Butches and femmes and everyone in between

I began this post with the intention of writing about our progress on the fisting front (fisting me, I should specify) and the progress I made last night toward taking Daddy's ass, but this morning I am finding that I need to mull over both a bit longer. They feel too new and too tender, so I shall let them marinate.

Instead, I have been thinking quite a bit about butch/femme identities and how that applies -- or doesn't apply -- to my life. I've always been reluctant to quantify "my type" when asked. I mean, I am attracted less to a specific physical trait than I am to a personality quality; I am mesmerized by charisma. Daddy has it in spades; when he turns his attention to you, you can't help but feel bathed in his interest and approval, a heady combination that draws people to him like moths to an especially bright porchlight. It's an addiction in me now, and when you add his dominant personality to the mix...well, it is the perfect storm for me.

For a while, during the past couple of years, his doctors told him that physical transitioning would be impossible, that his liver couldn't take it and he might die trying. After such crushing news, he tried to move forward with his life, unable to accept that he might always have to be trans but pre-T and pre-surgery. So he tried to re-mold his personality and rebirth himself as the butchest dyke possible. He even managed it for a while -- after all, it wasn't all new to him. That's where he was for at least some of his life as a queer woman. But, of course, it didn't fit him, and he was able to take sufficient steps to achieve a level of health at which he could transition. And now he is and he is so thrilled with it, and so am I.

But that's a bit beside the point: when we are out on the street in our neighborhood we are routinely read as a lesbian couple, sometimes even if he is binding. I, with my shoulder-length hair, curvy figure, and clothing from the "girl" stores at the mall, read as the femme; he, with his mohawk, broad shoulders, over six feet of height, men's clothing, and gorgeously visible tats, is read as the butch.

At first, this bothered me. I thought it would (of course?) bother him, as well. He is from the deep South, where passing as male is less a political statement and more a matter of survival (at least sometimes, even in the year 2007 and beyond), so when he came here, to this queer, queer, queer enclave in this city that I love, and rarely passed, even though he changed NOTHING about his appearance...it was strange. And yet, when we talked about it, it didn't bother him. People seem to be more open to different gender expressions here, and many are so polite that they don't want to assume that he is trans, or step on either of our toes by suggesting that he ISN'T female, so they acknowledge him as a butch lesbian. I may not be able to explain that correctly...the point I'm trying to make is that people try to acknowledge him as butch and yet female, which is, to me, an expression of respect.

And I, of course, am by default the counterpart to his butchness. This does bother me because first of all, not all butches partner with femmes, nor do all femmes partner with butches, but that's not even it. What is it is that I don't identify as femme, no matter what I look like. Yes, I can dress feminine-ly, but I am not comfortable in heels and lipstick. Nor am I comfortable as a butch -- I just don't identify, personally, with either of those roles. But that isn't to say that I don't respect those expressions of gender and sexuality in others because I do. I am very often attracted to butch women, and I am very often intimidated by femme women, (and yet also inexplicably drawn to them). I just am neither one nor the other, as many of us aren't.

Which brings us to the thing that I most wanted to talk about: living in the grey. Daddy and I often talk of this because it's where we both are, always, and it's something that we love about each other. For me, I am neither butch nor femme, (and I know I don't have to be either, but for the purpose of explanation, I'll pretend I do), and at times I express (small) aspects of one or the other or even both at the same time. I love that I don't have to be one or the other for him or for me.

As for Daddy himself, yes, he is trans, and yes, he prefers male pronouns, but he also dwells in the grey area between male and female and is most comfortable there. He doesn't want gender-neutral language applied to him, (and, really, I have a hard time slipping them into conversation anyway -- lack of practice, I know) but he does see himself as genderqueer. I love that about him: I love the man in him and the woman as well and at the end of the day, to me he is my Daddy and that's all I've ever wanted. He's on T and he's going to have top surgery, but never bottom surgery. He loves his cunt, as do I, and wants to keep it. It's not a source of anguish for him, as it can be for many, many other transfolk.

The best thing about being as fluid as we are is that the friction between us is constantly changing. There are days when his male/butch/top energy is waxing and it brings out a very feminine/submissive side of me, but other days that same energy will bring out my own butch/aggressive side and we'll fight, wrestle, attack each other -- in a very good way. But no matter how things evolve between us, we bring out the best in one another.

I may need to return to this later. Hmm.

Update: showerhead

I am very, very sad to report that the showerhead, while shiny and gorgeous, does not "do it" for me. The water pressure just isn't intense enough. I'm keeping it anyway -- I mean, we did get pretty...involved, for a while there so I can't just kick it to the curb -- but my plans for big happy fun shower time are rather dashed. Le sigh!

It's time for another disappointing update: I have made no progress on Operation Tranny Fisting. Our schedule has prevented the kind of time comittment that this kind of venture necessitates, but I am hoping to give that another go within the next week.

Update #3: testosterone. We were recently lucky enough to become patients at the Sherbourne Clinic here in Toronto and we're under the care of one of two doctors on the LGBT floor. (We have our very own floor. I am...floored!) Daddy was able to get his T rx the very day we met her, and she even suggested that he move his shots from every 14 days to every 10 days to help him deal with the emotional flux that is common around day 12-14! He is thrilled, I am thrilled, and things are going *very* well on that front. Every day I bless T and the heightened libido that it brings to our relationship, and now I have something else to be thankful for: Sherbourne. I have never before felt so comfortable with and accepted by not just our doctor, but by every single person that works there. We waited about two and a half months to become patients but it was worthwhile. They are so trans-positive -- and not just trans-positive, but genderqueer-positive too. When they process you as a new patient, they take down your legal name, and also your chosen name, if you have one. And that's the one they use for you while you're there. I could write a novel about them, but the best thing I can say is what our intake counselor told us: they run the clinic the way the world *should* be: everyone is accepted just as they are, nobody is judged, and they constantly try to evolve with the changing needs of the communities that they serve. I wish I could work there, too.

Quest: FtM ejaculation, part 1 of ?

Side note: I was thrilled to see that one of my very favourite bloggers, Sinclair from Sugarbutch Chronicles, linked me after I recently borrowed a survey of hers. Her writing inspired me to start my own blog, so garnering her notice is very exciting for me. :)


Recently we have been discussing elements that one or the other (or both) of us would like to add to our sex life. We were outside smoking after a nice brunch when I broached my suggestion: I'd like to see if we can get him to ejaculate.

The subject came up because my deepest desire (right now) is to be fisted. We've tried. I think we've given it several really *good* tries, actually, and we get allllllmost there...and then it hurts. Not as in, huh...that's kind of uncomfortable, but as in, STOP RIGHT NOW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I AM BEING BUTCHERED!! We've established that it's that crucial last half-inch or so that gives me such trouble; the place where his knuckles are widest catches against my pelvic bones and we're bone-on-bone with my flesh caught in between. No amount of lube or relaxation has helped us over that spot and I think we're both kind of frustrated with it. Deep down, I fear that I am one of the women who can't be fisted due to anatomy issues. I possess, (...am blessed with, really, I think...), a very tight cunt. Generally I am very pleased with her; this is the only problem we've run into so far. But it's a problem that sticks in my mind because it's the only roadblock to something we both want badly.

However, once I let it be known that fisting me is very much on the table, he told me that fisting him was also an option. I was shocked and very excited -- again, this is something I never thought he would be ok with, so much so that it never even crossed my mind to bring it up. He'd never been fisted either, so...wow! Once again, he blew me away with the lines he was willing to cross with me.

After that talk, we let things sit for a while and I didn't bring it up for weeks. Until Thursday morning, when I was fucking him just after we woke up. Suddenly he asked for another finger. And another. And another. He took them all easily and there I was, four fingers inside him, all the way to my third knuckle, and all that was left to do was tuck my thumb under and push.

It had happened so quickly! I thought I'd have to, like...work at it for a while! I was very excited but also concerned -- I well remembered how much it had hurt me when we tried to just 'push past the pain' before, and I didn't want to do that to him. I lubed up my hand (more lube than I'd ever used, and then an extra pump for luck), slipped my fingers back inside, and found myself easily drawn in, thumb and all. My last set of knuckles rested against the entrance to his cunt and my hand was duckbilled inside him, thumb tucked under, and I was overjoyed! After some research on my own I'd found that there are a few different definitions of fisting, one of which is simply all five fingers inside the pussy or ass -- so this was certainly fisting!

I told him and he was surprised but too busy enjoying the sensations to really talk to me about it. (Sometimes I let my excitement at what we're doing overwhelm my good sense -- I'm trying to get better at that.) The thing is, what we're both after is fitting my (or his) entire hand into the relevant area, wrist-deep.

With that in mind, I gently worked my way up to the point that always stopped us on me. I felt my knuckles brush his pelvic bones and then...I held back. I couldn't pull the trigger. I felt like it could have happened if I put my shoulder into it but was worried that attempting to work my entire hand into him at first try was excessive and might hurt him. And what if I never got to try again?

So I stayed there, working my fingers as best I could inside him -- he is STRONG! -- and he came several times. It felt strange to me, though, because I didn't have the type of room inside I'm used to having while fucking him with two fingers. Which makes sense, of course, all things considered. As the fuck continued, I spaced out a bit and wondered how the hell I ever could manage to find enough space inside him to fit the rest of my hand, assuming I got it past his bones. I'm still not sure!

At any rate, we both enjoyed it. At one point I went to pull out all the way -- slowly, of course, one finger at a time -- and he sharply told me not to. Oooooh. So I stayed and fucked him until my fingers got pruney and he was exhausted. :) It was a lovely morning.

His reaction to the experience made me wonder about ejaculating, so I am on a researching journey. I haven't yet tried anything, but it's in the works. I shall report back periodically with my findings. :)