Roles and Growth

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.

Updates and Upgrades

Recent adventures have included my computer breaking. From my battery to my logic board (yes, computers have logic boards, and when they break the computer goes illogical) I have new parts and this is the most functional my computer has been since I got it almost three years ago. They also gave me a bunch of free upgrades in programs that I’d otherwise have to pay for, which was awesome.

Other adventures include tearing through novels like I haven’t since high school, and reading books on spirituality. No computer? I read. A lot.

And now it is back. So I’m back.

T is interesting. I’ve grown a lot. My feet jumped a size, or a size and a half. I’m a lot broader now, no longer so scrawny. As in, my shirt neck size went from 13 1/2 to 15 1/2, and my sleeve length got longer as well. On the upside, this means I fit into regular shirts now. My sideburns are starting to come in. I really do need to shave more than once a week now, though much of the time I’m still lazy and only do it about once a week.

Still endlessly hungry. Still have a kicked up sex drive. I’ve adjusted to the second, but the first is being a much larger problem than it should be.

But one of the most interesting changes for me throughout transition is that my reactions to pain has changed. The way I feel pain, when S bites me (or when my friend bites my arm and leaves a bruise for a few days) is completely different than before. Not just more or less, but an actual different sensation that is really hard to explain. Stingy pain hurts so much more, as well as very different. At the same time, despite the fact that I’m processing pain differently and needing to completely relearn my limits and thus am far more sensitive than I would be if I knew how things would feel, I’m still needing the pain just as much. But I also like causing pain. About two and a half years ago I realized that I couldn’t date someone who wouldn’t give me pain, and hooking up would be difficult. About a year ago, I realized I couldn’t date someone who couldn’t take pain, and hooking up would be even more difficult than the former. I like pain. Be it the bite marks on my arm, or the scratches on someone else’s back, pain is really important for me. Which makes being so unclear about my own reactions to pain really damn frustrating.

And not frustrating in the fun way either.

Eventually, I’ll figure out how things are working with my body.

Post Movie Late Night Musings

Tomorrow, I get to act like a fool (in a good way,) spend time with good friends, be with S, and probably even dance. Which might have something to do with the fool part. Tonight, I spent time with friends and had a blast at a movie. Today, I had a good day with my mom. Yesterday, I got a bit more of my life in order. Things fall into place.

Maybe, maybe not. The puzzle pieces are going together and everyone keeps asking me what the picture is. Y’know what? I don’t know yet either. (/bad metaphor.)

I have never wanted my life to be an 80s movie. At times, I have wanted moments from certain films, but they were always 90s movies. Yeah, I’m a 90s kind of person, what can I say. But, somehow along the way my romantic, movie-esque side got squashed. In high school I aptly refered to myself as, “A romantic who’s hopeless, and probably a hopeless romantic.” Also, that line turned out to be great for online profiles at the time. Regardless, I gave flowers to the girls I dated, in fact I gave them their favorite types. I learned how to say ‘I love you’ in a ridiculous number of languages, as well as the different gendered ways to say it in each depending on how I felt any given day. Yeah, over-the-top high school romance. I did it. Badly, often. Cliche at times. But highly entertaining, and if nothing else, it was a lot of life crammed into some really hellish years.

Romanticism died. I used to have songs for everyone I dated, but that hasn’t happened recently. My last big romantic moment I threw away on a girl who it turned out wasn’t worth it, though I can’t actually regret the choices I made. Maybe I’m just jaded, and interested more in the slap, the bite, the dance against the wall in a room so crowded I’m grinding as much with the person behind me as S in front of me. Sure, it can be romanticized, but somewhere along the way, I buried that piece again.

Because part of me will always have a soft spot for candle lit nights, even though I want that hot wax dripped across bodies throughout it as well.

Dating requires a certain amount of self-assertion, of putting oneself out there enough to get rejected. Except the rejection I can handle, it is the self-advertising bit I’m not so great at. I’ve always let others come to me, rarely gone after anyone. I can’t advertise myself though. Self promotion is why I fail at cover letters, and only after a good amount of training could manage interviews. I don’t do it well, much like I don’t take compliments particularly well. I blush, and get shy and embarrassed because I have absolutely no idea how to react. Trying to compliment myself? Yeah. Not happening.

Somehow all of this relates in my head, besides just being under the category of ‘dating/hook ups/relationships/etc.’ My mind connects my lack of romance to my lack of self promotion… that there is a causation somewhere in there that is significant.

Just haven’t found that significance yet.

My First Floating World

Sorry for the lack of updates, been recovering/getting life in order so that I don’t accidentally end up having such large gaps in entries. But, the other weekend I attended the Floating World 2010, and had a blast. So here is my entry on it!

I don’t quite know when I started thinking about myself as a kinkster, as someone in the BDSM scene. I mean yeah, the first physical relationship I had included the obvious BDSM characteristics like a safeword, and there was definitely kinky play, like knives, choking/breath play, hitting, scratching, biting, and intentionally drawing blood. But as of FW, I had only been “in” the more public BDSM scene, the community, for like six months. I had been to one major event (the winter Fetish Flea) one play party (in NYC) and sure I talked about things at KinkForAlls, and yeah I did go to the summer Flea, I still feel very like a new comer.I know the words, the gestures, anything I could have read about the community… but being a part of that community is a new thing. So, I pushed myself. I felt uncomfortable, and pushed myself. And I’m really glad I went.

There were massive number of classes, some of which I attended, many of which I did not simply because it was not possible. Classes began at 9:30am and went until 12:30am with breaks for lunch and dinner… but still, that is a ton of classes. Needless to say, I want to many of them.

Classes

The first class I made it to was run be the fabulous Lee Harrington, and was called “Inner Monster: Tops.” Basically, it was a chance to sit down in a room full of tops/doms/dommes/masters/etc. (and switches speaking from that perspective) and talk about all the things that we in the BDSM and kink community don’t talk about. We talked about the taboos of our little world, from not giving aftercare to nonconsensual situations. In many ways, it dramatically altered how I looked at the rest of my time at FW. I began thinking a lot more about what was being said and what was not, looking at how certain assumptions about “how things should work” existed in our quaint little isolated culture. It also began my semi-stalking of Lee Harrington for the con.

The next class I went to was by Cleo Dubois, which I went to because it seemed like it would help me with topping/doming. Instead it was a kind of bleh presentation with a power point… and then a fairly cool scene. The things I got out of it were eye contact can be a great tool, and making people reenter a space if you don’t think they are in the right mindset can also help a lot. Oh yeah, and zippers rock.

Then, after dinner and meet & greets, I went to Dov’s class on mindfucks. It was fun, though I was a bit sad that S went to that class with me simply because the whole point was mindfucks made easy… which really aren’t as easy when the person I’d be mindfucking is sitting next to me. After that, we went to the super cool class on FtM CBT. Yes, there was a class on cock and ball torture for people like me. And it was awesome. It was run by Lee Harrington and Bo Blaze, and they talked about everything from how for some people this could mean putting needles through their packer, while for some it could mean putting needles through their actual bits. S got a lot of evil ideas from this class. Apparently she got a whole list of ideas, though I have yet to see/hear/feel them. We’ll probably go over it soon.

The next day I woke up early, just to go to the “Making Leather” class. It was good. Little to say about it other than that it was exactly what I expected and wanted- an intro class on making stuff out of leather and talking a bit about the tools and leather and places to get both without paying too much money. That day also had me attending a class by Barbara Carrellas on breathing. Yes, breathing. It was a cool class, but I think to really get a lot out of it I’d need to spend a lot more time working with her on my breathing. Though I did learn that orgasms from breathing alone are actually possible, as in, Barbara has sat in an MRI machine which showed her brain registering an orgasm without stimulation besides breath. That, I thought, was awesome.

Later, I went to a fabulous class run by Mollena, who wore her “International Ms. Leather 2010″ and began the class by walking around and personally introducing herself/saying hello and shaking the hand of everyone in the room. That alone kicked ass. And then she started talking, and engaging with the ‘audience.’ It was about boundaries, about what those words mean, how people mean different things by words like “limit” or especially “hard limit.” She was fabulous. People were bringing up cool things. And again, Mollena was awesome, had great stories, and told them hilariously. Needless to say, after such a great presentation, I stayed in the room, and enjoyed another Lee Harrington class (he had been in Mo’s class as well… oops?) about energy exchange and how we focus so much on safe sex, but not on safer magickal sex. It was awesome, and I got up the nerve to actually ask a question relevent to my life. Someone had asked about how to stop attracting toxic people, and my question was what about being attracted to toxic people? Lee’s response boiled down to that’s a class (at least) by itself, here are some things to go read.

That night I played with puppies. Go read about it below.

The next day I slept in because I was a very tired xMech… and then went to a fabulous class called “Creative Disobedience: the Art of Being A Wiseass.” I liked Zac’s comment to me about this, “You needed this class why exactly?” It was so much fun, and the presenter, Laura Antoniou, was truly entertaining. There were delightful stories, there was frank honesty, and there was fabulous movie references. “I’m shocked, shocked to find cocksucking going on in here.” (props to whoever knows that movie.) Kept making me think about how often I used to quote movies in a wiseass manner, and how I really should start doing so again. Then I went to another fun workshop, this time by Scot, on Liquid Latex. It was a lot of fun. Scot is a lot of fun. And, as it turns out, is friends with my friends. But we got to watch a hot girl get covered in liquid latex, and then as it was peeled/torn off. It was fun. By that night, I was again exhausted. So, I went to low key classes, like Wendy Blackheart’s Buttsex, which I went to because Wendy is awesome, and buttsex is always fun, and I didn’t need to pay attention to the basics, just keep an ear open for things I didn’t already know. Same goes for the final class I attended, which was Dov’s class on knives. He had pretty knives. Also, I want a straight razor. Maybe I’ll even start shaving with it.

So that was the classes I went to. The abbreviated edition. There will be entries to come inspired by thoughts from those classes. If you have any probing questions, feel free to comment/email and ask :D.

Dungeon

I was not big on the dungeon. Part of this was simply that I am uncomfortable with my own body and having my shirt and binder off in such a public space, which severely limits the ability for S to top me. The bigger issue for me was the lights and sound. The lights were really contrasty between the darkened ceiling, the bright lights, and the reflective tendencies of the floor. Also, lots of loud music. There wasn’t a quiet corner, or at least, quiet enough for my overly sensitive head. Needless to say, after the first night, I took some Excedrin from Tylerpup, and had a much better time.

However, there was a lot of really cool stuff in the dungeon. There was suspension frames, there was essentially a jungle gym looking thing, there was a play area, there was a pony area, there was a medical area, st. andrews crosses scattered about, and at one point, a ten person suspension on Zac’s 2 ton frame. That was an impressive moment. Also, I had fun walking around and seeing the little things I had done/the things I had helped build. Even though I didn’t play particularly much in the dungeon, there was an energy to the room, a feeling just from walking around, and it made me happy to be there, surrounded by fellow kinksters, perverts, and deviants.

That first night though, found me and S in the back area, where it was a bit darker, cuddling, and talking a bit. She’d have to jog my memory for me to know what we were talking about (as my memory is like swiss cheese) but I remember the mood I was in then. It was pensive, vaguely depressive, dark, relaxed, tired, pained, and analytical. Not really the best mood for public play, though common enough for my head.

The second night, however, was a blast. I had leashed S, and we went off to wander the dungeon, perhaps for inspiration. We ended up near where friends were their puppy selves, romping around on a mat, watched over by two owners. S went into kitty mode (if she wasn’t already) when it was decided we’d stay and play. After a bit, I asked her if she wanted Creature to come out, and she replied with a strong affirmative. So, I took off my shirt, and thought a moment, and started romping with puppies as Creature, in my binder. We all got a lot of “Aws” and a lot of cute responses. It was a lot of fun to play with the puppies and the kitty. There was lots of biting, some scratching. And a ton of scritches. So many scritches. And I was a happy Creature who kept getting scritches, and had adorable (and hot) puppies and a kitty to play with. And they all seemed to like my creature noises.

After that, thought it wasn’t in the dungeon, we briefly went to the pool party. As I hate being submerged in water, i just sat with my feet in the water. Lots of nudity. It was fun, and then bed.

Oh, I also got hypnotized at one point.

People

I met a lot of fabulous people. Made friends, got closer to people I had met before, things like that. Amusing moments included when a friend apparently realized/found out that I’m trans, on Saturday. So the second day of the conference, and we had hung out over the summer, and every mutual friend we have knows… somehow he didn’t actually know. Apparently he guessed, but only because I look so young for my age (I’m lucky if people think I’m 18 or 19… which is a problem when I’m buying alcohol.)

When I first checked in, we were all told to sign the release with our vanilla name, our “real” name, our legal name. For some in the BDSM scene, their real name is their scene name not their legal name. And for those like me? I mean, my “real name” is one thing, which is different from my “legal” name (as I have not yet gotten a legal name change), which is completely different from my scene and blog name (xMech.) They did not do well at specifying what name initially. Then when I got up to deal with registration, the person behind the table checking me in starting talking at me about how I could get my gender marker changed on my passport, as some family member of theirs did. I walked away thinking, “Well, you’re trying at least? But really, wtf- my legal gender marker is none of your damn business.” Also, there are complications, and yes, I did know they had recently made it easier to change on passports. Wasn’t the best impression I got at FW. On the upside, I definitely had many better.

I got lots of scritches, and some bites. I got to give quite a few bites as well.

At one point, over some meal or other, I was sitting down with some of my more newly made friends and a person I didn’t really know, and the topic ended up on anti-war activism. It was interesting, because I’m pretty sure I’d actually met the person I didn’t know before, but wasn’t up for the whole “So I was in DC at this time, at this event, where I think we met through this organization” and instead went with “So you know my friend so-and-so?” Which she did. Trust me to go to a kink convention and end up in a really engaging discussion about anti-war and peace activism and the military industrial complex. Also, we talked about food. My kind of conversation. My kind of people.

Sadly, one of the people I was sharing a hotel with got sick right before FW. Turns out, it was whooping-cough. So we were down a person in the hotel room, but even worse, Zac lost his vender’s assistant. I stepped in at one point, and held down the fort with Tylerpup to give him a break. Met some fun new people that way, also got to play around a bit with some of his stuff, which is always fun.

~~

Lots of fun things happened. I’m really glad I went. Even though there were moments, like of me being exhausted, or feeling uncomfortable, where I wasn’t having a blast, I learned a lot, and pushed on my boundaries. I got a sense of where many more of my boundaries were. So that is my long overdue write up on floating world! I should be back on track to writing a lot more frequently again. Hopefully I won’t have another giant down month like August was anytime soon!

Answers with an Agenda 9- Using Hands

Remember those awkward questions? My most memorable was asked of me by two of my friends, one very close, one not so close, during high school bio class. One was the younger sister of a lesbian, the other was a bi chick, and both were progressive, supposedly very well sex-educated high schoolers… and yet they asked. At least they knew to feel embarrassed about how they were asking, but they genuinely wanted to know…

How do two girls have sex? (Or… two people with cunts)

First of all, not everyone has sex the same way, regardless of bodies, identities, and relationships. Not every heterosexual, cisgendered, etc. male/female couple has penile/vaginal sex for sex. So, two girls? Yeah, lots of ways.

But I’m not going to directly answer this question, because anyone reading my blog is not at sex ed 101, but more like 112. So, since not all girls have cunts, not all people with cunts are girls, since not everyone with a cunt calls it a cunt, or a pussy, sometimes its a front hole, sometimes a clit is a dick, etc., I’m not going to tell you about some of the ways two girls have sex. I’m going to cover how two people who both happen to have cunts could have sex, though it will be by no means a comprehensive list. But there really is a TON to talk about, so it will be in three parts, and today’s?

Using Hands

Now this set of methods is fun and easy. Person A, uses their hands on Person B. Person B may or may not be using their hands (on Person A) in return. Things to do with hands include (but are by no means limited to): tracing patterns on skin, scratching someone’s back, playing with their hair, flicking their nipples, slapping their inner thighs, caressing their arms, holding their wrists, rubbing their dick/clit/slit/etc. So much to cover, but here are some highlights and tips for those methods:

When running your hands across someone’s back, a light touch can be delightfully sensuous, and lightly running your nails across someone’s back can send shivers throughout their body. If they are into pain, potentially digging in a bit with your nails, scratching up their back, can be quite a bit of fun. Some people like this type of pain, others do not. A good rule of thumb is start of light, and not assume that another person likes having their back gouged up and blood drawn. Unless of course, they’ve told you this before.

Wait, you say, this isn’t sex! Well, for some of us, it is. I’ve gotten off before from someone doing nothing more than scratching my back and biting my upper back/shoulders/neck area. The next day I had a beautiful set of scratches, welts right where my backpack sat, and was a very happy masochist. But sex isn’t about getting off. It isn’t just about genitals. So, expand your thinking a bit.

But I’m going to be talking about genitals. Something more traditionally regarded as “sexual” when using hands is when person A uses their fingers to pleasure person B through touching B’s cunt. Now remember, foreplay is not just fun, it can make the whole experience a lot better. I love teasing, I am a giant tease, but I do, eventually, sometimes hours later, follow through. That build up can lead to much better orgasms. Try it out.

When you are person A be careful about having nails and accidently scratching person B. Also, be aware that cuts on your fingers can greatly increase the risk of sexual transmitted diseases, so this would be the time to use latex or nitrile (for those with latex allergies) gloves. They actually has a really fun feeling, and it helps reduce the risk of scratching by accident with nails. Also, if you have very long finger nails, you can stuff cotton balls into the finger tips and that way will not scratch your partner.

When actually touching your partner, be aware that different people have different preferences. Some people might really enjoy having their labia majora (outer lips) stroked lightly, a good way to start touching the other person, and seeing if they are comfortable with having you touch them there at all. There are times I don’t want to be touched on my cunt regardless of sexual desire/attraction, even with long standing partners, so be very watchful of what your partner’s reactions are like.

Now, there is a reason I stuck the diagram up there. It’s often a good idea to start exploring and have an idea of what is where with each new person, because different people are laid out differently, though that is the general set up. Take a look. Stare. Enjoy the view, and I mean really appreciate it. If you are having trouble appreciating it, go read/see “Because He Liked To Look At It” from the Vagina Monologues. As much as I detest Eve Ensler, that is a fabulous piece. So, send your fingers exploring, take a look, and figure out how the person is laid out. Generall speaking, however, the clit is found under its hood, and below that is the urethra, and below that is the entrance to the vagina. Moments like these are when having a more standardized set of words that don’t sound like medical instruments would be nice. Regardless, the first piece of anatomy that I’ll be discussing playing with in more detail is the clit/dick/little guy named the clitoris in the above pic. I’m going to call it the clit for this post because it is just easier to type.

The clit is a fun little, or not so little, bundle of nerves. It extends back into one’s body actually, which is partly why pressing down on the mons can be so much fun for some people. Regardless, it is essentially a bundle of nerves, and a LOT of them. It is the highest concentration of nerves in the human body, of any sex or gender. That means it is very sensitive, especially on the head/tip of it. Some people don’t like direct stimulation there; it can be painful or overwhelming. A good thing to do instead is rub the clit through its hood. For instance, since it sticks out, you can actually rub it up and down or back and forth in between your fingers, essentially jacking it off (occasionally this is refered to as jilling off.) I’d recommend using lube for this, preferably non-glycerine lube, and definitely not oil based lube. Oil lube and cunts don’t well, and glycerine can increase the likelihood of yeast infections.

For more direct stimulation, a good method is place a finger direction over the head of the clit (you may need to gently pull back the hood a bit to get there) and rub back and forth gently, increasing pressure to the point where they enjoy themselves. Some people like a LOT of pressure, some hardly at all. Harder and softer do not mean slower or faster; those are two different scales! You can go hard and slow or fast and soft just as much as you could go hard and fast or slow and soft. Really. So, go off of the other person’s preference. Another really fun trick is to rub in a circle, this one is good for any pressure level but I’ve found works better when moving your fingers a bit faster.

Sorry, couldn’t resist. Anyways, another tip that I have is that remember the clit isn’t just the tip, nor the top. There is also an underside, closer to the urethra, and some people really like that part rubbed. Just sayin’.

Anyways, if your partner is so inclined as to enjoy penetration, remember what I said about gloves? It is all the more important here. Gloves protect the wearer, as hands frequently have cuts on them, and protect the other person from nails (or rough, calloused hands that some may not like.) Also, fun with medical roleplay is possible here, if that is your thing. Moreover, lube here can be very important. If the person is really wet, awesome. If not, it doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t turned on, a lot of things can cause this: testosterone, allergy meds, birth control pill… Which is why it is a good idea to always have some cunt-friendly lube on hand.

Either way, slide in one finger at a time. A lot of people automatically go for their index finger, but I often find that using my middle finger works better, gives me a better angle and maneuverability. Don’t add more fingers unless you are pretty damn sure they can handle the extra girth, and dont’ add too quickly. Stretching a person out too fast can make them feel as if they had been scratched and can kill the mood real fast.

Feel around, find the spots that make the other person gasp and moan. Good spots include the g spot, a spot, and the cervix. Not everyone likes all or any of these stimulated, but for each one, here is some advice:

• G-spot: slide 1 or 2 fingers into the cunt and feel the side of the vagina closest to their stomach/mons pubis, not the side closer to their back/ass. There should be a spot not very far in, that has a different texture. That is the G Spot. Move your fingers along it in the “come hither” motion. There is a reason this is fairly well known, it works damn well.
• Another inch or two past the G spot is the A spot. This one is best detected by first finding the G spot, then sliding your finger(s) further inside the other person until their reactions tell you that you hit something good. Again, the come hither motion is good to apply here. Be warned, both the A spot and the G spot can cause that “need to pee” feeling. They can also cause female ejaculation.
• If you push your finger(s) in deeper, you will eventually feel the cervix, a harder ring of flesh deeper in the cunt. It feels very different than the rest. Some people really like pressure against it, some really do not. If your partner does like it, try spinning your finger around the circle with a decent amount of pressure. They will probably make delightful sounds as a result.

Maybe you slide a finger inside and they wanted more, so you slid in another. And a third. And suddenly you both realize, you want to try fisting. In that case, go see my first AwaA on fisting.

So, you’re fucking them and having a blast. And suddenly their clit… retracts? Now, this actually means they are around 30 seconds to a minute and a half ish away from getting off, so do not stop what you are doing. No really, keep going, they will thank you for it.

The biggest piece of advice I can give though, is listen to the other person. If you are the receiver, give feedback. If it is good, give signs like “mmmhm,” vigorous head nodding, to “OH FUCK YES!” are both nice indicators. If you want them to do something different, tell them. Show them. I find that one of the hottest things a partner can do is move my hand to guide me better, because its hot to know they trust me enough to let me know, its hot that they know what is better, and its especially hot knowing that they are going to really enjoy what is coming.

Any tips or suggestions you have? Please feel free to comment! If you have a question you want answered in AwaA, please either comment or feel free to shoot me an email. Also, the next two AwaA (barring unforseen circumstances) will be parts 2 and 3, involving using one’s mouth or using toys.

Six Months on T

And what do I have to show for it?

My voice dropped into nice, low, masculine ranges. My neck sized increased, which greatly affected the shape of my face, even more than the more subtle changes on my face itself. My clit increased size, my sex drive shot up, shot up again, and then dropped a hair to a nice, steady place. I’m hungry all the time, but figuring out how to handle it, and making sure I eat at least mostly healthy food.

I’m in a surprisingly healthy relationship. Surprising because healthy relationships have been so rare for me, and it has been a really pleasant surprise. She sees me for who I am, not for my body, but also does an amazing job at being careful about what I want with my body, how I exist within my body… and how in many ways it isn’t mine.

My clothes don’t quite fit right anymore, I need to go shopping. In the last six months, I’ve moved, gotten a new job, met some amazing people, and found some awesome things. I lost friends, and found friends in places I had not even thought about.

I’ve been heartsick, and crushing. I’ve been freezing and melting into a pile of liquid xMech from the scorching heat.

I’ve stretched my comfort zone, gone to play parties and allowed penetrative sex. Hell, I’ve started asking for it more than ever. I’ve broken down mental barriers, and brought myself to the point where I can slap S… though still not on the face. I’ve marked her again and again, bites, bruises, hickies, handprints, and been marked in return. I’ve entered male bathrooms and confronted some of my ableist tendencies and language. I started relooking into religion, pushing myself past the “I don’t want to do this, I can’t examine this” and into books and articles on Judaism, Buddhism, Neo-Paganism and all kinds of alternative spiritualities. I’ve accepted that I can’t keep friends forever, and strove to rebuild my own mind.

But what do I have to show for it all?

No matter what I do, for me it will never be enough. Part of me loves that, loves that I always want more from myself, never to be static, always growing, looking for new connections to help me grow and change. I’m a person of becoming, not being, and I love it. But no matter how I contemplate Nietzsche, I am tired of never being enough for myself.

Years ago I realized I couldn’t keep a promise I made to myself, so instead I completely reoriented my life. I started to strive to become the person others saw me to be, to become the person my friends, family, lovers, and teachers saw in me, or at least saw that I could become. And it is never enough. Not because they tell me that, in fact they usually tell me the exact opposite, but I see how awesome they are, how much they deserve…

and after all these changes in the last six months, or six years… I still wonder what do I have to show for it?

A few whiskers and ill-fitting clothes just don’t quite seem to cut it. About only one thing does: I’m genuinely happy. And that is more than enough to show for anything. Just need to manage to get my mind around the concept.

Keeping it Light…

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.

Lines of White and Red

I don’t remember how I got the scar on my back. It is apparently a nice, slightly curved white line on my back, acquired sometime in the last few years. C noticed it about a year ago, and we then had a delightful conversation where she denied being the one to leave it, but I really cannot believe it was anyone else…

Since high school, I’ve frequently had rather large hickies on my neck. After breakups especially, the marks on my neck would garner lots of questions. I’m easy to mark. Only one person has ever managed to avoid marking my neck, and ironically that was unintentional. As much as S does leave marks on my neck, she tends not to leave them other places. That isn’t as true the other way around.

The jersey sheets are soft under my bare body, and sit facing S, her back to me. Her hands rest behind her at her ass, tied together at the wrist. Her hands rested right in front of my clit and would sometimes brush against me lightly. I was so turned on, so wet. She told me she was more submissive. She asked to be tied up, and at some point I slid into that place in my head, at some point I started to enter my dominant mode that night in a way that I hadn’t in months. It wasn’t that I wanted to top her, that I wanted control, it wasn’t want. It was simply there.

Her back had red lines from my nails. I drew them across again, both hands scratching at her back from top to bottom, side to side, crossing, sometimes a straight pattern, sometimes serpentine. Over and again, I scratched her back until the lines faded into a sea of red, texturized skin. My nails ran across her arms, her legs, her inner thighs, up her chest and to her neck. I wondered how much would be visible the next day. I wanted those marks to show when she wore her swimsuit the next day at the pool. My nails would return, again, to her back, feel the heat coming off of it. Sometimes I’d let my hands just gently run across her back, a soothing motion in contrast with my frequently quick scratches.

Her fingers would sometimes graze my inner lips, but never with confidence. I relished the hesitation. Each time my nails dragged across her skin, I could feel her skin resist, and occasionally break open to the next layer. My nails I know, know how to draw blood, avoid blood, know how to scrap, how to claw. My nails I know, it was her reactions I was learning. Her sighs, her quick intakes of breath, I’m learning her reactions. Each swipe of my nails across her skin, I controlled my actions and reveled in her responses, even in her silence.

She is a first. I have drawn my nails and painted red, raised lines all over backs before, but never did I scratch an entire back into a canvas of red skin. I have drawn blood before, but never felt a sense of control over my nails like that moment. I knew the instrument, I knew the recipient, and I knew my mind. More than anything S is the first to bring out the desire, almost a craving, to mark. I want to mark her.

So that the next day when she put on her swimsuit, there would be evidence of my nails for any to see.

Marking isn’t about ownership to me. It is about the power to leave the mark at all, about the reminder later of the moment, it is about the knowledge that the marks are there to see. Even when the marks are hidden under clothing, they is the potential for them to be revealed.

It wasn’t what S wanted that night, not really, and I knew that. But we need to find our own ways of playing with power with each other. I need to be comfortable, sure of myself, in what I’m doing to her in order to dom. So the first time I wield her cane or flogger, I am not sure. I need time to get used to a flogger, especially one of a very different weight than I’m used to. I need time to learn how to use a cane. So the first time, I’m not going to get into the right mindset. But my nails, I know my nails, and their effects on skin. We need to talk more, need to work with D/s, need to find our way into power play for ourselves. I need to learn how to get into my head without having to really know my tools, because I want to learn those tools.

Days later my fingers trace the raised marks, and again even about a week later. I smile and kiss her. I have to restrain myself, not drag my nails across her upper back, not down her spine, or tracing her shoulder blades, to make sure I don’t break open the healing, red lines. Days later I trace the raised marks and smile.

First Memories

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.

A College Night

It was a strange night, and a rather strange party. My housemates, some friends, and I all in a circle playing spin the bottle, and damn was I drunk. Running around in my binder with my shirt off is pretty much the definition of “bombed” for me. Playing spin the bottle is as well. Except it wasn’t a bottle, it was a cell phone, because we were drinking hard liquor and mixers that night. Except it wasn’t just housemates and some friends, it was also some people who I didn’t even know…

Attraction is a funny thing.

So there the group of us were, playing spin the bottle with a cell phone, and at some point I ended up on the other side of the circle than expected, and next to one of those people I didn’t know. Wearing no shirt, just my binder. We flirt, but those details are lost to time. What is clear is the scraping nails across arms, our quiet way of saying we each wanted more; more pain, more action, more passion, more than making out. Our nails blazed red trails, even when just sitting there, waiting for our turn in the game. Her arms were red, her friend noticed. Somehow, he missed that it was me.

That drunken night did more for my confidence than most of my relationships…

Sitting in my living room, just her, my housemate, and myself, we cheer as a hookup pair finally leaves the bathroom and the housemate walks the other to the door and bids her a goodnight, and returns upstairs. The three of us remain, and sit there, my housemate and I in a silent contest. Who gets the one-night stand? Who gets the out of town guest? It never occurred to us to have a threesome. It never occurred to us to speak up, to question, just remain silent, until my housemate declares this to be too awkward and returns to her room, and I go to mine, but I am not alone.

She tops me, a rare occurrence. She takes the lead, takes the control, and has my pants off quick.  She has me pinned, has me taking… but she’s the one with the back laced with nails dragging, fiery lines crossing her back, while my back remains clear, as I am bound. She has my pants off, her warm wet breath tracing up and down my thighs, her tongue flicks across my clit, and my binder remains on. She doesn’t want reciprocation, she just wants to get me off, and she leaves my binder on. I didn’t really understand why, but with an attractive person going down on me while I was drunk, I wasn’t in much of a position to process the issue.

She was good, and it was hot.

Only later did it occur  to me that she left my binder on out of respect. Respect for my identity, respect for not being a woman, respect that I might well not want someone to play with my chest. It was a first. She had my pants off, and I was still not a woman in her eyes. Maybe it was because she had gender discrepancies of her own. Not that I wouldn’t have wanted her to touch my chest, but that she didn’t lead me to new thoughts, new realizations. More than anything, it lead me to new confidence of having that chest at all.