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.
Grabbing inspiration from Emma, I am posting a recipe on here, because 1- I’m hungry, 2- it’s tasty, and 3- I feel like it. Also, be warned that unless you are feeding a large number of hungry people, you will have leftovers. It keeps well in the fridge, or if you make three trays at a time, you can also freeze them before cooking to make another time.
So, here is a good, basic recipe for a vegetarian Lasagna.
- Preheat oven to 325º
- Lasagna pan
- 1 pkg Lasagna noodles (If you can find it, Barilla makes no boil lasagna noodles that are really good, but any will work.)
- 4-5 jars Tomato sauce
- 2 big pkgs shredded Mozzarella cheese
- 2 big pkgs shredded Parmesan cheese
- 1 big pkg shredded other kind of cheese, like provolone or asiago
- 3 containers of whole milk ricotta cheese
- 3-6 XL or Jumbo eggs
- Mixture of Italian spices (basil, rosemary, oregano, tarragon, thyme, garlic, sage)
Stir the ricotta cheese, the eggs and the Italian spices together well. Texture should be fairly smooth, but not totally because ricotta cheese is similar to cottage cheese. Spices will be visible. I prefer to put a lot of spices in, but do what seems best to you. I use whatever spices are on hand.
Spray pan well with Pam, or other such cooking spray, before starting, both the bottoms and the sides. Note- My method of lasagna, is essentially architectural. I BUILD lasagna, it is not meant to be made.
Cover bottom of pan with tomato sauce. It should take about half a jar to two-thirds of a jar. (1cup – 1-½ cups of sauce). Next layer noodles slightly overlapping. Make noodle layer cover sauce.
Next, put down a layer of the ricotta mixture spread evenly. Then sprinkle a layer of each of the other cheeses you have ending with the parmesan.
Then, start the process all over again starting with a layer of the tomato sauce.
Usually you get through either two or three full rounds depending on the depth of your pan. After the last full layer, cover with tomato sauce and sprinkle with parmesan cheese.
Cover with tin foil. Cook on middle to top shelf of oven. Cook at 325 until the top is bubbly. This is usually for 1-½ hours and then remove the foil and continue to cook for 15 minutes. Remove from oven and let sit for at least 10 – 15 minutes before cutting.
I’m going to begin with a question a friend of mine asked recently, out of sheer ignorance.
Wait, it isn’t just punching it in? So how do you fist someone?
Now, punching is a viable form of fisting, but for inexperienced people I do not recommend it. Well, I wouldn’t recommend it for anyone, but some people do go for it. Actually, the best way to start getting into fisting is using fingers to penetrate. Personally, I’ve found it best to start off smaller, and work your way up to more and more fingers. Also, fisting is NOT something you should just “spring” on someone. Talk about it before hand, they may be very into the idea, they may run away in terror. But talk about it before. Consent is hot.
However, before you begin, first you should have your favorite kind of lube near by. You don’t “have to” use lube, but it is a lot safer, and I’d say more pleasant. Good lubes for this are silicon lubes because they have more cushion and dry out slower, and water-based lubes like Maximus that are thicker. Use throughout this process and generously. Don’t be afraid to get lube pretty much everywhere. Also, latex (or Neoprene, or whatever) gloves should be used for stopping the spread of STIs, as well as helping not accidently scratch the fistee with fingernails. If you have extra long nails, you can put cotton balls in the tips of the gloves to pad them and keep things safe, otherwise it is a good idea to trim and file your nails. Even if you and your partner have agreed to have unprotected sex, for fisting gloves are still a good idea. It helps your hand slide better, keeps even filed nails from accidently scratching, and it also prevents infection if you are anally fisting from getting into small cuts on your hands. So gloves are good. Lube is is great.
So starting off, it is best to go slow with one or two fingers. See how the fistee is responding, feel how tight they are. Maybe you need them to switch positions, or maybe you realize that your wrist is cramping. Better to do this now than later. Once you’ve gotten started using two fingers for a bit, then it is time to build until four fingers are sliding in and out of the person, and you are on your way.
Four fingers can be done two basic ways. The first is a flat hand, with your fingers all in a line, much as if you were slapping them. This gives a nice ‘wider’ sensation, but some people do not like the unevenness of the pressure, preferring a more round tool for penetration. In that case, it is better to move your fingers inwards, so that the tips are pointing towards the same spot, and the pinky is actually crossed over the ring finger. Be careful about hand cramps.
At this point it is a good idea to check in. A “green/yellow/red” system is quite excellent in this case, because it is best to get the clear “go ahead” before going from using four fingers to fisting. Make sure the receiver is both feeling good about how things have gone so far, and also ready for more. Another good piece of advice is to be sensually teasing them with your other hand the entire time, but especially at this point and further, to help keep them in a heightened state of arousal.
Now, with your hand all slick and most the way in them anyways, it is time to start fisting. This is the hard part. Start by putting your fingers into a duck-bill sort of shape:
Then, VERY slowly, not just inch by inch but truly millimeters at a time, start sliding your hand, including your thumb, into the fistee. Watch your partner very carefully, if they start tensing up, stop and wait for them to relax. If they stop enjoying it, slowly remove your hand and try again another night. Again, keep checking in with them. So, you are sliding your hand in very slowly, until you reach about the knuckles of your fingers. At this point, either continue the in and out motion, if that is all they are wanting, or (more commonly) once your hand is in to the knuckles, begin to curl your fingers around your thumb as you keep slowly pushing inwards. Your hand will naturally do this most of the time anyways. This is when you must be extra careful about your nails. This is why gloves, and carefully trimmed and filed nails, are very important. An example of how your fist will be is this:
Alternatively, you can also make a fist with your thumb underneath your fingers. Now, after you finish getting your hand into the fist, pause and let the fistee adjust to the size of your hand. Now you can, again SLOWLY, start moving your fist a bit more in an in and out motion. If the fistee suddenly tightens down, don’t immediately pull out your hand. Pause, and slowly withdraw. For moving in and out, be careful not to completely withdraw your fist.
But mostly, have fun with it! If you and whoever you are fisting with are not enjoying the experience, then move on to something else.
- Gloves are good if you don’t want STIs, or to accidently scratch your partner
- Start of slow, if fisting into a vagina/front hole, make sure the person is very aroused and already wet.
- Grab your favorite kind of lube, and use liberally on the fisting hand and the hole to be fisted
- Place your hand into the beak-esque position
- Slide in slowly, adding more lube if needed.
- If you chose, curl fingers back down into a fist
- Slide hand in and out, though my recommendation is not to pull out completely
- Enjoy yourselves!
Hope you enjoyed my first Answers with an Agenda. Feel free to comment, and especially ask questions for future weeks!
I decided to write a few on what my specific takes on theoretical aspects of well, my identity and other such things I care about. Here is the first. You’d think that sex and gender would be basic concepts, oh wait, not so much. Feel free to disagree, very strongly disagree in fact.
Transgender, transsexual, this community(ies) calls itself many names, and are called many more by outsiders. I get faggot from cars a lot, get dyke on occasion, get called freak, friend, brother, sister, her, him, they, it… And all of it is because of sex and gender. To interrelated concepts that the GBLTQQAI-etc communities can’t seem to figure out. People will often talk about sex as biological, a combination of genetics and both primary and secondary physical characteristics (from testes to breasts to facial hair.) Meanwhile gender is something else. Some combination of identity, presentation, social construction, and whatever else the person is talking loops in there under the title of ‘gender.’ I don’t buy that division.
But here are my definitions:
Sex- the/an action; Sex as in sexuality. My prefered definition of sex is two or more people, one or more orgasms and/or penetration; however, many different people have their own. Having been in lesbian/dyke communities for a while the question of ‘what is sex’ lead me in the direction of the above.
Gender- the system, or another way to put it in my mind is “everything else.” This system includes the self-identification, expression, societal implications and the physical manifestations. In other words this includes what I think I am, as well as my body, how I was born, but also its current state.
“It’s important to keep gender and sex separated as, respectively, system and function” -Kate Bornstein, Gender Outlaw p. 31
That book made a huge impact on my life, but one of the most drastic was my thinking on sex and gender. System/function, two interrelated but distinct things. I spent all of high school honours biology having to go through “system/function” again and again with my teacher. When there it is, in a book I pick up on gender my freshman year of college. Wait, so if gender is a system, and sex is a function, does that mean the physical/biological aspects we often term ‘sex’ are actually gender?
And my brain went pop.
Function, according to the American Heritage Dictionary, is “The action for which a person or thing is particularly fitted or employed… An assigned duty or activity.” Most importantly, both are activities, both are actions. Function means action. If sex is an action, then one’s physiological aspects changes the how of the sex, but not the what. A penis, a vagina, breasts, testes, how you see yourself, your interest, your desire, kinks, fetishes, sensitivities… all of these affect how one as sex, but none ARE sex, when defining sex as a function. They are what effects that function most directly, the systems of the function. Ok, so sex is a function. Big deal, there are sexual acts, activities, and for some people, even duties (what sexual acts/activities/etc are, I’ll leave undefined for until another day.) But what struck me was that if it is a function, and gender is the system, the implication was that sex was not at all a system, just a function.
Just a function, as in the physiological characteristics we so often refer to as sex are not sex but gender because gender is the system and sex is the function… the act. Biological aspects, (such as the most commonly referenced penis/lack of penis dichotomy) are a part of gender. So that gender is identification, expression, physical characteristics… everything that isn’t the function of sexual action is the system, including the physical characteristics.
Which means there is not just two genders, duh. Nor 4 genders (namely male, female, male to female, and female to male,) as hell just the physical systems have far more variations, from genetic variation (XX, XY, XXY, X, Y, and XXX among others,) to differences between chromosomes and bodies (either for someone born intersex or say taking hormones and altering their body.) But then add on the additional variations of identification, as well as presentation… There are far more than just a spectrum of identities.
The way I see gender is like a multidimensional universe, of a non-euclidean origin (yes, I am that big of a geek.) There are clumps of similarly identified people, scattered about, but all sorts of places in between that some people are. There more potential genders than there are people… but in those spaces between the clumps there are random individuals, and smaller clumps.
That is my image. Clumps of similar identifications gathered around each other, with interconnecting identities along the way, and the possibility for things in between, be it up, down, side to side, or any other which way.
Moreover, gender is not only fluid, it is guaranteed to change. If nothing else, as a person grows up, their gender changes much as their physical body changes. Similarly, as I go through transition, as my voice drops I grow facial hair, as my scent changes and what I desire alters with the influx of different hormones, so does part of my gender. That is not to say what I am in this moment is worth anything less, rather it is worth all the more because it is going to change, it is a moment and thus must be cherished because it will be lost. (Ok, cheesy maybe, but that is what I think.) People are not meant to simply “be,” not stay, not just stagnate and remain unchanging. Rather, individuals should constantly become. This theory is actually from Nietzsche, that the constant transience of striving for betterment is that becoming, that individuals should not stagnate. Regardless of the asshole interpretations of Nietzsche, and some of his not as good ideas, those always struck me…
Gender is a form of that becoming. It does not stay the same by this set of definitions, nor should it. Sex is powerful, fun, hot; sex is depressing, uplifting, humiliating; sex is a ton of things but all of them are actions. Sex is a function, not a system. The system that effect it, however, are complex and often incredibly fucked up. Which I’ll save for another time… The systems of gender, from physical to cultural, from class to identification, are not actions.
“…The point is there’s more to sex (the act) than gender (one classification of identity.)” -Kate Bornstein, Gender Outlaw p. 30
Thank you Auntie Kate.
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 other day, I saw my friend Q, who has had a less than stellar sex life recently. A lot of the reasons behind that are medical, but a while ago we had a conversation about how her gynecologist recommended she and her boy use lube. Actually her gynecologist recommended KY, to which I responded “WHAT?!” and proceeded to explain why she didn’t want to use glycerin water-based lubes. So she got the one KY that was glycerin free, and left it at that not wanting to risk trying something she really didn’t know anything about. So when I saw her, I gave her a packet of information I had grabbed on various lubricants, and a sampler pack (both from A Woman’s Touch and a lot of that/all of that info is online) to expand her horizons. I figured she’d appreciate it, and maybe then would listen to me about how much better stuff was out there.
The day after I saw Q, I got a call. This was rather unexpected, as she is rather busy and stressed. She called to say thank you. Actually, it bordered on shouting. Apparently, I am a life saver. Yes, her phrasing. It was really great to hear, because her voice radiated with the sounds of “I had amazing sex last night,” and it was literally due to me. This was music to my ears, because quite frankly as much as I love Q, that is about as close to sex with her I ever want to come. (Or rather, I don’t want to come. That’s the point. Hush you all, I’m in puberty, I’m allowed to make terrible sex jokes.)
It is amazing what a sex positive friend can do, eh?
That night, however, the tables of life had turned. It was the day of my shot, and one of the side-effects of T that I had heard about, but never experienced, was dryness. I figured it wasn’t going to affect me like that, because though it had occasionally happened in the past, since I started testosterone I’ve rather been in the reverse shoes. S has gotten to always have me very wet until that night. Despite our trips to some fabulous sex stores, despite S and I both having lots of history, neither of us had lube. Despite being horny as fuck, despite her getting me more and more turned on, I stayed dry. And we had no lube to make things go smoother, and generally a bit more fun. Just after saving Q’s life, I managed to not have any around for myself. On the other hand, I am now on a mission to make sure this never happens again, but still… Grawr.
Even more frustrating to me, was that S seemed worried about it at the time because I had never been that dry with her before. That dry? Who am I kidding, I was all but a desert. She read it, probably, as me not being very turned on. And so while I was frustrated about my body’s lack of response to me being very turned on, I was also frustrated that S didn’t know how turned on I was, as well as being frustrated at our lack of preparation in the form of lubricant. Despite all those frustrations, S still got me off, and in quite a good way. But having to tell her that no, I am turned on, T can do that to me, was… uncomfortable.
I’m someone who is really body shy. I know, shocking, right? A tranny uncomfortable with their body is UNHEARD of… ok, dropping the sarcasm. Maybe. But really, it isn’t that I’m unattractive, maybe that would be easier on me. It is the disconnect between me and my body. That was one of the first, if not the first, night my pants were off with S. That alone has me incredibly self-conscious. Needing to explain that I’m actually turned on, that me being dry was a side-effect of T, took a lot from me.
I’m not used to a relationship where I can actually bring myself to say things like that at that kind of time. Either I let people assume things and don’t say anything at all, or I end up doing self-destructive things to avoid ever talking. I’m not used to talking this much anymore. The communication is surprisingly good… if draining.
Things to remember- T can make me dry. Always have lube. Spread the lube word.