Yesterday was the first of May, also known as Mayday, or Beltaine – a Celtic Pagan fertility festival. It was an incredibly full day as I celebrated in my own ways, both public and private. There are lots of symbols that represent this holiday and many of them are overtly sexual – bonfires, maypoles, and flowers to name a few. Yes, this is a celebration of sex, the freshness of life, and the coming of Spring. I’ve been needing a bit of that Beltaine energy.
It started early. I was rushing out of the shower so I could go run errands with Harold. I enlisted Joel’s help with slathering on my bath oil. I can’t get oil on my back by myself. He started rubbing his naked front on my back and reaching round to my breasts. Before I knew it, his face was buried between my thighs and I was coming. No time to even worry about being late.
Of course I had to reciprocate! I had Joel right on the edge of coming but I stopped to see if maybe he wanted to wait – save his orgasm for the night’s festivities – but I guess an orgasm in the mouth is better than two in the bush, or somesuch saying. He opted to come now rather than take chances on an uncertain future. I can’t really argue, being an instant gratification girl myself.
By afternoon I had cooked and primped and we were on our way to a potluck Mayday party. Any time I can wear red lingerie and 4 inch red heels is happy for me. (I wore a red dress and sweater as well!) It was a gorgeous day, full of Summer promise. We barbecued. We sat in the sunlight. We talked and laughed with old friends. We ate all kinds of yummy treats. And, we danced the maypole!
For obvious reasons, maypoles are rather phallic. Ours is explicitly phallic because Joel carved a penis head on each end. One end has ribbons attached and the other goes into a hole in the earth. Often this hole is considered the female counterpoint, but not for us this year! Our opening was decorated by a couple of gay men who insisted that it was an opening of another sort. So it became a gender-fluid hole, to be imagined by each participant as they desired.
Harold then felt inspired to suggest that rather than split into boys (holding the maypole) and girls (welcoming the maypole), we should decide whether we felt more like thrusting or receiving, pitching or catching, topping or bottoming. I’m a thruster, Baby. Out of the four of us in our little poly family, only Harold felt like receiving. It explains a lot, really.
So I found myself jogging barefoot across a field, at the steering end of a swiftly moving 13 foot long cock. We overshot our hole by a little, but I’m not surprised. That was a pretty hot hole. We pounded the pole into the hole and filled it with dirt, panting yet satisfied.
Dancing a maypole seems complicated at first, but isn’t really. Each person has a ribbon and weaves in and out of the other people’s ribbons. We sang and danced and wove our way ever faster round the pole. As we got closer to the ends of our ribbons, we got faster and closer together, kind of like a mosh pit. Joel ended up getting bound to the pole as everyone ran around with their ribbons. I think it means he’s bound himself to a sexy and fertile year.
Then we were on to phase two of our Mayday plans – the sex party! We took the children home to the nanny and prepared for a sexy evening. I wore black and silver heels, black stockings, pink garter belt, short silver swing dress, and long black gloves. I felt very, very sexy.
In my experience, it’s difficult to get a group of people together for sex, because if you do it right, people will have emotional stuff come up. Last night was no exception and we took some time to stop and let everyone check in on their feelings. It helps a lot, even though I was impatient to get it on. We worked through everybody’s stuff and got kinky.
My favorite moment was fucking Harold in the ass with my two-way while he sucked Joel’s cock. I’m going to hold on to that image for a while. I’m also going to remember watching the sensuous ways people danced and the sound of floggers on flesh and the moans of pleasure around me and slick feel of lube on my thighs. Joel was particularly sweet and funny. I loved seeing both of my boys naked together. Pretty, pretty!
It’s odd to think about all of this fabulous fertility energy when I’ve just today scheduled surgery to have my tubes tied in a couple weeks. I’ve had my babies, I’m done being pregnant, and I’ve signed several documents agreeing that the surgery will end my fertility… but what does it mean to be fertile? I’ve decided that ending my reproductive fertility only frees up my creative energy to be fertile in other areas (not to mention being able to have sex with less worry)! So whether you’re trying to have a baby or not, let your fertility burst into flower with the season. Best of the May!
I went roller skating today! I haven’t been on skates for something like 25 years, but for a while skating was what I lived for. During those pre-teen years – 5th, 6th, and 7th grades –I was at the rink every chance I got. I’d forgotten why until today.
Roller skating rinks are fairly ubiquitous. The one I was at today is much like the one from my childhood, but I’ve changed. I’ve gotten old. At first my thoughts were about how I wished I brought my Superfeet insoles so I would be more comfortable in the skates. I was shaky, not remembering how to move on wheels. I was being overly cautious. I’m overweight and out of shape. I don’t live in my body like I ought to – like I used to.
It started to come back to me after a couple of laps. I felt the breeze in my hair and remembered how free I always felt on skates. It might have been the only place in my life where I felt free and self-confident. At the rink, I was a hot shot. Not one of the speed skaters, but I was a good skater. I had friends there. I felt special. I loved the rituals like the Hokey Pokey and Partners Skate, and Shoot the Duck. It felt dangerous, but I was in control. I could take risks and damn the consequences.
I adored the rink itself. It was like a glamourous woman well past her prime. Sure, things were threadbare in places, but with the colored lights hitting the disco ball and that cute boy smiling, it was the most promising thing in town. The skating rink was my only option for meeting boys besides school. I made up my perfect boy and a story about meeting him at the rink. I wished with all my might that it would come true. And while I waited, I skated, and it felt like flying.
Finally, I see that in my pre-teen world, skating held the same place in my life that sex does now. Sex is where I feel at home – free and special. I have some talent and some skill, but it’s more a feeling of potential. Sure, things look a bit worn. It doesn’t matter when sex lets me escape for a while. Everyone needs to be a rock star some of the time. I’m willing to take some risks because I’ve weighed the consequences.
I’m not going back to my hot shot days (although roller derby has some appeal), but I am going to do more to get back into shape. I was a gymnast once. I know what it feels like to have my body do exactly what I want it to. For now, I’m soaking my sore muscles in the tub. (Yes, I’m typing while wet and naked). Strangely enough, the muscles that are sore are largely the same ones I use for really aerobic sex. Maybe I’ve alway been a roller girl at heart!
The lust for shoes saga continues. Today I went to the Fluevog store to try on those boots I’ve been longing for. And they didn’t fit! It was like a promising first date that just doesn’t have any chemistry.
I feel crushed. I could make them fit but they wouldn’t look quite right. And I would know they weren’t right, that I was just trying to pretend that we had something in order to fulfill some deep emotional need. And no matter how empty I feel, no matter how much I desire those red leather hotties, the cost isn’t worth it. When I meet the right boots, I’ll know. And nothing will stand between us.
Of course, I am poly. I did look around the store while I was there. I even slipped my feet into a few pairs of shoes. I mean, I’m not blind! I appreciate beauty in many forms. Sometimes I need boots. Sometimes I need heels. Sometimes I need a shoe to wear with jeans. I love them all.
That said, I have a new crush, Lily Darling. She’s perfect. Well, she would be perfect in a half size smaller, but they didn’t have it in stock. I’m contemplating actual commitment. I think we would be very happy together. We would look pretty damn hot, but a relationship is built on more than that. We would also take good care of each other.
I’m grieving, and yet – so wanty!
For years I have maintained a flirtation without ever thinking that the relationship might be consummated. Sure, we’d be smokin’ hot together – we were made to be together. Of course I look at others, but deep down I’ve always known that nothing would ever compare for sheer supple eroticism. I have to be honest here. We’ve never actually met. But I just know that we would be a good fit. Every so often I find myself on the web, engaged in feel-good fantasies. Today, that vague longing suddenly blossomed into full blown lust!
I NEED these boots. I can’t say exactly why, but I simply must have them. I’m done flirting and teasing. “What if” has now become “when.” And now I need to figure out how. First, I’m planning a trip to the Fluevog store to meet my darlings in person. I want to know for sure that these are the boots of my dreams before I commit. $359 plus tax is a big deal in my book. Then I will figure out how to afford them. There are holidays coming up and then my birthday. Maybe layaway plans or special savings accounts. I will find a way. I will have you my beauties!
I see this as a reclaiming of myself. I have been getting by, day by day. To suddenly be consumed by a desire for glamour can only be good. I used to be a burlesque starlet and life carried me away. I had a baby and a post-partum mood disorder and I gained weight so that none of my “I feel sexy” clothes fit any more. It’s time to feel bold and beautiful again. Yeah Baby, I’m bringing sexy back!
And although it goes without saying – photo shoot. In the boots and nothing else. You’ll be the first to see…
We’ve had a rare glimpse into someone else’s sex life recently. There is a trailer on our property that came with a renter when we purchased the place 2 years ago. The renter, Jess, died suddenly without any close family and it’s fallen to us to empty the trailer of his things. It’s a very strange process to examine a stranger’s life in such detail. It’s made me realize how vast the difference is, for most people, between what we project of our sexuality and what we hide.
Most interesting (to me anyway), is that Jess was secretly a cross-dresser. He had a whole room full of women’s clothes, wigs, shoes, makeup, and such. We never saw him in anything but jeans and cowboy boots. He didn’t go out at night, rarely had people over. So I imagine he dressed up for himself. There were a few pictures that he’d obviously taken of himself, sometimes while beating off.
It’s impossible to tell what Jess’s sexual orientation was. I think he was into girls. I know he had a son. There was some correspondence that indicated a relationship with a woman at some point. We haven’t viewed any of his video porn yet, but it looks to be the kind of stuff available at high prices in the 80’s and early 90’s. I think it’s pretty straight forward het based on the titles, but surprisingly, that doesn’t mean that he was straight. Maybe Jess identified as female.
We just don’t know! Even with all of his fetishes exposed to us, we still don’t know what went on in his head. So much of sexuality is internal. Even when you watch someone have sex it’s impossible to truly know what they are experiencing. So I end up hoping that Jess’s life (and sex life) were more satisfying than the evidence suggests.
I’ve been feeling kind of sad because of the way he lived. He had so much beautiful cross-dressing stuff! Lots of stuff from Fredericks, oh so many gorgeous high heels, and a whole wardrobe box full of breast forms. We’re donating all of it to Lambert House, an organization in Seattle that helps transgendered youth. But despite the fantasy engendered by the beautiful things, he lived alone in a dark and dingy home.
Rest in peace Jess. I hope wherever you are there are lots of pretty dresses…
Last night Harold and I went to The Grind at the CSPC and had sex in public…
It’s not as raw as it sounds. The Center for Sex Positive Culture in Seattle has done amazing work in promoting, well, sex positive culture. They’ve been around for over 10 years and they continue to grow. The Grind is a weekly dance club/BDSM party, one of many events put on by the CSPC. I love going for the dancing, but I don’t get to go very often because it’s held on Thursday nights.
Somehow, all of the planets aligned last night, and I ended up tied to the rack. Well, first there was some really hot wrestling as I balanced in my wickedly sexy fuck-me pumps. Tricky, but it turned me on. It was our way of negotiating who got tied up. I lost, but I didn’t mind.
I love it when Harold ties me up. It’s one of my favorite games. I can get untied almost as quickly as he can secure me. It just makes me laugh. It’s really fun to struggle and feel like I can outwit him. I’m not very submissive, I guess.
There’s a very different energy to playing in front of other people. We lose some of the intensity that we have alone together, but there’s this edge to being on display. Strangers are seeing me naked and bound. They can sense the connection that we have to each other. They know that we’re kinky.
But after a while it just didn’t feel right any more. I pay attention to that feeling. We stopped. I got dressed. We danced for a while. But after a bit, that didn’t feel right either.
I finally figured out that what I was missing is that deep intimacy that we have together and the closure of orgasm! Okay. We checked out the back room, but all of the more private places were in use. Hmmm. We decided that private didn’t really matter. We create our own world when we make love anyway.
We put clean sheets on one of the beds and made love in our little bubble until we both climaxed at the same time and collapsed into each other’s arms. As awareness slowly returned, I realized that other couples had filled the beds around us. I know that it’s romanticized, but I like to think that our passion gave them permission to do the same.