Archive for January, 2014

Sleeping Arrangements

January 25, 2014 5 comments

It doesn’t have to be a problem. It shouldn’t be a problem.

It’s a problem.

Spouse has been seeing this girl a few months now. The young one who used to date the Techie. Let’s call her Polly Pocket: she is adorable and just about pocket-sized.

We’re all going to a play party tomorrow night. We’re going to be out late–some parties I’ve barely hit the front door by dawn–and it doesn’t make sense to drive her all the way home and then turn around and go back to our place.

There are two logical options. (1) We can all take one car, Polly Pocket can come home with us, she and Spouse can share the bed and I can sleep in the living room. (2) We can take two cars, Spouse can go back to Polly Pocket’s place and spend the night, and I can come home and have the whole bed to myself.

Spouse wants to invent options 3-7 and get upset at me for not liking them. Option 3: we all three share a bed. Hell no. We tried it when she crashed here after the Techie debacle. I got up and moved to the couch. Too crowded, and I’m not a cuddler, and there was unfamiliar movement and breathing…ugh. There are very few people with whom I can share a bed and not be miserable. All of them are either partners/former partners or my sister. Option 4: Polly Pocket and I share the bed, Spouse takes the couch. This is ridiculous. They are both snuggly types, I am not. He is in a relationship with her, I am not. I don’t want to share personal space that closely with someone I’m not in a relationship with. Option 5: make Polly Pocket take the couch. I guess we could, but again with the snuggle compatibility and I don’t want to make her feel exiled. Option 6: I get the bed, they inflate the air mattress and sleep on the living room floor. This makes sense if I am an evil and insane person who will make Spouse and his partner sleep on a glorified pool raft that is likely to be punctured by bad cats in the night. Since I’m not, and it isn’t cat-proof, and loud to set up, and also this idea is crazy…no. Option 7: “I just can’t date anyone else this is too complicated.” *facepalm*

Spouse keeps saying it doesn’t seem fair to kick me out of the bed. He isn’t kicking me out, he’s not listening when I say I don’t want to be there. And yeah, this would’ve been more navigable if we still had a two-bedroom apartment, but we don’t. Sometimes I’m going to have to move over a little to make room for other people in Spouse’s life. It shouldn’t be a problem.

So why is it a problem?


Please let me just say “no.”

January 21, 2014 33 comments

I’m sorry.

I’d have said it earlier if I’d known you were flirting.

I’m really dense about these things.

I think we’re better as friends.

Yes, I do like spending time with you.

No, it’s not because you’re fat or short or whatever it is you’re insecure about.

Yes, I think you’re pretty.

Why does it matter why?

I think we’re better as friends.

Maybe I’m happy with the way we are.

Maybe I don’t want to have sex with every friend I find attractive.

Maybe I’m scared of getting closer to you.

Maybe I don’t want to be closer to you.

Maybe I don’t have time.

Maybe I’m picky.

Maybe a more intimate relationship wouldn’t work because we’re glaringly incompatible.

Maybe not all relationships need to level up to maximum intimacy. You won’t get an XP bonus.

Maybe it doesn’t matter why.

Maybe you’re just not special.

Fuck, there’s no nice way to say that, is there.

I mean it when I say I’m glad to see you.

I smile when you text just to say hi.

I like you just fine.


I could say the same about almost everyone in our social circle.

Maybe you’re just not special.

If you’re not special

(breath catching in my throat, fingertips twitching towards you almost without thinking, when my phone buzzes I hope it’s you, I call you before my own mother when something exciting happens in my life, on my mind like Willie Nelson *special*)

Don’t make me tell you.

Don’t make me hurt you.

Please let me just say “no.”

It doesn’t matter why.

I don’t want it. You can’t change my mind and I don’t want you changing yourself.

I like you as you are.

I like us as we are.

Please let me just say “no.”

On Female Dominance. (by a switch)

January 20, 2014 2 comments

This was going to be a comment on Ferns‘ recent post about the barriers young dominant women experience in coming into their sexuality, but it got out of hand and turned into a whole gender thing so it’s here now. All the disclaimers: floating around seemingly at random in terms of sexual identity as I do (switch/poly/queer/oy vey), dominance is a thing that I may experience very differently than most women who identify as dominant. I suspect there’s still enough overlap that I can talk about it, but maybe not. Anyway. Her early experience is undoubtedly a common one:

From my perspective as a young woman out in the world, I was never free to exercise any sexual initiative in the way I wanted. So I stifled it.

What I mean by that is that in NO environment was I safe or encouraged to behave in the way I wanted (predatory, aggressive, running the fuck) with men.



As soon as I showed the slightest interest in any man, I was put on the defensive by THEIR aggressive behaviour and there was no way to manage that except to step back and become the gatekeeper.

I can’t even imagine how frustrating this would be. Obviously it’s happened; I’ve made advances and the response has been off-putting and over the top. It’s like when you go to scratch a dog behind the ears and he just can’t handle the excitement, he’s sure you’re best friends now and he wants to lick your face and knock you down with his crazy whip-tail and really all you can do is try to calm him down before you fall over. It’s not all that surprising. Heterosexual men are under overwhelming social pressure to be the aggressor in relationships, even if that’s not their personal preference. It definitely adds to the difficulty so many women have in being the aggressive/assertive partner. A lot of our perceptions about aggression and assertiveness are tied up in the idea of masculinity, which is going to make the process of forming an F/m relationship subversive to some degree. Some folks like being subversive, some find it frustrating that it has to be, but ultimately, it goes against the grain. It’s just harder.

For the most part, I was lucky. With a very few exceptions, I don’t date traditionally masculine men. Some are genderfluid, Most are queer to some degree, one was completely asexual*, and a couple were deeply, oppressively religious. Most of the rest of my partners have been women.  They’ve generally been perfectly happy to let me be a mean, egotistical maniac outspoken, aggressive, and downright bossy. (Well, minus the bossy part when dating a D-type.) Whatever power dynamic formed in each of those relationships formed independently over time to match what worked for us. I really can’t stress enough that I have been lucky as hell in this regard.

I started dating at fifteen. By eighteen I was consistently the more assertive partner in every relationship and the initiator of every one night stand. I didn’t think of it in D/s terms at the time, not because BDSM was unfamiliar but because the mix-n-match of behaviors I indulged didn’t properly fit D/s roles as I understood them. Hell, I still don’t know how to describe a relationship with a terribly conflicted Catholic man that consisted almost entirely of theological debate and ordering him to hurt me. Dominant masochist and evil temptress? Who knows. The point is, even though I had the freedom to be as aggressive as I liked most of the time within a relationship, doing so openly was still incredibly challenging.

There’s a social perception that comes with assertiveness, and it is decidedly masculine. I’m not remotely butch. I can dress the part, and have on occasion, but my default look is long curls and high heels. One of my many objections to cold weather is that it prevents me wearing skirts. But because I’m aggressive–because I reach for the check first, because I make the first move, because in some subtle way it’s typically assumed that I’m going to at least voice if not make joint decisions in a relationship–I’m called the “guy” or the “man” of the relationship. This started way back in undergrad, when I was dating a very butch but rather meek young woman. Over and over friends would laugh that “Nic is so the boy, it’s so cute!” (which pissed us both the hell off because no, actually, we were both women; there is no “boy” in a lesbian relationship**). It continues today with Spouse: a good chunk of our social group have taken to calling him my wife and I frequently have to correct people who assume ours is an F/m relationship. The former we don’t mind. Spouse is genderqueer and mostly indifferent to which gendered nouns and pronouns people use to refer to him. The latter is more problematic. One domme assumed that Spouse was submissive to me because he came to a party in high heels–that is, clearly I had feminized him, and feminine=submissive. One of the reasons he wears heels is to annoy me: I like being taller than he is. It’s ridiculous, and especially hard to understand given that in 90% of my public scenes, I bottom, and in all but one of his public scenes, he’s topped. But he’s not masculine. Must be submissive, right?

It is problematic that emasculation is synonymous with weakness. It is problematic that empowerment is in conflict with traditional femininity (apparently there’s not an accepted word. I looked.) This discourages women from being assertive, aggressive, or dominant: those of us who embrace female identity are told that we can’t keep it if we want to be dominant. For some, that’s a barrier that can be overcome. I have changed Spouse’s car battery in bright red stilettos while threatening the poor Southern gentleman who said “let me just get that for you, darlin’.” My automatic response to anyone who says “you can’t…” is to immediately and with complete disregard for personal safety or social consequences do exactly the thing I “can’t” do. For others, I imagine it’s just tiring. Simply expressing oneself authentically shouldn’t be a constant struggle, but norms being what they are, it is. For some women, the frustration of expressing dominance may just not be worth it, especially for those women who don’t know that there’s a kink community out there and that many men are dissatisfied with the power dynamics assigned to traditional gender roles.

It’s not just that men are raised and expected to behave this way, it’s that this behavior is synonymous with masculinity. If women are going to be comfortable with dominance, assertiveness, aggression, we need at minimum social acceptance to be these things without being denied femininity.

*Yeah. Ask me how well that worked.

**By which I mean: when referring to a relationship between two female-identifying persons who are not interested in queering their gender, it is inappropriate for an outsider to declare one of them the “boy/man/guy/dude/&c. It’s homophobic to force homosexual relationships to fit a heterosexual paradigm. If someone in a lesbian relationship identifies as a boy (or really anything else. Tiger. Shark. Martian. Level 13 doppelganger rogue) that’s great, no problem. Well, unless you go the doppelganger route: I’m not giving you a pass on the level adjustment, sorry.

E[lust] #54

January 15, 2014 Leave a comment

Elustheader Photo courtesy of Gritty Woman

Welcome to e[lust] – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #55? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

How children will break UK Internet filters.
Submissive, Not Passive
When Sex and Disabilities Collide

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Tribute to a Selfie
The Pawn

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


My 20 of 2013
Hello 2014

Erotic Fiction

Call Me Maybe
To Watch…
Holiday Travails
The third message
So You Want to Worship Me…Start Here.
Three Stories Up
Men in cages
Lucky Mascot – Huddle: Sex With Sporty Queers

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Sex Toys Storage: Hiding from People
SexyLittleIdeas -11 Annoying yet Sexual Dares
His PTSD Cheated on Me
You’re Art but I’m Not
Anger and intimacy
Among a Sea of Submissives
My experiences with unwanted intercourse

Erotic Non-Fiction

Phoenix lies and gets herself in trouble
The Storm Behind the Calm
Why I eat your pussy
Light My Fire – Zoe Tries Fire Play
Spreading Christmas Cheer
I write a letter to The Neighbor
Sa’afia’s punishment night (1st IV scenes)
Both ends of the spectrum
Love of Flesh; Want for Blood
First Blush
Birthday Burning

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Dear Mollena…
The Best Motivator
on liberties taken.
Submission, More Than A Feeling
Breaking Prude – The Dirty Seven


Just Touch It
A Time To Cum

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Shoe Fetishism – RZ


Categories: Uncategorized Tags:

What’s Your Number

January 12, 2014 Leave a comment

It comes up, every now and then. People ask: what’s your number? How many people have you had sex with?

I usually roll my eyes. Are we in high school? In college? Do we want to treat people we’ve been with as people, or notches on a headboard. Really? I’m supposed to count?

I deflect because I honestly don’t know. I don’t want to be misinterpreted: it isn’t that there have been so many I just lost track. I remember every name, every face. Somewhere more than a dozen, probably fewer than three dozen. I don’t know, because what the hell does one mean by “sex”?

When I asked the Techie if he understood why hiding his partners from each other was a serious problem, he tried to turn it around. “You haven’t told me when you were with other people either.”

“I haven’t been. You. Spouse. That girl at the party–you were three feet away taking pictures; I hardly needed to fill you in. That’s it.”

“That’s it. What about the Fireman?”

“We don’t fuck. Well, once, over a year ago. Not relevant in terms of risk*.”

We don’t fuck.

I said it without even thinking. Everyone knows what it means. PIV penetration, right? So we don’t fuck.

When he’s in town for a party, we almost always play. He keeps his clothes on. I don’t. He punches, kicks, chokes, pulls hair. I press my body against his, claw him, scream and grab and pull. He makes me come, not every time but usually. We end breathless and sweaty in a chair, kissing hard, biting harder. But still I said, without a moment’s hesitation: we don’t fuck.

In terms of risk, it isn’t relevant. I do talk about it (because why would I not want to gush about awesomeness to someone I’m involved with?). But if it were a woman, would I call it sex? Probably. Why not with a man? Where do I draw the line, and why? Is it a set of specific actions, a sense of intimacy, an intent or an outcome?

I don’t really want to care. It’s just a word, a set of words and half of them euphemisms already. Why bother wondering whether this night with this person qualifies? It won’t change what we’ve done or how we feel at all. I’m usually precise with language, though. I’m unnerved when linguistic ambiguity clouds a situation that isn’t ambiguous at all. I don’t want to care, but I do.

So where does one draw the line, and why?

* My standard behavior is to get the STI panel recommended by my doctor every six months, or in between if a risk situation arises. I tell new partners about anyone I’ve been with since a few months prior to the most recent one, if they bother to ask.

Categories: Uncategorized


January 4, 2014 34 comments

I don’t want to be treated as a sex object.

You might think that’s rather obvious, but it took me a long time to realize. I’m a very sexual person. Sex relieves stress, provides a space where I don’t have to think or worry or second guess every damn thing. With the right rapport, my focus shifts from mostly mind to nearly all body. Those times, I don’t care if you prefer William Hartnell to Tom Baker or what changes you think would most improve SNAP or what to do for dinner. All I care about is your body crashing into mine, a clawing fighting howling storm of limbs and breath and sweat and who knows, who cares whether that scream came from your throat or mine?

If we connect that well, I sure as hell ain’t thinking of you as an object. I don’t care if you look like a model. I’m not interested in shape so much as synapses. I want your reactions, your wide-eyed gasping for breath, your words pleading growling laughing in my ear. I want the unique perfume of your skin, the taste of your mouth, the peculiar intensity of your hands so unlike anyone else’s.

Right now, this is why I’m not falling into bed with anyone new. A few friends have offered (one lovely man often and creatively, the poor dear). I’m not pretty, really, but I am a tall, thin ginger with great shoes. It’s enough to get noticed at the club. I could be playing at parties. It would be easy. But I don’t want to play with, for instance, the submissive man who isn’t interested in pain but loves bondage and humiliation. Who thinks any scene would be a fantasy come to life just because he’s impressed by my figure in a corset. It unnerves me to think how quickly that interest would fade once the make-up’s washed off, or if I smiled and they saw the scars. I don’t want to be interactive porn. We’d both walk away disappointed.

I’m too cautious, right now, to stop thinking. With Spouse, or if the Fireman and wife were around, sure. But I don’t think I can let my guard down enough to feel muscles better and nerves more with someone new. The Fireman’s wife says it’s sad, that I’m with just Spouse while he’s seeing other people. It’s unusual, certainly. The circumstances–my split with the Techie so close to Spouse starting to see the Techie’s ex–could have been better. But no, it isn’t sad. It would be sad to seek out a partner just for the sake of having one, to treat someone else as an object or to be treated like one.

Now if I could just convince my brain to stop thinking it would be highly entertaining to tease and/or electrocute friends, that’d help.

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