On rocks and stones

There are times when circumstances conspire to keep us from enjoying the type of sex we most prefer. Lately, I've had a number of issues that's kept that from happening -- kept me from being able to enjoy my body at all, frankly -- and this has me musing over my sexual history, because I have a track record of on-again off-again receptive sex.

'Stone' is a term that I first heard applied almost exclusively toward butch lesbians who derived no pleasure from receptive sex but did derive pleasure from making love to their (usually femme) partners. I've heard it applied differently since then (once I read that 'stone femme' means a femme who is attracted to stone butches...which didn't make much sense to me because logically I'd thought a stone femme would be a femme who doesn't enjoy receptive sex, but perhaps it can mean several things) but for a while I thought I might be stone myself.

Of course, I don't identify as butch or femme, but in terms of being-unable-to-enjoy-receptive-sex, I've been there for sure -- for most of my sexual life, really. I still go there far more often than I'd care to admit. (And I know that's not what stone actually means because my understanding is that people who really are stone can't turn it off or cycle through it, pretty much ever.) But there have been points in my life when I honestly thought I'd never be able to do more than just endure receptive sex for the sake of my partner, who seemed to want/need to reciprocate more than I wanted/needed to not allow that to happen.

When I was with bio-boys, that's how it always was. I can't describe how horrid it was to allow them to go down on me. No matter how communicative I tried to be, it never felt good. In fact, most often it was uncomfortable, verging on painful, and I always stopped it as quickly as I could and tried to distract them with just plain old regular sex, and I always faked my orgasms, just to get it over with. It wasn't them, really, it was me...I think.

Maybe I should have tried harder to tell them what felt good to me and what didn't, but the truth is that NOTHING felt good to me when it came from them. It wasn't so much that they touched me too roughly or in the wrong spot or anything. I just couldn't let go at all. I still often can't. How much of this is my own mental block and how much is my physical self, I still don't know.

So sex was something to get through and I came to enjoy being the non-receptive partner. I got a lot of satisfaction out of pleasing my lovers without actually having to allow anything to be done to ME because then I felt that I wasn't shirking my responsibilities in a sexual sense (and I did enjoy being sexual, if that makes sense, just not having to lay there and act out pleasure that I didn't feel) and this way we both enjoyed it.

All of this is a horrible segue into this: lately I haven't been ABLE to be receptive in bed, physically (partially I just can't take sex while I have my period, partially other stuff)...and it's the first time I've actually missed it. This is huge for me because when Daddy touches me it's...so different. I'm not afraid to tell him if I can't take being receptive on any given night and he doesn't take it personally, because we both know that soon I will want it again.

The interesting thing is that until we got together, we were both effectively stone. This was a big worry for me! Firstly, I thought I might not be able to satisfy him and he'd feel obligated (like I always had) to allow me to have him, and secondly I worried that I'd feel the same way I always had and we'd basically both be faking our way through our sexual relationship and neither of us would be satisfied at all. Happily, I was wrong.

But for the better part of the past two weeks, I've had to put a moratorium on receptive sex, and it's been HARD on me! I have loved being able to fuck him for hours and making him come and concentrating all of my attention on him and his pleasure, (I'm a pleaser and this brings me great satisfaction and joy), but I'm ready for my turn soon, please. I miss it, I miss our connection and the feeling of being so loved and safe and free to let go that I get when I'm in his arms that way.

So I can't say that I'm stone anymore. Perhaps I'm a rock sometimes, but those times are fewer and further between, and less about my mindspace than about my physical needs. This is big progress for me and it makes me very, very happy.

Fantasy

Before Daddy and I moved in together, we often wrote back and forth to each other. One day, he asked me to make a list of some of my darker fantasies for him. I am working on another post right now but decided to share this while it's in progress.



1. You've got my back against the wall and are right up in my face and I laugh at you, which infuriates you and you slap me several times. My eyes well up and you laugh at me, grabbing my arm and twisting it up behind my back. (Note: my arms are double-jointed so you can pretty much put them how you want them.) You throw me on the bed, face-down, yank my pants off, and poise yourself to fuck me with your cock...and stop with the head juuuust inside me. You growl in my ear until I begin thrusting my hips up against you, trying to get you inside me, but you maddeningly remain still. You wait until I'm crying and begging for you to fill me, and instead you roll me over and make me suck you off. And then we go to sleep.

2. You make me kneel on a chair before you, facing the back of it, and you stand just up against me with one arm across my neck and the front of my shoulders. Holding me tightly, you tell me not to move, not even to twitch, and not to make the slightest sound. Then you begin to cut me like you did the last time we were together, only this time there are many, many more. I remain still but whimper inadvertently as my wetness runs down my thighs. This infuriates you: you gag me, throw me over your lap and spank me. No matter how hard I cry into the gag, my pleas never make it to your ears.

3. We are at a club and I am naked from the waist up. You are fully clothed, all in black, and you are binding me to a cross, my back to you. I have the impression of people gathering to watch us, and you smile cruelly at me as my eyes widen -- I prefer our scenes to be between us, but that doesn't matter. You tell me I may scream but I may not speak, and I nod. Then, after what seems like hours, you begin to whip my back and shoulders, starting with something not TOO horrible, but ending with a signal whip that makes me bleed. I cry and scream...but I don't speak, and you tell me you are proud of me as you take me down and hold me in your lap until the world comes back into focus.

4. We are in a strange house and I have done *something* that makes you furious, much more cruel than usual. Something in your eyes brings out the fear in me -- terror, really -- and I drop what I'm doing and run. I don't know where I'm going and I can feel you just behind me, so I drop to the floor and try to hide in a convenient closet. The door is partially open; I hear your footsteps pause as you pass the room I'm in. I'm going to be caught, I know it, and I curl myself into a ball and hide my face in my arms. But you throw the door open, grab me by my hair, and haul me out to the living room with me fighting you every step of the way. You throw me into the middle of the room on the floor; I regain my feet only to find you with a knife strapped to your belt and a predatory look in your eyes. I run again but it's futile; you corner me easily. You are shouting at me, calling me all kinds of names, I am slapping at you and in a frenzy of panic -- and you grab me by the throat and pin me against the wall. I can't breathe, I can barely see...and I lift one hand to my lips, kiss it, and place it on your lips because suddenly I am so turned on I think I may die. You use my throat to force me to my knees and slice my clothes from me. Then you run the tip of the blade over my body -- my cheeks, my lips, my throat, down to my nipples, over my belly, down my thighs and between them, prodding my clit, and then you shove me onto my back and roughly spread my legs. I am perfectly still when you trace my lips with the knife, and when you stop at my cunt, you take my chin in your hand and force me to look at you. I have no idea whether or not you'll actually do it, and a wild part of me wishes that you would.

5. You are fucking me and choking me at the same time, so much so that the room is black around the edges and I feel as if I'm on another plane of reality.

6. You play-pierce my back, corset-style, and lace me up. I shiver the entire time but you don't seem to mind.

7. This one is simple: put me in a corset (a real one) for the first time and lace me into it. Be rough.

8. We go to dinner and you don't give me a single choice about anything: where we go, when we go, what I eat, what I drink. We go out dancing and you make every decision there, too, up to and including deciding when we are going to go fuck in the back and how many times I am going to make you come. And wherever we go, you lead me by the wrist.

9. You leave me unrestrained and whip me until I collapse from sheer exhaustion. Then you punish me anyway for moving without permission.

10. This one makes me feel guilty because it's so selfish: we go away together for a weekend and you decide that I am finally going to come for you. So you spend the entire day teasing me while we're out, talking to me cruelly, telling me that if I don't come I am being especially bad, making it into something that I need to do for you, for us. You stroke my nipples and my lips through my clothes in public, but never touch my clit. Later, when we're alone again, you spank me with your hand and with your belt, and finally I manage to come with your hands bruising my hips as you bite my clit and I sob in agony. (and who knows if that would do it...but in my fantasy, it does.)

11. We are at a secluded cabin in a forest -- the kind with beams in the ceiling. You throw a length of rope over one of them and tie my wrists to it, pulling me up onto my toes. Then you whip me until you're exhausted: my back, my ass, my thighs, my stomach, my breasts, all over until I am a mass of welts. Then you let me down and I kneel before you, my entire body pulsing with agony, and fuck you with my fingers and tongue until we both pass out.

I could go on forever. These are just the first few I thought of...

QAF vs. L Word -- is there really any doubt about the outcome of this one?

Well, to me there isn't! I'm finding that I have a somewhat unpopular opinion about this obviously gripping issue: I prefer Queer as Folk all the way. Yes, I know Shane is hot (and Carmen, and dead, dead Dana, and honestly I think I would be a better person if I could just keep Alice in my pocket and pop her out every time I needed a pick-me-up), but not a single episode goes by without me screaming at the screen about the fucking asinine storylines and/or dialogue. And Jenny. What the fuck, Jenny? Can I possibly hate you any more than I already hate you? I submit that I cannot. My biggest hope is that she floated off in that damn boat and will magically never be heard of again. I figure it won't be that surprising, considering the many, many loose ends that the writers have left floating in the aether.

But QAF, QAF, QAF...I mean, Brian Kinney. Need I say more? Everything I need to know about life I learned from Brian Kinney. Yes, I know the lesbian couple isn't believable, and the storylines are over-the-top, but if I could keep Emmett in my other pocket, across from Alice, my life would be complete.

Then there's the sex. No QAF is complete without a Brian/Justin sex scene (though occasionally the other characters got some, too), but it seems that as the L Word goes on, the sex is less and less a part of the show. Is it lesbian bed death already? If I must watch the show, at least give me something pretty to look at. Otherwise there's no point at ALL.

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. :)

Cunning linguist

I've mentioned that my boi is the first female-bodied lover I've had but the truth is that I have been queer my entire life. I knew it when I was 5; the little blondie across the street and I were "engaged". I loved her so! But then my mother told me that girls and girls couldn't fall in love and I believed her. My girl-crushes cooled off for a time as I grew up a bit more, but when I was a freshman in high school, I fell in capital-L Love for the first time...with the captain of my all-girl swim team. I didn't know exactly what I was feeling. I just knew that when she was around, I was so much more alive. Butterflies flocked in my stomach, and when she traced her fingers along my inner thigh on a late-night bus ride from one of our away meets, under the guise of "massaging" my leg, I thought I would die if she didn't stop touching me right that second. Or if she did.

But she was a senior and I was a freshman and all too soon she left for college. I remained at school with nothing but rumors of my supposed lesbianism, which were positively soul-crushing to me. Lesbian. It was a filthy word and it frightened me to the core. So I spent the next three years denying the rumors the best way I could: by dating as many boys as possible.

I didn't actually have sex for the first time until I was 18 -- the summer after I graduated high school. It's the same kind of boring tale that so many people have; dark 7-11 parking lot, front seat of my car, wondering if it was in yet and why I wasn't bleeding. It didn't hurt. It didn't feel great. It didn't really feel like much at all, actually. And he was a total loser, as well. I didn't do it for love or because all my friends were doing it. I just wanted to get it over with before I left for college. So as far as I was concerned, sex was messy and boring. I didn't mind doing it but it didn't knock my socks off by a long shot.

College: I screwed around with 5 different guys in the first two weeks and then immediately fell into a long-term relationship with the safest (read: most boring and backbone-less) boy I'd met. And I spent my free time online, reading all that I could about bisexualism (I was willing to admit that I *might* be bi, but not a Lesbian, oh no no no), and every time we fucked I closed my eyes and saw nothing but girls.

I tentatively attended one meeting of the undergrad GLBT club; it seemed like a huge clique, I was terribly shy, and I left as soon as I possibly could. I crushed regularly on girls in my classes but didn't dare hit on one -- what if I was rejected? Everyone knew me as straight. I tried so hard to fit myself to that label that I couldn't even see myself clearly anymore. I was suffocating.

Finally, after a long, long struggle, I admitted to myself that I was queer. And I admitted to myself that I was in love with my boi -- it only took YEARS to get to that point. But he was in a relationship, I was in a relationship, blah blah blah...so I'll fast-forward to a few months ago.

He's female-bodied; so am I. I had had plenty of time to dream about what sex with him would be like. I'd read so much porn that I think I actually exhausted the internet's seemingly endless resources! And yet, there I was, 29 years old and faced with my first-ever real live cunt. Oh. My. God. And what made it worse is that he'd had more than a little experience since he'd been out as queer since he was 15, and out as trans since he was 21. Let's just say he's always been popular with the ladies.

So there I am, in his room, on my stomach, between his legs. My heart was racing, I was dripping with arousal, and I was scared out of my mind. What if I did it wrong? What if I didn't like the taste? What if I hurt him by accident? What if...I was HORRIBLE at it?

But none of my fears changed the reality of his gorgeous pussy laid out before me and I knew that I had best dive in, literally and figuratively. It's what I'd always wanted, after all, and if I was bad at it, I'd learn in time how to please him.

Eyes shut. Tongue out. Breathe. His scent, both new and entirely familiar, intoxicated me. I leaned forward and made contact with his skin, just above his clit. Salty and sweet at the same time -- it was a new taste to me, but not bad at all. Just different than I'd tasted before.

I opened my eyes and panicked for a second. What if I couldn't find his clit? But there it was, just where it should be -- he is blessed with a larger clit than most and I was *so* grateful for it (and still am!) because it gave me the landmark I was looking for. I hesitated, tongue poised...and licked. Gently. No teeth.

Further up the bed, he moaned encouragingly. "A little harder." So I gave him some pressure and licked again. His second moan released something inside me, and suddenly all of my fear was gone. I mean, I HAD one of these myself! I had a good idea of what felt good. All that remained to find out was what he specifically preferred!

As I relaxed, I decided that I would take a plunge (heh) that I hadn't actually planned on trying so soon, and starting at his clit, my first two fingers slid between his inner lips and I began to probe gently for his opening.

And I couldn't find it. Panic returned! What the fuck must he be thinking of me right now? I tried to hurry up but his wetness (oh, he was so so so wet) confused my touch and I was too afraid to push too hard because I didn't want to hurt him. Oh god, this is taking forever... I began licking harder at his clit, hoping to distract him at least, and without even thinking about it, I took the whole thing into my mouth. Pinning it against the roof with my tongue, I carefully began to rub it back and forth. He arched his back and spread his legs further for me -- I was thrilled! It was working!

As his hips began to move, my fingers suddenly slipped into him. I was so relieved! That only lasted a second, because I was immediately overcome by this new, incredible feeling -- the feeling of being completely enveloped by my lover's body. It was so intense that I began to cry, my tears mixing with his slickness and bringing more salt to my tongue.

As he began to come, I instinctively curled my fingers into the tightness in his cunt and that's how I found his g-spot, the existence of which I had questioned until that moment.

Afterward, wrapped in his arms, I told him that it was the most beautiful experience I'd yet had with a lover. And it was, until he taught me to come.

M. Monkey

Born female, it has taken time for me to learn what it means to be partnered to a transgendered person. Feeling uncomfortable (which is an understatement) in one's own skin because one's gender outside doesn't match with one's gender inside is, for the most part, an experience that I can't relate to. But I fell in love with him before I knew he was trans -- back when I knew him as 'she' -- and none of my feelings changed when he came out to me for the second time. He was brave, I was confused but open-minded, and I spent months afterward reading all I could find on FtMs (that's female-to-male) and their experiences. I'm like that: I want to KNOW, I want to understand, I want to be as well-informed as possible about everything at all times. I think that's why I love blogs so much. A world full of people writing about their experiences of all kinds of things, every day! I'm a voyeur at heart; this is heaven to me.

Other than simply female, I am: 5' 7", pale-skinned, dark-haired, blue-eyed. Curvy and athletic -- but not as code for overweight, (not that there's anything wrong with that) -- with an hourglass shape that makes me uncomfortable. I am queer and my drug of choice is androgyny. I love genderfuckers; girls that look like boys, butches, trannybois, almost everything floats my boat at one time or another. I tend not to be attracted to "femmes", whatever that is. I find it frustrating when I am read as a femme myself because I don't identify that way. Yes, I have longish hair. Yes, I wear girly clothes, at least sometimes. Yes, I have a very feminine figure. But if I'd had my choice I would have been born a slight, tall, flat-chested androgynous girl -- think Shane from the L-Word (how I hate to use that as my benchmark! But it's the best example I can think of. I don't so much want to fuck her as BE her...). So having a body like I do is rather lost on me, though I do get quite a bit of attention for it. I almost always misread that attention; I'll have more to write about that later.

I've been in love with my boi for ten years, though only recently have we gotten our ducks in a row enough to actually BE together. He is the first "girl" I've been with, though I've had opportunities with and certainly feelings for others before. I just...I wanted it to be him. I wanted my first time with a female-bodied person to be with him and no-one else, because as far as I was concerned if I couldn't have him then I didn't even want to know what I was missing. It's like the first time I got glasses. I didn't even realize that I wasn't seeing the leaves on the trees until I slipped them on and rode home in the car. I cried the whole way because the world was so beautiful and I had never, ever known. It was like that the first time he made me come; I cried and cried. The world was so beautiful and I was in his arms and I had never known I could feel that way.

I'm glad I waited. He was worth every second.