possible, chain registers on my danger meter. There is some part of me wondering what the hell I’m doing. Isn’t it just plain wrong to put foreign objects in your cootchie? Emotionally, I take all of the raw sexual energy of those thoughts and transform it all into blindingly hot sex.
I don’t know how else to explain. I was nearly coming the whole time Harold was inserting chain. Once it was in, I used a vibrator on my clit and orgasmed right away. Harold slowly pulled the chain out (about 5 feet worth) as I came and the orgasm lasted the entire time and then some. Having chain in my cunt is the most fabulous thing ever. And it’s kinky (for the moment).
The doctor called to tell me that my sexually transmitted disease screening results were in. Although her tone was rushed and annoyed, she drew out the suspense as though this were the elimination finale of a dance competition. Numb with anxiety, I played along, making polite noises to cover my fears that my life was about to change forever. After making it clear that she resented me rejecting a consultation and simply opting for lab tests, she let me know the outcome.
HSV1 (“oral herpes”)…negative.
HSV2 (“genital herpes”)…negative.
HIV…negative…but… I drew in my breath wondering about that “but.” WTF? She explained that the lab had taken it upon themselves to perform some super special HIV test, that she would never have asked for, and the results wouldn’t be in for a couple of more weeks. But basically, I tested negative for the things we asked for. The doctor implied that I had wasted her time with my anxiety and that testing for STD’s is not necessary for someone as “low risk” as I am.
This is not my regular practitioner. The ARNP that I normally see has been out of the office for a week. I miss her. If I had been able to talk to my GP about my concerns, I think all would have been well. She knows me and my poly family. She has always treated me with respect and care for my triggers around health care and sexuality. She once took 90 minutes to personally walk me through a pelvic exam. I should have waited for her to be back, but I needed to know as soon as possible, so instead I got this condescending and ignorant doctor.
It took several conversations with the nurse to get my desires across to the triage nurse. I explained my risk factors and expressed my level of anxiety. I declined to come in because I would have to bring 3 young children with me and I knew that it wouldn’t reassure me the way that lab tests would. What was there to look at anyway? I was asymptomatic by all accounts. They probably thought they could just talk me down.
Instead, I think I came close to making the nurse cry. I know that I was shaking, furious that anyone would have the audacity to claim that they knew more about my emotional state, my sexuality, or my body than I do. I hung up and the doctor called, making nice and insisting that of course the lab was always an option if I really wouldn’t do the right thing.
I understand that medical professionals don’t want to order unnecessary tests, but I can’t understand why my request to get tested was such a power struggle. I’m also not sure why I’m seen as low risk for STD/STI. I have unprotected sex with partners who in turn have sex with other people. In reality, I probably am fairly safe. I am usually comfortable with my level of risk, but from time to time I need to know where I stand. This current round of anxiety was based in part to reacting to one of my partners starting a new sexual relationship, as well as knowing that I have had some exposure to STD/STI recently. Also, I hadn’t been tested in 2 and a half years. I needed to know.
I’m curious what my medical clinic’s STD risk factors are. No one ever asked me. I imagine that as a 40 year old married woman with 5 kids, it’s assumed that I don’t have sex. I would guess that I am safer in my polyamorous lifestyle than women whose husbands have secret affairs. I have a lot of trust in my partners and we communicate about these things.
I feel really lucky about that list of negatives, but I know that it can change at any time. My health is important to me. I’m going to keep taking reasonable precautions, not only for me, but everyone in my sexual circle. At the same time, I don’t want to let anxiety over STD/STI cripple my sex life. Sex is sometimes too messy for a compulsive hand washer. My partners wear gloves when they put their fingers inside me. I know that there is comfortable balance between safer sex and pursuit of pleasure.
In the future, I think I’ll just go to a STD testing clinic rather than relying on a general practitioner. I don’t want to have to defend my lifestyle or my right to get tested. What about you? How long since your last STD/STI testing?
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.
- Blood, life, sex
- Sinful Sunday – Being me
- You belong on your knees
- Pain made beautiful
- Interview: Xochiquetzal Duti Odinsdottir
- The inside voice
- If I’m not a masochist, why am I torturing myself?
- Review: My Hand
- Review: FleshWrap
- Review: Kinklab Mandible Body Clamps
- Review: A Year of Sex
- Lust for power
- Owning my body
- Review: Inked Glass probe
- David Steinberg
- Speaking my story
- Weight for me
- Prostate milking
- Seattle Erotic Art Festival
- Blood, Sweat, and Queers
- Celebrating fertility
- Sometimes sex makes it all better
- Blog post written on an airline barf bag
- Spring in the Pacific NW
- Disturbing the past
- Lab experiment #13 – Figging
- Top or bottom?
- A hypothetical girlfriend for my husband
- Colt Grips vibrating nipple clamps
- The coffee enema debacle
- Playful partner or scary stalker?
- Okay on the outside
- Pop songs will make it all ok
- More Love
- Falling over the edge (play)
- Video – My Sex Object
- And so it begins…
- A trampling table for me
- Freak of the week
- Shockingly good
- The bondage chair
- Holiday aftercare
- A poly jolly Christmas
- What to get the girl who has everything
- Defusing flashbacks
- Ms. Evoe’s (sex) education
- All of you
- Romance and rope
- First date
- Hardware stores sell sex
- Pain and sex
- Who’s on top?
- Things that we would never do (but turn us on)
- All sex weekend
- NOT Computer Based Training