For some reason I’m not succeeding in writing about current things in my life, little though there may be, so I shall write a memory. Sure, it may be filled in here or there, but I never claimed to have a good memory. But it is rather ingrained in my mind…
It was one of those nights where it was cold-though-not-exactly-winter. Maybe it was a February thaw, maybe it was a cold night in march. We walked, hand in hand, except when our hands broke for a grope, a kiss, a shove, a scratch… anything really. Our hands were all over each other. We walked to the playground, just to be outside, without parents. To not fuck in the car, again. We walked to the plastic playground, lit by the moon and a yellow street lamp casting shadows of trees.
Under the jungle gym, she shoved me up against the plastic tic-tac-toe, and quickly reached under my shirt. She kissed me, hard, as she twisted my nipple, hard. She didn’t do things by halves. She leaned in again, this time going for my neck, biting down and adding to my bruises there. My hands found their way under her jacket and shirt, my nails leaving red trails across her back.
But mostly I remember the moon, and her hand unzipping my jeans and without pulling them down, finding their way under my underwear and sliding inside me. I mostly remember the moon, and the feel as her other hand slid around my neck and began to squeeze.
I stopped breathing. I stopped trying to breathe. I could have still, I think, but I didn’t even try to find out.
She let go for a moment, and I took a few breaths, nodding to her to put her hand back. She squeezed harder that second time, and longer. I closed my eyes, closed myself off from the world. No sight, no breath, and everything began to fade to white as I got off.
I don’t remember the feel of her fingers inside me that night. I don’t remember how she sucked and bit my neck, or how she twisted my nipple, just that she did. I remember how her hand felt, that first time someone took my breath out of the equation.
The next day at school, no one noticed the bruises from her hand mixed in among the hickies. And that was the way I wanted it.
In high school, I was damn sure I was submissive. I remember wandering around with a friend, just hanging out, talking about how she actually had confidence, but failed at seeming confident, whereas I was good at seeming confident without actually having any. I didn’t want to have to be confident, I wanted to submit.
In college, I realized I was a switch. Pretty early on in fact, because by the end of my freshman year I was identifying as a switch, though usually with bottom tendencies. Somewhere along the way I started getting more comfortable being dominant, being toppy.
There are times when I think maybe I’m just one or the other. I’m pretty sure life enjoys reminding me exactly why that is completely false just at those moments. Any time I’m starting to wonder if I’m just one or the other, something happens. For instance, cuddling on a couch with a very scary top, who pulls my hair, controlling my head, and for those moments at last I’m finally out of my head. The relief washes over me of not deciding, not being responsible, not being careful, of not having to pay that kind of attention. Instead, I get to push through pain, through challenge, and show my strength in giving up that control… and it is a relief to let go and submit. Because I’m not any one thing and I need breaks from whichever roles I chose to take on.
But until more recently I really hadn’t much bottomed (with regards to pain) in a long while. T has dramatically altered not just how I process pain, but the physical sensations. Pain feels different. It is really hard to describe. I’m more jumpy, though less sensitive technically. I don’t know my physical limits as well, I want to push those boundaries more and more because I like not liking the sensations. The first real time I pushed past the pain I liked into the pain I seemed to not like in a consensual, trusting manner got me incredibly turned on… and left me with wonderful bite marks all across my skin for quite some time. In a way, I really hated those bites. Because, dammit, they hurt. I told her more, not to inflict harm but to feel that hurt. I was nowhere near harm, and the pain wasn’t bad for me, it got me wetter than I had been in a long time. But that was before T. So, now bites send me writhing, whining, and twitching far more than before. I don’t know how to process this new sensation, but damn am I enjoying learning.
Also, stingy pain got a lot different, and a lot more intense.
Yet, even while I’m relearning my reactions to pain, even while part of me is seeking out chances to bottom, I pull out The New Topping Book to read. I seek out new opportunities to top, to dom, to control. After years of relationships trying to throw off the politics of owning another person, I’ve come to find how much I want someone else to be “mine” (which, me being me, has absolutely nothing to do with monogamy. Just because something would be “mine” does not mean exclusive rights…) Unless I actually feel my more submissive side reacting to someone, another person’s attempts to dominate me lead to entertaining times of wrestling and me biting them a lot. Probably biting them very hard. A certain puppy learned this the hard way. Or maybe I should say the fun way.
Hmmm… One of these days I should get a picture of someone’s bruises from my bite. They can be really pretty.
My mind shivered at the feel of the rope in my hands. Sliding it through to get the right length for tying her hands together; nothing elaborate I have to remind myself. My mind shivered, but I could not let her see, instead I smirked keeping control.
After over a week’s aftercare being done in one shot that same day, I agreed to play on one condition: we kept it light.
If you want me to dom, then submit. You have to be willing to give up that control… and as I moved her head, turning it however I would, I saw surrender in her eyes and I thought “I love her.” So, I leaned in and bit her hard, digging deep into her muscle, her traps, loving the feel of her between my teeth, of her tensing, then slowly relaxing into me, submitting. I pull back and look at the mark before slowly licking around those enticing indentations…
I had her pinned down, ropes laying across her chest held by my hands, enough pressure for her to know there was no point in fighting me. Black rope, blue sheets, white skin, light from the windows reflected into an ambient glow by the white walls, she glowed under the rope. I pulled back to watch, pinning her down with the rope pressed into her skin. Keep it light, just some rope, just some power, add a dash of teeth…
Curled around her after, aftercare was no issue this time. We had talked about the last two times, finally talked, and she was trusting me again. Wrapped around her, I let go. I let myself open up in return. It wasn’t make up sex from the night before, it wasn’t “just” anything, because no matter how “light” it seemed it reached both of us as we needed it too. I don’t know quite what opened up for me the last few times… but I want to keep finding out.
Especially after the feedback I got last week, figured I’d do another sexplanation, except the question I have gotten the most over the years isn’t about sex, but kissing.
How do you kiss (well)?
The first time I got asked this question, it was years ago, early in high school. My friend asked me this in an IM conversation, because she was nervous about kissing a guy for the first time with no experience. Then another friend asked, and another.
Now, I like to think I’m decent at kissing, but the more I’ve kissed, the more I’ve learned about kissing, the less concrete advice I have. The first and most important piece of advice is
Always be adaptable.
What do I mean by that? I mean be ready to change with each kissing partner, because different people do not kiss the same and do not like the same kiss. Be adaptable, and stay adaptable. Now, on to the ‘how-to.’
- Everything on this comes from my own personal experiences and preferences. So, if you disagree with something on here, feel free to comment to that extent!
- Use chapstick, lip balm, etc. Most people don’t like kissing chapped lips. It also is often more comfortable to kiss when your lips don’t hurt.
- Don’t eat garlic, onions, or other breath changing foods right beforehand unless your kissing partner did too, or you know they won’t mind the taste
- If you smoke, brush your teeth well before you kiss a nonsmoker
- If you are a nonsmoker, be careful about kissing smokers. It really can taste like an ashtray.
- Don’t have food/gum in your mouth (unless you are intentionally trying to pass something to the other person)
- Practice makes perfect. Few people are naturally good kissers, so getting feedback on your kissing style from a variety of people can really help.
- Most important: HAVE FUN!
A Closed Mouth Kiss:
This kind of kiss is a great place to start, be it for people new to kissing, for kissing someone new, or just to mix things up. Kissing does not always have to be a face-eating lip lock.
I mean, sure, that kiss is a “classic,” but it is not only acceptable, but quite fun to occasionally kiss without either opening your mouth or using tongue. What you do instead is purse your lips together a bit, by bringing in the corners of your mouth a bit. You don’t need to do that a ton, but just enough to help sort of “fluff” up your lips. Also, at the same time, it helps to push your lips out a bit. The goal here, for both of these, isn’t to shove your lips out in the stereotypical pucker “o” for a kiss, but to help cushion the kiss from your teeth.
When actually kissing, lean in, and softly press your lips to theirs. Tilting your head to the side to keep noses from smacking helps, but make sure you tilt your head a different direction as your partner. The goal here is not to have an incredible amount of pressure (you aren’t making a pancake) but enough to sensualize the kiss. This pressure can range from the softest, barely brushing their lips (which can be lots of fun and even tingley) to a greater pressure for a more passionate version. For a longer closed mouth kiss, massaging their lips slightly with yours is often a good choice as well.
An Open Mouth Kiss:
Now, think the closed mouth kiss, but open your mouth up to theirs. A key thing for open mouthed kisses is that teeth should not be hitting. In fact, teeth should almost always be covered by your lips. Moving your lips is key here, not just being a dead fish with the other person taking all the action. Not moving too much, but enough to show your interest. Fun variations include sucking gently on the top or bottom lip, and pulling it out slightly. If you are kissing a masochist, or someone who likes a bit of pain, sucking harder is an option, as is nibbling (yes, using your teeth) on their upper or lower lip. If you really are kissing a masochist, biting down can lead to delightful gasping noises from them.
Be careful about completely covering their mouth and lips with yours, you will end up slobbering all over their face.
A Kiss with Tongue:
Also known as “making out” or “french kissing,” kissing with tongue can be quite a bit of fun! (Okay, tongue leaving cheek now. Pun intended.) But really, this is a blast when doing it right. Go from an open-mouthed kiss, and either accept your partner’s tongue into your mouth, or slide your tongue into theirs. If you are using your tongue into their mouth, I would not recommend immediately trying to see how much of your tongue you can get in their mouth. This is not the time to shove your tongue down their throat to check their gag reflex… no, really. It is important to keep your tongue moving, up and down, side to side, in circles, but vary it a bit so you aren’t just doing the same thing over and over.
It is often better to start the kiss, go for a bit, close your mouth, and then restart. This helps with the variation thing. A few fun tricks include running your tongue across their lips before kissing them (some people like this, some do not,) as well as actively exploring their entire mouth. For more passionate moments, it might be fine to shove your tongue deep into their mouth and “down their throat” but make sure it is ok with your partner, and if they do not like it, then really, do NOT do it. Not so fun if it isn’t what a person is looking for. Again, if you are kissing a masochist, sucking hard on their tongue can sometimes be a good thing, as can biting it, but do those with only extreme discretion.
But what about my hands?!
This is probably what a lot of the people who have asked me about kissing really wanted to know: where to put their hands. A good option is one hand on the side of the person you are kissing’s face, their back, or even their arms. If you are really getting into making out, putting your arms around to their back and moving them around is a good plan. Another fun thing about kissing is that it DOES leave your hands free, to maybe pin them against the wall, run your hands all across their skin, tease their nipple, give them a handjob, scratch their back, the possibilities only end with your imagination.
Now, for some fun additions, here is a wonderfully bitchy list about some of the kisses I’ve had, from great to horrible!
- Pancake: Closed mouth kiss with so much pressure you feel like your lips are turning into pancakes. Also known as the facemash.
- Catfish: Intentionally named after the bottom feeder, this is when the other person doesn’t move their tongue up at all while making out with you.
- Plunger: When there is negative pressure, and no matter what it seems like the air is being sucked out of your mouth and into theirs.
- Flood: From your nose to your chin, from ear to ear, if you are covered in slobber after a kiss, you just had a flood kiss!
- Cloud: Ever been in an airplane and looked out, and seen the clouds and how fluffy they are? This kiss feels like clouds look like they are supposed to feel. Hot.
Not everyone intellectualizes things quite like this, so to each their own. But the most important thing BESIDES having fun is reading your partner and responding to them. No one kisses quite the same as someone else, so go out and figure out who YOU like to kiss. :D
I don’t remember the first time I thought “Hey, I might be trans.” I don’t remember any specific moment where things just “clicked.” I remember the night I figured out I like women, and it was within a month or two after that night that I figured out I was trans. But I don’t remember that first time things started to fall into place.
I remember the first time I got called dyke in elementary school, for being socially awkward and gender-nonconforming for the little ten year olds we were. I didn’t know hwo to react, because it was obviously an insult but I did not understand either why it was insulting or what made me a “dyke.” I remember the first time some scared little kid came up to me and asked, “Are you a boy or a girl?” and it was one of the most interesting conversations on gender I have ever had, and I almost blew up at him.
There are some things that no matter what, I will never forget. Some firsts that with exception of severe brain damage, I am going to remember for the rest of my life.
I remember the first time I played with rope. No clue as to the date, but it was spring. I took the SAT that day, walked outside and their she was, waiting. The sun was shining, but we did not see it on the far side of the blackout curtains. We were broke, so we played with clothespins and pocket knives. She pulled out some cotton rope, from home depot, and looked around the room. One rocking chair with no good tie offs. One bed with a solid headboard, and no bars… There was no place to tie down as we wanted. So I threw on clothes and grabbed a chair from my brother’s room… The first time I was tied up it was in my brother’s chair, and it was spring.
She put my hands behind me, behind the back of the chair, looped the rope around my hands, and tied it off. Badly. They were loose, and the knot did not stay, but before I could contemplate untying myself, she had bit my neck and her nails dragged down my inner thigh. I moaned in pain, my face splitting into a wide grin. She chuckled, and set the clothespins on my nipples. She leaned in to kiss me as she set the clothespins on, and I half-screamed into her mouth. She went down on me, sucking on my clit, telling me I was such a hot boi, her boy. I never came. That wasn’t the point…
It was the first time I played with rope, and by the end I had slid out of my bonds by accident. It was spring, and for the first time, I wasn’t a girl to the other person. The first time I played with rope was the first time I ever played as me.
The world has ceased, the lens of my mind has zoomed in on nothing but her hand, and existence is naught but that caress of my chest. Yet, silence must prevail because though my world has become her hand, I doubt the rest of the room would quite appreciate an awareness of our side of the couch. No existence but the caress of her hand, with Buffy playing in the background.
The other weekend (Feb. 6), I went to the KinkForAll Providence, and it was amazing. KinkForAll is an unconferance, which is where geeky people with an interest in sex and its interrelation to other things; meet people, talk and present. I got to listen to Sinclair Sexsmith speak on gender play and sex, got to ask someone who is a role model, someone i am frankly in awe of, got to ask friggin Sinclair Sexsmith, questions. I got to talk to Kristen, engage in a conversation with her, who i am equally in awe of. I got to listen to Emma’s stances on sensuality, taking things slower… drawing things out, and enjoying them, taking pleasure, having joy…
The room is freezing, and the carpet does little to protect from the hard floor, yet I had lost awareness of all that. I burned with cliché want, dispelling the room’s icy grip from my body, too lost in her grip on my nipple. Her body pressed against mine, my nails on her back, my hand grazing her skin, slow, drawn out, sensuality. I burned with cliché want, but not of more, not of farther, but of continuance. I couldn’t process more, just that I didn’t want it to end. The world was the fire of my chest, the ice of the air, the strength of her hand, the passion of my mind. Someone stumbled over us, and thought we were just asleep. The moment he was gone, the wider world ceased, and touch became existence again.
I presented, and got off topic. I really should use notes when I get up to speak in front of people. Somehow, I managed to be engaging enough to spark questions and interest. It isn’t that I disagree with taking medicine, with institutionalization, with ‘fixing,’ with transition… and sure that last is obvious. It’s that I disagree with forced medication, institutionalization… and yes, forced transition, as many doctors force onto intersex children at birth. Much as Kate Bornstein expresses the need for the psychological/psychiatric community to recognize that it isn’t GID, it isn’t about being a man or a woman, but self-comfort and confidence, nor is the issue that psychiatric treatment is inherently bad but that the use of them, especially the forced use of them, destroys so much.
Had to stay quiet. Had to keep relatively still. Occasionally the door would open, spilling bright light across our blanket wrapped forms. Clothes on, quiet, unmoving, who would guess? Thoughts of the frigid air evaporated as I dared to go under her shirt, biting…
We were in a lot of the presentations together, the brief 20 minute insights into other worlds, ideas, versions of life. Sometimes our own. We were in a lot of things together, when I finally told her this blog existed, or rather the address. The memories of sitting in freezing halls listening to Maymay’s dichotomies, both false and true, of listening to Zac’s insistence of artisanship, and of nervously sitting there, wondering what she would think when she saw the other side of what I wrote of her.
Maymay’s discussion of dichotomies was fascinating. The fact that false dichotomies are useful tools, that the problems stem from how they are used, etc. Men with active, top, dominant, giving; women with passive, bottom, submissive, taking… Or as I later thought about, the dichotomies between public and private, appropriate and inappropriate, platonic and sexual, distant and intimate. The breakdown becomes: public, appropriate, platonic, distant versus private, inappropriate, sexual, intimate. Exhibitionism pushes those dichotomies, those assumptions, and enters the uncomfortable space of inappropriate public space… But that isn’t how the mind actually works, the conference, the weekend, is completely intertwined with the night before, of her touch, of her skin, of that freezing room where desire was the only thing that held off shivering…
Her gasp was covered by the breaking of bones on screen, my quiet groan by the saving of the world. Again. Eventually, her hand left my chest, my nails no longer dragged across her back, we dared no more bites, and we curled together for warmth.
I’ve thrown in warnings in early entries about sexually explicit content, but figure its worth repeating. Namely, there is some.
So, I’ve decided I’m an idiot. A very intelligent idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. I can fool around with S again, and despite having done this a good deal, despite the fact we might be accidently starting to date, we never actually did much with pain. The reason this makes me an idiot is because she has told me stories of her being covered in bruises, the fun kind. And i’m the masochist who has had to ask friends to stop biting my arms because they don’t want me to jump them. Or at least… I don’t think they do.
We watch a movie with my housemates, and S doesnt behave. (Not that I really mind, so long as it doesnt make my housemates uncomfortable… ) So after the movie its really no surprise that we disappear into my room. Despite that my room is actually the hottest in the house, and despite the fact i’m fooling around with an incredibly attractive girl that i like, my shirt stays on. I kept thinking, in college with me drunk it came off so many times. Yet, it took so much before i could do it with her. It took overhearting, and the realization that she might well be the single best person i’ve hooked up with about me being trans. She quietly puts my shirt back down when it rides up, she didnt touch my chest until i essentially put her hands there, though ironically i did that by accident.
I asked, finally, if she minded. Odds are, she was laughing at me in her head. I sat up, pulled my shirt, and undershirt, off. And froze.
She sat up behind me, and kissed my shoulders. If i had have ever told her my turn ons, that would be on the list. If i had ever told her of the ways to help me when i flip out, that would be on there too. Her hands grazed my skin, and she said nothing…
I’m someone who revels in words, for all that i tend to think without language. I like it when my partners talk to me, it could be dirty, but it actually doesnt have to be. S sat forward, kissed my shoulders and her fingers grazed my skin with no words, and in that moment i was content with silence.
Later i had her on her stomach, tracing where i had scratched her a bit earlier. I mention the marks, tracing each red, raised set with my fingers… when she asked me to give her more. Clawing at her back, she wimpered contentedly and a seed forms in my mind. I tell her i need to grow out my nails. I don’t remember how, but i realize she wants me to bite. I love biting. I love the feel of skin and muscle between my teeth, the ache of my jaw, the marks left behind. Mark not in the “you’re mine” sense but in the, i did that to your skin, i have the power to do that and remind you of it later as you feel the bruises. I love being bitten, but i really love biting.
So i bite her. Over and over again, though not as hard as she could handle, definately hard enough. Her shoulders, her chest, her stomach, her hips… i just kept biting.
I pause and look at her, and tell her we are both giant idiots. She doesn’t understand why, but she doesnt need to. After all, it took us this long to bite, to scratch, to actually let go enough to begin explore one another.