Things Not To Do, A Personal List

I haven’t updated in a long time. Not because I haven’t been writing, but because I haven’t managed to finish anything. So instead of finishing a nice good post for this blog, please enjoy this list.

Things I learned not to do in relationships:

• On the first mixed CD one makes a new partner (especially a female identified partner) don’t put Queen’s “Fat Bottom Girls” on the mix. Yes, it might be a good song, but as new partners, people are less likely to know where their partners’ body image issues come up, and said partners are less likely to know when something isn’t filled with meaning.
• People are not mind readers, if I want a person to know something, don’t keep thinking about it and getting upset that they don’t know anything about it.
• People make mistakes, but repetitive mistakes are patterns, and don’t do patterns that are unhealthy. Like breaking up and getting back together over and over again.
• Don’t cheat.
• Don’t lie about cheating.
• Don’t put up with a partner who abuses consent.
• Don’t believe anyone who makes excuses about the abuse of consent.
• Don’t be so careful around consent that nothing is ever initiated.
• I learned to not talk the way I think. Now, I’m not saying that I don’t speak my mind, I’m saying that people think differently from each other, and myself, well I definitely think differently than a lot of people. I had to learn not to talk like I think, because the way I think makes absolutely no sense to anyone else. Mostly because I think in abstractions, more than three dimensions, and on the rare occasions it is in words, it is not in complete sentences.
• Don’t forget to talk.
• Don’t be afraid of labels.
• Don’t be afraid of not having labels.
• Don’t accept terrible sex. If I want my partner to do something different ASK for it.
• Don’t assume worst intentions. This goes for everything from off-hand comments to serious conversations.
• Don’t stay with someone who doesn’t care if they are triggering. Especially if they repeat this behavior after having told them that it is triggering.
• Don’t judge their taste in movies, music, or books.
• Don’t hesitate to kiss someone after dating them for over a month, let alone after six.
• Don’t be afraid to make a move. And no, I’m not even referring to first moves here.
• Don’t sugar coat personality traits. I’m a snarky ass individual. Many exes of mine found this out 1-3 months after the break up, instead of when we were getting to know each other. Not a good thing.
• Don’t settle for something that’s completely unwanted. Example, don’t do monogamy when all I want is a poly relationship.
• Don’t be a doormat.
• Don’t let gender-slips slide.
• Don’t let partners shame me for being in pain. Be it migraine, knees, or any other of my potential problems, no one has a right to make me feel like crap because of my health. Don’t put up with it.
• Just because it’s hormonally based, doesn’t mean the emotion isn’t real. Don’t discount it, be it mine or a partner’s. Especially if I’ve managed to mess up my shots.
• Don’t stay with someone who thinks I’m a psychopath.
• If triggered and distant as a result, don’t forget to mention to a partner that something’s going on, even if it’s just to tell them that really, it isn’t their fault and I’m not about to break up with them.
• Don’t try to make out while rolling r’s. It really is just a terrible plan.
• Don’t bite down too hard. Don’t believe people when they claim they can take it if they haven’t had a bite from me before.
• Don’t ignore my instincts. When my inner red flag bullshit alarms go off, they’re right. Listen to them dammit.
• Don’t ignore friends saying “this is a terrible idea.” They’re right. They always are.
• Don’t tell partners they’re being immature, no matter how true it is. Really, there just isn’t a way that word is going to be heard well.
• Don’t put up with passive aggressive manipulation.
• People have to be their own autonomous individuals (barring M/s type agreements.) So, if they say something is okay to do, believe them even if you doubt it. Even if that means the day after having a long conversation about how it wasn’t actually okay, even though they thought it was ahead of time, I have to treat people I date as emotionally responsible adults.
• Don’t date people who aren’t emotionally responsible adults.
• Don’t date people back to back for 5-6 months each on a continuing basis. No, really, not a good idea.
• Don’t forget to laugh at the awkward, because there will always be awkward. And it’s damn funny.
• Don’t date someone who can’t tell I have a sense of humor.
• Don’t be afraid to be a baby dinosaur/puppy/dragon/cat/creature.
• When making/buying or otherwise planning on giving a partner a gift for a holiday/birthday, don’t forget to actually give it to them. Preferably that year.

Not all of these I learned the hard way, but many of the ones that seem obvious or ridiculous are probably on the list because of experience.

Some of the things I’ve said may not apply to you… but I thought y’all could appreciate them anyways. And now maybe that I’ve broken my lack of blogging streak again, I’ll manage to finish one of the damned myriad of other entries I’ve started.

On Identity (Mostly Mine)

It is insulting to use my birth name. It is insulting to use female pronouns for me. These are really obvious (at least for most people who find their way to my blog or exist anywhere in my life.)

Plenty of CAFAB  (coercively assigned female at birth) people identify as female. Some identify as male. Some who use male pronouns, go through transition, change their names, etc. don’t identify as trans, but as male, as a guy. Calling them anything but what they identify as is insulting, derogatory, and all around shitty.

I am not one of those guys.

One of the hardest things I struggled with throughout high school was the thought that I couldn’t be trans because I had no desire to become a man. I wanted T. I wanted chest surgery. I wanted to change my name, but I never wanted to become male. It took me a while to get my mind beyond the gender binary. Once I did realize I could be me without having to become a guy, I was immensely relieved. Reading Kate Bornstein’s Gender Outlaw was a relief. Being surrounded by people for whom gender and sexuality weren’t either or options, or even a spectrum, but instead a giant twisted knot of confusion was a huge relief. My identity as a person evolved drastically in that space, mostly because I acquired and developed language for what was already there. Language like queer and trans.

Trans to me means both across and beyond. Trans is something I’ve written about a good deal, because it’s on my mind a lot. But when asked more specifically about my gender, I falter. I end up going into explanations of the universe, and occasionally hyperbolic space, because physics is the only way I can conjure up images of both the complexity and vastness of my view of gender. My gender isn’t static. I live with a series of dynamic identities that flow into each other, mixing, swirling, splitting, growing, and dying. Gender has gone through all of those. I am not a man. Sometimes people think I am a boy, because that is what it sounds like I say. On rare occasions I am, but more often, I am a boi. I am a person, though sometimes I am a creature named Creature. On occasions that creature is a baby dragon, though not always. Something that many people find surprising is that I don’t identify as genderqueer, and never have. For some reason, I have a gut reaction against identifying with that particular word. Gender variant, trans, transgender, hell even “other” feels more appropriate to my identity than genderqueer.

Queer I’ve written about less, because queer means different things to everyone. To me, it is a lot of things. It is the beyond bisexual label. It is the gender variance I live. It is my choice in partners, my approach to sex. It means creating space where no is appreciated, and touch can be request, question, demand, and desire all wrapped into one. It means being poly, in that I can (and do) fall in love with multiple people at a time, as well as sleeping with a variety of people who I like. It means I am kinky, and a switch, taking joy in things others do not with others who likewise take joy in such things. In part, queer means to me queer theory (though not necessarily gained through typical academic means.) Approaching the world with a common dialect and background with a mindfulness that is sometimes hard to find other places. It is bridging the gaps between all those things, and the world beyond these frequently “othered” borders.

Except trans, queer, all of it aren’t statements to me. They are conversations. Constant conversations with myself, and with other people. Yet, I surprisingly rarely talk about it with my friends. We talk around identity, but rarely actually ever have the conversation of “what does queer mean to you? how do you see yourself? how do you see me?” A litany of questions that are rarely asked, and it seems that is true among many of the queers I know.

In fact, I have so rarely been asked such questions that last summer when a friend asked me about my gender I completely blanked on an answer. My rather drunk ass couldn’t think of a coherent answer, despite being something I think about quite often.

At the same time, I don’t ask either. I don’t assume I have any clue what queer means to other people, but I don’t ask. In part, it isn’t really my business. In part, I’m a quiet, shy, awkward individual who tends towards silence anyways. Except those are just parts, and I’m still filling in much of the other blanks.

E[lust] #25

Photo courtesy of Sadie

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. And in this edition you can read all about the best sexuality conference of the year (ever?), Momentum, in a one-time-only Editor’s Choice anomaly: I couldn’t choose just one, so I chose them all! Want to be included in e[lust] #26? Start with the rules and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Where We Are - It was only supposed to be about the fucking. I don’t know how I convinced myself that it could be. I fretted before we began, about how I could ever possibly separate sex from emotion.

The Edible Slut - His hand made an audible crack as it connected with her ass, loud in the dim bedroom. Did he really sink his hand into her hair, turn her head to face him, and shout, “Stop being such a brat!”

Beyond Bisexual – I don’t identify as bisexual, because I am interested in so many more people than just two of the variety of sexes or genders out there. Except, that is a word that a lot of people understand.

~ Featured: Momentum Conference Posts (Lilly’s Picks) ~

An Extraordinary Gathering (and a Gathering of the Extraordinary)

Finally! A Real Momentum Post

Inspired by MomentumCon

#mcon Rehash

Momentum

Momentumcon, Part One

~ e[lust] Editress ~

To Be or Not To Be….Anonymous, That Is – If you’re out or decide to be out….you’re not just outing yourself. You’re outing them all. And did they give their consent? Probably not, I’d guess. And even if they did give their consent could they even have a clue what consequences there will be?

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Thank you, and enjoy!

Beyond Bisexual

I love the word queer, on many levels. From the fact that it encompasses more than just my sexuality, into my gender, and certain aspects of politics and community, to that it means odd. I’m more than a little odd, and I’m more than a little queer. I say queer, and people ask me what I mean.

Except in so many instances I dislike the word queer. It’s incredibly frustrating that those not familiar with queer communities don’t ask. It’s unfamiliar, confusing, and not helpful in connecting with different groups of people. More than that, I have huge issues with many parts of various queer communities. They can be self-isolating, unrealistic, judgemental, and occasionally vicious. That is true of most communities at one point or another. But as I’ve heard from strangers and friends recently, so often it is those in the queer (or kink, or other such) community that judges and turn in on each other. No one has come up with a way to keep out the assholes and douchebag.

Carol Queen used a term that I am coming to really enjoy. “Beyond Bisexual.” I don’t identify as bisexual, because I am interested in so many more people than just two of the variety of sexes or genders out there. Except, that is a word that a lot of people understand. There is a lot of meaning there, of biphobia from within straight and GL communities alike. Hell, even I’ve gotten the “so you’re greedy” comments many bisexuals get, and that was without even mentioning being poly.

I’m not exempt from the biphobia found within queer communities. In high school, I was very angry at this one group of girls who would get drunk and make out with other girls and call themselves bi. I dealt with so much shit. I was the school dyke, and anyone could take one look at me and tell. I got asked “are you a boy or a girl” walking down the halls. They got attention, positive attention. They got boyfriends from  those makeouts. It pissed me off. I had gone through confusion, harassment, etc., and they got none of it… and they weren’t “really” even bi! Yeah. I judged. I was one of those policing douchebags. I also grew up and got over myself. A lot about the situation in high school was fucked up, but getting angry because I thought of them as “supposedly bi” only contributed.

Once out of that situation, I chilled a lot. Many friends of mine in college did similar things, making out with their female friends while drunk… while having boyfriends. I didn’t get angry, hell I probably encouraged. A good number of them don’t identify as straight either. I didn’t even think about the connection until recently, at the 5 College Queer Sexuality and Gender Conference during the wonderful keynote by Michelle Tea. She brought up the drunken make-outs, how so many queers police those who partake in them, and that she herself started out that way. Between that, and something I do not recall that my friend next to me said, I started thinking about my role of policing queer identities in high school.

I’ve been on multiple sides of biphobia. I don’t want to discount it, but I also don’t want to discount my much broader sexuality, or risk obfuscating my own non-binary, non-spectrum, and very fluid gender identity. Beyond bisexual takes a word with a history, uses it as a launch pad, so I can go soaring towards the stars. Mainstream people can understand it enough to ask “what?” because it is grounded in a term they understand (whether or not they believe it exists.) Moreover, it’s a term that is specifically sexuality focused. I can use it, expand on it, without having to deal with my explaining my gender. Which is something that degenerates into fluid dynamics and 4 dimensional images of the universe.

Beyond is part of the title of this blog for a reason. It is an expansive word. Beyond bisexual can mean anything from attraction to more than two sexes/genders to going beyond attraction based on gender and into sexualities based more around specific kinks, personalities, etc.

One of the great things I learned about the word (prefix really) trans is that it doesn’t just mean across or on the opposite side… it means beyond. Trans lunar means beyond the orbit of the moon around the earth. Transcendent, transhumanism…

Yes, I’m a word nerd.

Do As I Say Not As I Do

I’m probably going to get a bit of shit from various people in my life over some of the things in this post. Probably deservedly.

Tale from a while ago- me and my (at the time) housemate were talking about gynecologist appointments, and specifically that she had never had a pap smear. We shall call her Housemate 1. Another housemate came in, and we shall call her housemate 2. Housemate 2 started giving 1 shit about being as old as we all were, and not ever getting a pap smear or any gynecologist appointments. She was talking about how even if 2 wasn’t sexually active yet, it is important to know health levels before getting involved with someone. 2 kept getting me and my sexual health knowledge on her side. Except 1 knew very well I have never had a pap smear.

I have never had a pap smear or seen a gynecologist.

Consider the quantity I talk about sexual health, many people are surprised by this.

This past week I went to my annual appointment to check in about testosterone and how my body is reacting. It was difficult enough for me to sit down and talk to an entirely new nurse practitioner about a bunch of stuff, and I do mean new NP as she was a student NP and working under people at my clinic. She brought up the pap smear, and later, when my doc walked in, he did to. Actually, when I emailed him about my most recent refill he said he wanted me in both for my annual check up and to talk to me about a pap smear.

I got an ultimatum. He said he would refill my T for the following year, to the day, with no problems. But no further. Push came to shove, if I don’t go through with it in the next year I either have to 1-find a new doc or 2- go off T.

Neither of these are really options for me. So, I’m going to suck it up and deal. Considering that I get STI testing on an annual basis, that I blog about sexuality all the time, that I talk about sexual health all the time, that I’ve been a peer sex educator, and everything else I do, it is rather surprising that this rather basic aspect of my health I neglect. Apparently, I come by it naturally. My mom’s gynecologist has to threaten her with no longer prescribing birth control to get my mom in for an appointment (as my mom has gone through menopause, to her this means getting cut off from hormones. We bonded over this.)

It isn’t actually a pressing issue in that I’m not what most people in the medical professions define as very “sexually active.” In medical terms, I don’t have penis-in-vagina sex. Of the types of sex I do have and enjoy, they haven’t happened all that often recently. For someone a sex blogger, I’ve had remarkably little sex recently. Then again, I’ve also blogged very little recently. One did not cause the other, more like they are two effects of similar causes, but I digress. I was talking about gynecological appointments and pap smears. Right.

I know the importance. I watched Buck Angel’s awesome “Public Cervix Announcement” last year when it popped up on YouTube. But it is damn hard to get me to set up an appointment for T, which I adore, let alone for shit I really REALLY don’t want to deal with. I’ve been without glasses for a year and a half because I’d need to set up an appointment to get a new prescription. How the hell am I supposed to deal with a pap smear?

My doctor is essentially blackmailing me. And he’s right.

It isn’t just things like body and gender dysphoria that keep me from dealing. That just makes it awkward. Beyond that, as much as I’ve dealt with shit regarding my past and sexual assault, a person I’m not involved with examining me triggers my anxiety. Thinking about it, gets me fidgeting. Talking about it, with my doctor, in a doctor’s office? I was twitchy, anxious, and unable to look at my doctor while talking in an attempt to keep my breathing regular and not deal with an anxiety attack.

In a bit over two months, I’m going to confront and deal. Maybe I’ll manage to stay calm. Maybe after I’ll need to go curl up in a small dark room, shaking, crying, and getting a migraine.

If he didn’t tell me he’d stop refilling my T I probably wouldn’t be dealing with having to get a pap. Even though the deadline is a year off the reality of the deadline spurs me to action. So, I’m dealing. And I have about two months to decide if I want him to get me a one or two pill script for anxiety meds. It says a lot that I am seriously considering it.

Yeah. For the first time ever I am seriously considering taking medication for what is technically a mental health issue (anxiety.) Time to deal with that thought as well.

Kissing and KinkForAll…

I will hopefully be thoroughly sparked to write lots of fabulous entries after tomorrow, as it is KinkForAll Providence 2, and that should cause lots of cool thoughts to think.

Regardless, recently I keep thinking back to first moments. Specifically, first kisses… I don’t always remember the actual first moment, but something always sticks with me. I wish I could remember more, but my memory is not my strong suit. At all.

Like the few details I remember of my first kiss, besides that it was definitely making out, it was young enough that many people try to tell me it doesn’t count, and their was surprisingly no gum on the table.

We were hiding under a table off to the side of the rink. Everyone else at the party was having fun roller blading around the rink, but there we were, hiding under the table off to the side. I barely remember his face, but his hair sticks out in my mind. He hated that I was stronger, faster, a better skater, a better roller blader than he. He hated it, but liked me. So he was my boyfriend. I was his girlfriend. It made sense, then, to sit under that table, and figure out what about kissing those older kids were always so excited about.

My memory is sometimes so bad I can’t remember a first kiss. Oddly, many of the first kisses I remember aren’t the important ones, the important people. (And considering who reads this blog… that may or may not be you.)

I knew she liked me, and I think she knew I liked her, but all I could think the entire walk back to my dorm was “damn it all why the hell did I have to make the move?” Campus was amazingly quiet as we walked, and there was plenty of fun tension between the two of us. We talked about the stars, we talked about wishes, and I have no recollection of that conversation because I kept thinking about earlier when we were spooning through the movie, when we had lots of “hand sex.” She could hold hands like no one else I’ve known before or since… But it was after that, we had circled each other for so long (in college terms, so two days) and there she was, walking me back to my dorm. Except then the walk ended, there was the door, and we stopped to talk for a bit. I knew… As I leaned in to kiss part of my brain was going “Yes! I can make moves!” and part was going “holyshitholyshitIgettokissthishotgirl” and the rest, mostly decided she might not be the best kisser but she was still worth kissing again.

Despite what so many things get said in movies, in books, in our culture, the first kiss does not mean jack shit about how a relationship (be it one night stand, fuck buddy, never mind we’re just friends, dating, whatever) will go. Sometimes that first kiss isn’t even a good indication of how a person kisses. I might have a bad memory, but how terrible of a memory do must you have to forget how to kiss at all?

The light reflected off her eyes in fascinating ways, but despite how much I was captivated by her eyes I kept looking away. Too much tension, too many nerves, why couldn’t I just look at her and move in? “I like you…” I muttered. “You have beautiful eyes…” I said, instead of asking what I really was thinking “Please, just kiss me?” The night had been fun. The movie was entertaining. Even misreading each others signals constantly, we had really connected. This was a person I could trust, someone who had been through shit as well. I looked at her again, and looked back at the door of my car. I didn’t want to go, not until we kissed, but I couldn’t bring myself to make the move. Finally, she leaned in. I was swept away in the moment. We stammered goodbye, and it was only while driving home I realized that despite my stomach doing backflips of jubilation, she really couldn’t kiss very well at all.

Those memories I like. Even as the emotions have settled into their proper places, such as that first barely remembered childhood boyfriend, I enjoy remembering.

I’m a highly associative person. Places, songs, anything can be an important association. Like how seeing a blood donation van gets me to text my college roommate and ask how she’s doing. KinkForAll has a lot of associations. Tomorrow is KinkForAll Providence 2. This time, I’m helping organize it, and a lot has changed in the year and a month since the last one. I’m looking forward to the new associations.

A Lack of Words

I came across a poem recently, “How to Make Love to a Trans Person” and holy shit I decided to blog.

Because here’s the thing, from the first lines I got stuck on something I realized very deeply last summer at Floating World, and have not been able to get my head around since. I am incredibly disassociated from words describing my body.

I’m doing good at not dissociating from my body in general. Considering that it was my specialty in high school, that for years the main reason I self-injured was to simply be present, not dissociating is damn impressive. Going on T got me to be able to be present in my body in whole new ways. There are still plenty of things I hate about my body, there are still plenty of things that aren’t mine, but as I wrote before that this is my body is a huge step. But there are few words surrounding my body that I feel connect to my body.

Mostly, it is that I don’t think in words. Very few things relate directly to words in my head. The more complex, the more intricate, the more emotionally difficult the thought process is the more likely I am to think outside words. Needless to say, thoughts about my body fall into all three categories. When they are thoughts about the societally gendered parts of my body, it becomes a tangled mess leaving my throat to close up.

Last year at Floating World, I went to a class on FtM cock and ball torture. Suddenly, I was mentally thrust into a world completely disconnected from my thought process– the language of queer bodies. I was unprepared for being unprepared because hell, I spend my of my time in queer spaces. In high school, I went to a queer youth group, a gender youth group, and ran my school’s GSA. In college, I got even more involved. By the time floating world hit, I was a queer sex blogger. Suddenly facing my complete lack of connection to the words other people with similar identities was really difficult for me. To them, the words dick and cock was their own. In my head, it was just as separate from me as clit.

There is only one word I have ever really connected with a gendered part of my body: chest. Not breasts, tits, boobs, or man-boobs, none of them have ever felt like they were actually describing me. Certain expartners of mine might find this surprising because I never corrected their use of that language. No reason why they should know when I never told them. Except whenever referring to myself, it’s just my chest.

Cock is a specific term in my head, and it usually refers to a delightful strapped-on cock with colors ranging from flesh tones to violet. Ideally, green, but green cocks are annoyingly hard to find. Dick, not something related to my body. Clit, a semi-useful term in that technically accurate and not actually connected to me sort of way. And for that reason one I’ve used in this blog more than a few times. Describing other people’s bodies is fine. Describing my own… there aren’t words in my head.

My body is on my mind more these days than it used to be. Particularly, my hesitance to show my body to others. While I have various groups of my friends that have been in more than one orgy (you know who you are) and while I’ve now been involved in some manner with the public kink scene for over a year, in the last year I’ve had a total of one person outside of a relationship see me naked. Two counting relationships (which is actually rather amusing considering my history.) Romping around in my binder and boxers at play parties is pushing my limits, and some parties I don’t even do that much.

One on one, I can deal. I can deal with my own body, the juxtaposition created from spending a decade with estrogen coursing through my veins, and a bit over a year on testosterone. I can not think about it, just think about whatever activity I am so inclined to do. One on one, I can deal. Getting my mind to adapt to one new person at a time being allowed to see my body…

I’ve never really had the opportunity to play with multiple people I’m with whom already comfortable. Adjusting to someone new is entertaining, and rather scary when that idea is multiplied from person to people. It was hard enough pre-T, when someone would first touch my hip and they’d stiffen. They didn’t have to say anything for me to know, they were readjusting how they thought of me. Guys don’t have hips like I do. I’ve seen many incarnations, from nervous hesitation, to afraid, to simple curiosity about what makes me most comfortable. One on one, I can engage with whatever reaction happens. Confusion, nervousness, attraction, amusement… if it’s just one other person, there isn’t a problem. I can have that conversation. I don’t know if I could manage it with two people, and definitely not without fear.

The one time someone tried to make up a new word I rather violently reacted in a negative manner. Admittedly, the discussion was humiliation play, so it wasn’t supposed to be something I liked. The problem was it would have been a total turn off if the person had ever actually used it in play. As in, if they had said it, I would have ended the scene there. No aftercare, complete seperation from whatever happened. They didn’t take my lack of interest in this very well, which was their perogative but had me rolling my eyes. My body is not someone else’s to name. I have granted no one that power over me, and thus any naming of my body, my parts, is entirely mine.

So, things are named without words for the moment. It works for me, and until there are words that suit the names, people can continue using words that don’t offend me. I just have to stop expecting a connection to any word that isn’t a name I’ve granted to that part myself.