I don't shine if you don't shine.

It seems I spoke too soon when I told our doctor earlier this week that we seem to both have recovered from our series of colds this winter -- I can tell that I'm fighting something off even as we speak. We were in the doctor's office for a check-up for Daddy, which is especially important since he is on T.

I'm even more proud of him than usual because recently he completed disclosing his trans status at work, which was something we were both concerned about. I've mentioned before that we work in the nightclub industry, but additionally we work at a venue that is traditionally lesbian. When he was hired we agreed that we would settle in and then we'd disclose, in case the staff turned out to be anti-trans. I'm happy to say that isn't the case, but I'm embarrassed to say that I am still confusing pronouns at work for him.

In fact, this happened the other night. We were outside having a quick smoke and a woman approached us for a light. She drunkenly began telling me an intimate story about her and her American lover, (this is an unasked-for talent that I seem to have: random strangers tell me their deepest secrets on a very regular basis, and in all kinds of situations. It's definitely more noticable at the club due to the alcoholic lubrication of the tongue and sometimes it can be very awkward for me. Flattering, but awkward.), saw that we were a couple, and immediately read us as boy/girl and therefore straight.

"Oh, you aren't gay?" she asked me, eyebrows rising.

"Yes," I answered, drawing an invisible line in the air between him and me, "we both are."

Her brow furrowed and she swayed on her feet. "I'm confused. You're both gay?"

She was drunk, and I rarely take that as the time to educate people on what it is to be trans -- the path of least resistance, I feel, is the best tack to take with the inebriated masses. But what I did next was nonetheless wrong on my part, and hurtful to my K.

"Girl," I said, pointing to myself, "and girl," pointing to K. "Yes, we are both gay."

He went back inside abruptly and I briefly realized that I'd fucked up, all in the name of getting out of this unwanted conversation with a stranger I would never see again. So I excused myself and we finished work without mentioning the incident.

Later, in our bedroom, he suddenly said, "I am not upset about this but I need to say for the record that I'm out at work, so you don't need to tell people I'm your girlfriend anymore."

I was taken aback, partly because I'd intended to bring it up myself, and apologize, but hadn't settled into bed with him yet and therefore hadn't said anything yet. And I felt ashamed, because it was wrong of me, even though I'd just been trying to get out of a conversation I didn't want to have in the first place. I apologized and we went to sleep.

But it's been bothering me since. And last night one of the regulars, one that knows us both, approached us to tell us that he wishes he could transition, too. It was a brief but very good conversation between he and K and somewhat me, but watching them together, one of my favourite aspects of K shone through to me: his willingness to mentor those who need it, without question.

I appreciate and admire who he is, his uncompromising selfhood, his unshaken and unshakable knowledge of his identity. I am still learning how to navigate the murky waters of sexuality and gender, but I'm glad he is holding my hand and giving me the gift of patience while I do. It's something he's done throughout the decade of our friendship; in fact, it's his firm declaration that there is nothing wrong with being who you are and loving who you love that gave me the courage to be who I am and love who I love. His self-respect bled onto me, at a time when I most needed it, and helped shape the person that I am today. I cannot overstate the positive impact that he has had on me and on my development as a person.

And I needed that lesson again. It's both important and not important to be able to explain who we are (who he is and who I am as it relates to him) to people that are out with friends and drinking and having a good time. But I respect and love him with all my heart, and my actions need to reflect that better, even in dicey situations.

I am going to be more aware of how my language and behavior reflect upon him.

Stalemate

It seems we are at a stalemate, Daddy and I. How do you bring up your desire for BDSM when one of the issues that you're working on is a difficulty in articulating what you want, what you need? I am finding that our sex life (at least in that vein) is currently nonexistent. We talked about it last night, kind of, and his reasoning is that my mood has been so low over the past few weeks (due to circumstances outside both my control and our relationship) that he doesn't want to make me feel forced into a BDSM situation that might make me feel worse. My response was immediate, though: it makes me feel better. At the very least it helps me to shut my brain off, to disconnect from anything other than us, here, now, this feeling, this emotion, this release. It's so rare in my world for that to happen and I cherish it completely.

Ultimately it's about communication. Isn't it always? I am working on becoming more able to tell him what I want/need, but I'm not there yet. And he has promised to talk to me instead of assuming that he'll make it worse.

It's been hard, though. The words, "I really would like it if you'd hurt me, please," don't always come easily to my lips; not nearly as often as they beat inside my mind and heart. My inability to simply say it to him stems from fear of rejection, fear of "making him" do something he doesn't truly want to do, and fear of judgment. Do I need it too much? Too often? Too desperately?

And so I yield to his lead, which, unfortunately, puts all of the pressure on him to decide when we're going to do this. That's not a fair position to put one partner in, even a dominant partner.

So we're working on it. I'll let you know how it goes...because I miss it. I miss it so, so much.

In and Out, Up and Down

I've forgotten if I have ever mentioned that Daddy and I work in the nightclub industry on the weekends. It's a lot of fun and I enjoy meeting new people, and there's always something dramatic and/or interesting happening. Never a boring night, that's for certain. However, we've learned the big downside to all this socializing: we pick up every single illness that every single moron who's too sick to be out but went out anyway is carrying with them. UGH.

So this is the third week that we've been juuuust recovering from one illness only to fall prey to another because neither of our immune systems have had the chance to build back up. It's put a significant crimp in our loving -- one generally needs to breathe without coughing or needing to grab a tissue in order to, say, bury one's face in one's lover's delicious nether regions. We've made do with our fingers (when neither of us is absolutely in misery, which has been very rare over the last three weeks) and have racked up many promises of tantalizing and evil things to do to one another once we're better.

Yesterday it was all looking much better: Daddy was about halfway through Cold #3 and I wasn't hacking too hard from Cough #2 and it had been days since either of us had managed an orgasm. We had somewhere to be in 45 minutes, so we needed to shower...and of course that meant getting naked, which naturally led to tumbling one another on the bed in a mass of warm skin and hungry lips and flushed cheeks and exploring hands. He threw me onto my back, peeled back the covers and kissed his way down my stomach, hooking my legs over his shoulders and pressing his mouth and nose between my folds within a matter of seconds. I gasped, laughing, as he took a long, deep breath.

"You smell amazing, little girl," he murmured, and slipped his tongue inside me, working it in and out rhythmically. My hips matched it and we moved together until I couldn't stand it any longer. "Please," I whispered, "please, I need you inside me."

He flashed that knowing grin at me and grabbed the lube. And then...my uterus tightened uncomfortably. Cramps. Unmistakable, painful, and FIVE DAYS EARLY -- cramps! I cursed silently to myself and decided they would just have to hold off until we were through.

His fingers teased my entrance and made me squirm just the way he likes. "You need me right there, baby? Right there?" I moaned shamelessly and tried to impale myself on him. He chuckled and drew back just enough to keep me from getting what I wanted, "Yes, right there, I think..." Suddenly I was filled with him and it was enough to make me arch my back and cry out. "Good girl, good girl," he told me, stroking me inside firmly. It always makes me feel emotional when he does this -- it brings me back to my first time with him.

All too soon I was coming, his hand was full of me, and I was breathing hard, half never-wanting-him-to-pull-out and half wanting-my-mouth-on-him-right-away. The cramps were much better -- perhaps there's truth to orgasms helping with that? At any rate, I switched places with him, glancing at the clock.

"I'm going to skip the foreplay, I think," I told him, kissing his stomach between words and working my way downward. "Besides, you should be pretty worked up after fucking me like that, right?" I found his clit, completely extended from beneath its hood -- T really is a miracle worker! -- and hard, just like I like it.

He mumbled something in the affirmative and scooted up the bed to give me better access. "Two fingers inside me, please," he managed to tell me as my tongue curled around his clit. I didn't answer, just complied. It's arguably his favourite way to come while I'm fucking him, and it wasn't long before he did, his muscles tight around my fingers and my mouth full of him.

Reluctantly, I pulled out of him and we held each other for a few minutes. I am still amazed at the emotional connection that I experience with him through sex. It's a kind of closeness that seems to be specific to making love with him and I cherish it so completely.

And then it was time to get in the shower and now today we're both sick again and I have my period but still, the warm feeling I get remembering that closeness is with me. Once again I must say this: I am a lucky, lucky grrl.

Innocence for Days

When I first established this blog, Daddy and I had intended to write it together. That hasn't happened (obviously!), partly because he's demurely insistent that he isn't a good writer, (though he absolutely is), and partly, I think, because he's come to think of this place as my own, a place where he can see some of what I think about this facet of our life.

Occasionally he'll ask me to write about a specific topic. Sometimes this is a simple request and sometimes it's more of an order. He made one such request some time ago -- a week? two? -- and I've been sitting on it ever since. I think I'm ready to address it now, though.

SO! Anal sex! Here we go.

Anal is something I think I've touched (heh) upon here but I'll review quickly. In the past, I've fucked nearly every biomale I've ever been with in the ass -- usually with my fingers or tongue, but occasionally with an appropriate toy or two. Now, it's not like I went into sex with guys thinking, "Gosh, I'm just waiting for the right moment to stick it in!" or anything, but as far as I'm concerned, there's not a lot I won't at least try if my partner wants it and gets pleasure from it. So by the time Daddy and I got together, I'd had quite a bit of experience as the penetrative partner in anal sex.

Receiving is a totally different story, though. I have always found it nearly intolerably painful. Even a single finger -- even a single SMALL finger -- caused me intense pain, no matter how much lube we threw at the problem. Not only that, but as far as I was concerned, I have a pussy and I'd far rather use that, thanks. But I gamely tried it time and time again, especially since I find the idea of having another orifice available for penetration quite hot.

Now, Daddy's past in terms of anal sex was somewhat similar in that he's fucked bioboys before -- even with a strapon, which is something I've not done -- but not as often, I think, as I have. Receptively he was even less experienced than me, however. His previous long-time partner found the idea disgusting and saw fit to mention that fact frequently and loudly. That contributed to his shame about That Area, to the point where he completely buried his real feelings on the matter. It wasn't until we'd become more comfortable with one another that he was able to admit that it's something he's always been interested in.

So with time I was able to discover that he enjoyed it when I took his clit in my mouth and gently penetrated him with a fingertip. I've worked up to an entire finger once or twice but this is something he can't take for long. We'll get there.

With that discovery came the discovery that he really, really wanted to fuck my ass. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. I was certainly willing to try, with the caveat that it wasn't likely to work, but hey, why not? So we did.

At first it hurt. He was gentle but I found anything other than simple massage to be painful, as I always had. I took to laying him on his back, laying my head on his ribcage and jerking him off or fucking him with one hand while he fingered my ass with the other. It gets him off beautifully and one night....it felt good. It felt REALLY good. It felt so good that I had what I can only assume was an orgasm -- it felt different from any kind of orgasm I've yet had but it felt GREAT and left me shaking so I don't know what else to call it.

I don't know if that night was a fluke, but we took full advantage of it. He flipped me onto my back and slipped a finger back into my ass, handing me a vibrator with the other. I turned it on as he penetrated my cunt with two fingers and roughly located my g-spot (which I love, love, love, oh god I love it so much) and placed it against my clit.

20 moments of bliss followed, my body so strung out with desire and arousal so acute it was nearly painful, and I came harder than I ever have before...so hard, in fact, that I ejaculated. That's a major first to me, and one we've been unable to recreate since (though we haven't done that exact thing since...perhaps that's a theory I'll need to test!) but as Daddy put it, one moment his hand in my cunt was slick and the next it was soaked. I'll report back on that for sure.

We haven't been able to repeat that experience (yet) but I hope to do it again because it was wonderful. Since then, it hasn't been as good and in fact, the other night it was downright painful. It's a difficult feeling to describe, especially since I get off on Daddy hurting me...just...not there. It's not the kind of pain I like at all. That's something we'll need to work on.

So we're making a lot of progress on the anal front. Having him inside me like that was actually quite moving for me, as that is the last of my "traditional" virginity. I often wish that he was the only person I was ever with at all, (though of course that would have its own challenges, I'm sure), so it makes me happy that he has that particular part of my sexual experience all to himself.

There are so many kinds of virginity, though, and in all ways that matter, he has mine. I say it all the time in these posts, but only because it's true: he's made everything new for me. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

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.

More Reasons to Love T

{NOTE: This post details a somewhat more intense sexual practice than I have discussed before. I mention it in case any of my readers are easily disturbed by discussion of pain and pleasure -- I assume that isn't an issue for most but I'd rather put it out there just in case.}



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I mentioned in my last post that I adore T, and I do, for more reasons than Daddy's increased libido. For another thing, his facial hair has begun to grow and fill in, and if he doesn't shave about once every other day, he ends up with a bristly chin (and even a bit above his upper lip, too!). This is exciting because he only bumped his dosage higher and shortened his time between shots about two months ago, so these new changes are very exciting to us both...

...in more ways than one. Before Daddy and I got together, I hadn't explored my interest in heavier pain play at all. As an idea, pain in a sexual context turned me on (immeasurably), but sometimes the things we think are sexy are just bad ideas when put into practice. Which is why a rich fantasy life is a good thing to cultivate. :)

But as his beard began to grow in, I began to get ideas. A few weeks ago, while he was gripping both my nipples and rolling them between his fingers, I gasped, "Harder!" He smirked and complied, but not enough for my satisfaction. So again, "Harder!" and again his smirk, until he had both in a vice grip and I was writhing with pain...and on the edge of orgasm. The next morning he looked me over, certain that I should be bruised and over-sensitive -- and I was sensitive, but not bruised, and not at all in pain. Instead I loved him even more fiercely for daring to hurt me in ways I wanted so desperately but had been too afraid to request before. I really thought he would draw the line at my nipples, much less my cunt or clit. Happily, I have been proven wrong.

(And before I continue, let me make it very, very clear: this is what I want. The pleasure I get from all this eclipses anything that came before, and I could not and would not choose to go back, ever. I do have a safeword in place, and he always listens if I need to back off or stop entirely. I have never felt safer, more loved, cherished, or protected than I do when I am in his arms. This is what I need, and I am extraordinarily lucky, because it's what he needs, too.)

Once we discovered this mutual love of nipple torture, I often found myself laying on my side with him behind me, my arms over my head, his arms wrapped around me and crossed in front of me, one nipple in each hand, and his slick cunt pressed to my hipbone or against my ass, his breath hot in my ear as he came and came and came. I writhed with him, (his pleasure only fans the flame of my desire), and sometimes brought out my favourite vibrator. But still I wanted more.

One night, he had one nipple in his mouth, teeth gently scraping the tip, while he twisted the other. He let the one slip from his mouth to say something to me, and accidentally scraped it with his beard scruff. And I gasped: it felt incredible! "You like that, pet?" he asked -- he never misses a single reaction from me -- and when I nodded frantically, he lowered his chin and began to scrape my nipple back and forth. Eventually I came hard -- HARD -- and hid my face.

"What's wrong, baby?" He pulled me close and gently turned my face to his.

"I'm sorry, I just thought you might not want to do that. I've wanted you to but didn't know how to ask or if that was too heavy for you..." I trailed off. Everyone is different, and not every person that is into BDSM is into it to the same degree. Some tops are happy to whip one's back bloody but wouldn't dream of dealing pain to one's more delicate bits. I don't know why I didn't just ask him how he felt about it...well, I guess I do. I just wasn't sure I could take it, and I didn't want to open a door that I'd then have to close later.

At any rate, the door was open and we both loved it. Scruffing, as we called it, became a regular part of our lovemaking. One night, as I was stuck at the edge of orgasm, he growled in my ear, "Come, or I swear I'll scruff your cunt bloody." I think I almost pulled a neck muscle riding that orgasm out.

So there it was, out there as a threat but not in practice at all. I have mentioned before that I am reluctant to receive oral sex -- I have a bad history with it, but also I feel that I take too long (I know, there's no such thing as taking too long, and this is not at ALL coming from Daddy. This is all my own issue that we are both working on together.) and most of the time it doesn't get me off because I can't allow myself to relax into it.

But Daddy loves it, and I love to make him happy, (and I love that he makes me feel so wanted, so beautiful, so special to him), so normally he'll tell me that he just wants my taste for a while, and normally I say I'd love to be close to him like that but as a forewarning I don't feel like I'll be able to come, and we both agree and he goes down on me for a while, and it feels wonderful, and then we continue on with something else that often does make me come, usually internally rather than from my clit.

One evening he was on his stomach between my legs, his tongue lightly stroking my clit, while I held my outer lips open for him. He gripped my inner lips, pulled them taut, and sucked my clit into his mouth. This always makes me squirm, so he presses against me more firmly, and that's when I felt his chin digging into the entrance of my cunt.

It was prickly and sharp and it hurt. And I loved it, and I swear I got twice as wet in mere seconds. I pressed my legs further apart and bucked my hips against him, increasing the bite of his whiskers into my sensitive flesh. He looked up at me and smirked, then slowly began to shake his head. Oh my god, my eyes rolled back in my head and I had to beg him to stop and fuck me right that second. I came and came.

This brings us to last night. We'd worked until very very late, but when we got to bed I was too keyed up to sleep even though it was a positively ungodly hour. So I smoked up and was able to relax enough to lay down and turn off the light. He leaned up and over me and began to kiss me, and soon we were making out furiously and both of us were naked. I am much, much more responsive when my inhibitions are lifted, and there's been a lot of life stress on us both lately, so this relaxation has been a long time coming.

He bit at my nipples, pulling and twisting them with his fingers, and I panted -- it felt so good I thought I might be able to come just from that (which would be a first for me), but soon he pushed me up the bed and spread my legs, pressing my lips apart and attacking my clit with his tongue.

It felt heavenly. I went from aroused to desperately aroused in seconds, though I just kept wanting him harder. I couldn't speak, could only moan my encouragement, and as he pressed against me I again felt his chin against my entrance and his whiskers biting into me. I wantonly thrust against this pain/pleasure, wishing desperately that he'd make good on his threat from before. As his tongue grew tired, he responded to my hip movements and began to scruff my lips and vulva. I was in ecstasy and tried to press my clit against the roughness, unable to ask for what I so desperately wanted.

And then he did it. His chin rubbed against my aching clit, the hard bristles scraping my skin painfully and yet all I felt was pleasure. I snapped my hips against him, dragging my cunt up his chin from clit to the very bottom of the opening of my cunt. I realized I was probably scraping the skin enough to make it hurt the next day, but I didn't care. I was on the edge of an orgasm of a magnitude I had never before achieved, and he felt it, too. He grabbed my hips, roughly spread my lips, and scruffed my clit, over and over, hard.

I came after a few seconds, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I think I screamed. (Not in pain, I assure you.) And this morning I am sore, yes, (but not bloody, not even last night) and no, I don't plan on doing it again today (I don't intend myself serious or long-lasting irritation), but I will definitely, definitely be asking for it again. It was blindingly intense, wonderful, and the hottest thing I've done in a long time -- and that's saying a lot, since I think my Daddy is the hottest thing this side of the sun itself.

Have I said it lately? I am a lucky, lucky grrl.

T for Two

T has been very good for our relationship. My Daddy has always had a strong libido, whereas mine was a sort-of hit or miss kind of thing, but the day he gets a shot (and for a day or so after), he has a surge that carries us both away.

We have a ritual now: he is on injectable T, which is actually kind of scary to do yourself, so I do it for him. (If he was to do it himself, he'd have to inject in his leg, which can be painful for up to a day afterward if he tenses during the injection and he doesn't trust that he could stay relaxed while about to jab himself.)

Our ritual goes like so:

He assembles the necessary supplies (2 needles, 2 alcohol pads, the bottle of T in suspension, one syringe barrel, one band-aid) and I wait for him in the bedroom. He comes in, I undress him, and lay him out on the bed. I spend the next 20 minutes to half an hour going down on him, trying to get his endorphins working nicely.

We retreat to the bathroom where I roll the bottle of T between my hands, warming the liquid up while he attaches the first needle to the syringe barrel. He takes the bottle, swabs the top with alcohol rub #1, and I go and check our online calendar to see which butt cheek is up for the day. While I am doing that, he draws up the proper amount of T into the syringe and removes any air bubbles, then changes needles to the non-blunted one that we'll use for the actual injection.

I come back, wash my hands, and he swabs the correct butt cheek. I find the upper outer quadrant of the cheek, unsheathe the needle, count to three quickly, and inject him. He tries to relax. I pull back on the plunger just enough to determine that I haven't hit a blood vessel, then inject the T. Once it's all in, I pull out the needle, sheathe it once more, and dispose of it in our under-sink sharps container. He puts on a band-aid, if necessary, while I apologize for having to stab him with needles every ten days.

We return to the bedroom, where I go down on him some more. (His clit is more sensitive after the injection -- it might be psychosomatic but I don't care. It's lovely!) And after another half-hour or so, he becomes extremely toppish and rough with me, and I let him, which makes us both very happy.

T is a wonderful, wonderful thing.

(I'm sorry I disappeared for so long! I will be continuing to post but sometimes I have a hard time writing, especially when other life crap gets in the way. But things are fine and thank you for caring. :)