Storms Rolling In

It’s hard to write about getting hit and I don’t know why. It isn’t because it was “traumatic” or “difficult.” It wasn’t those things. It isn’t because it was “limit-pushing” and “intense.” It was those things very much, but they aren’t why it’s so hard to talk about, to write about, to process, to filter, to express. But somehow, the process of getting repeatedly punched until I bruise seems to be, for me, the hardest to turn into words, whether written, oral, or thought. 

So forgive me if I’ve been meaning to write this for over a month. Chipping away at it sentence by sentence, word by word, scattering in punctuation and then feeling that it all was wrong and pressing enter one to many times to start over again on a fresh, blank part of the page. Forgive me if this is jumbled or raw or not at all transcendent. Forgive me if this is bad writing. Forgive me if this is all over the place and weaving in and out of things that aren’t even tangentally related at all. This is just where my fingers need to hit the keyboard right now and where my mind needs to go. 

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Review : “Handy-Dandy” Hand Paddle by Eden Fantasys

Sex_Toys_MAX201

Click Image for Full Review on EdenFantasys.com

It’s taken me a while to get to this review because…well..for a while I had no bums to smack and no one willing to wield it either, but I’m happy to say that I’ve now experienced both ends and I’m pretty in love with this paddle. It’s much sturdier and thicker than I expected, not flappy and floppy, no not at all. This is a tough old boy: about 1/8th of an inch thick and just about the size of my hand (which are small, but still). The paddle is made of tough, very heavy, thick leather with red stitching. The handle is metal and a bit less than the length of the average forearm with a little d-ring on the end for convenient hanging. This makes this toy compact enough to fit in just about any toy bag or box, but also a pretty powerful instrument. It should be noted that the leather that this toy is made out of means that it is POROUS and therefore can transmit STIs and STDs. Keep that in mind! It does, however, mean that if you’re into it you can black your own paddle (*happy boot black sigh*).

All in all I find this an extremely useful toy to have in my toy chest: intense when you need it, nice and intimidating-looking, but also small and innocent. It forms a nice bridge between the traditional wood/metal/hard paddles and riding crops. Nice and thuddy like a flogger but with the after-sting and bruising of a paddle! :)

Aligning of Energies, Uniting of Vibrations, Linking of Sensations

Warning: The following piece of erotica contains a blowjob, punching, nipple play, mild power play, discussions of dominant energy, and the reclaiming of the word “cunt.”  Please read responsibly

 

A dark, quiet corner and a red vinyl bench, the kind you find in diners. Xe was kneeling in front of me, half naked, blushing slightly, waiting. My cock was already hard in my hand, bridging the gap between our bodies, waiting too. I kissed her, our heads curling together. Their mouth was hot, open, wanting and I wanted to fill it with my everything. I ran my hands up his bare shoulders, blades smooth and jutting, skin flushed. Pressure on the base of the neck then up through xyr hair, grasping a handful of blue and pulling backwards until his mouth opened slightly and eyes closed. Another kiss, harder, deeper, fuller.

“Are you going to suck my cock, boi?”

A whisper. Still getting a handle on the top energy growing inside the base of my ribcage, orange and hot and strong and pulsing. Curling myself over xem as she lowered eir mouth to my cock, sucked it down, gripped my inner thighs with his hands.

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Cherries

Warning: The following post contains a cursory mention of sexual assault and bio-dick, spanking, a play party, blowjobs, suspension, a cursory mention of needleplay, and some other kinky/queer/poly things. Please read responsibly.

Dear Reader,

The last time I went to a play party it ended in creepiness, anxiety, and disappointment, but I think this time was different. I say “I think” because so much happened and my head still isn’t screwed on quite right. I lost an entire jar of (tasty tasty maraschino) cherries this weekend and some of them make me blush and others make me cringe and some are still causing occasional bouts of euphoria when I think of them, but it occurred to me this week that my life is starting to become what I wanted it to be when I was 14 years old. In 10 years (hush, I’m a youngin’), I can really start to look back and say I did it. It’s still, however, very hard for me to claim specific goals as accomplished. I have a really hard time feeling that I’ve succeeded. A really hard time. So when I say I “had the realization,” I really kind of mean it. I mean that I just sort of woke up this week and went: wow, I have fabulous queer friends and partners and lovers and I’m kinky and poly and use alternative pronouns and wear bowties and am launching my own freelancing career and this is who I am and it’s great!

So I’d like to start a new tradition here: a jar of cherries. I think it’s time that I (and we) celebrate our milestones and our firsts. When we’re young there are so many firsts: first day of school, first test, first word, first step, first birthday, first broken heart, first kiss, first first first first…but as we get older, we stop recognizing or celebrating the firsts. We become a little heavier and a little sturdier and a little more weighed down by countless repetitions of tooth-brushing or paper-writing or candle-lighting. What happened to celebrating our firsts?

I’m going to celebrate my firsts. Here. (Or at least, the sexy-kinky-poly-queer-trans* firsts…)

I’m going to collect a jar of cherries.

The first additions to this jar?

Cherry 1: First Watched Suspension

I remember this one the best. I watched two very lovely human beings (Q and Kailin) self-suspend and it was breathtaking. I kind of can’t believe I’ve gone this long without ever seeing someone suspended, but it’s true! I can’t get the image of Q letting himself fall gracefully into an inverted suspension, back arched and eyes gleaming. Just stunning. I’ve been converted to the cult of rope.

Cherry 2: First Play Party Scene

This one makes me all shy. I was lucky enough to participate in TWO scenes, but I suppose the official cherry has to go to the first one with Max which was surprisingly spontaneous albeit simple. Simple in a good way. There was a massage and then a lovely little spanking that left me high for hours…and the potential for more soon which makes me squirm. Fuck I needed to get hit like that. It’s been long…way too long and Max was, well, kind of sublime.

Cherry 3: First Viewing of a Bio-Cock Post-Assault

Bet you never really expected to see this up here. Neither did I really. I’m not entirely sure this was a positive thing, but I can’t fully say it was a negative thing either.

Cherry 4: First Public Top-Nudity

When I’m around people I trust, the clothes come off pretty easily. When I’m around complete strangers, some of whom are white, hetero, cis, 40+ dominant men, the clothes do not come off nearly as easily, but I spent a small hiccup of the night topless whilst being massaged/spanked and much more of the night bra-less (equally as big a deal). I am the proud.

Cherry 5: First Watched Needleplay

Blood and metal sliding through flesh? Not really my thing. Amazing reactions from hot bottoms? Count me in.

Cherry 6: First Public Spanking Received

Am I allowed to count things twice? ;)

Cherry 7: First Public Blowjob Given

This was the scene that got kicked out of “first play party scene” by a matter of hours. Near the end of the night a pre-planned scene between Max, Kailin, and I. Hot. Stunningly hot. Kailin and I kneeling at Max’s feet and taking turns sucking her off, Kailin’s hand subtly on my cock, Q watching from the sidelines. Fuck, there’s little I love more than being on my knees with a cock in my mouth and a fist in my hair being told I’m a good boy.

Cherry 8: First Pickle Blowjob Watched

No seriously. That happened. And let me tell you a little secret: Max gives really good head. I was far too turned on watching this scene.

Cherry 9: First Drop

I find it absolutely bizarre that I’ve never really experienced drop until this week. The high lasted about half a day before it faded and then plummeted. I can’t say I’m too fond of drop, but It also signifies I came from some high point, and that’s a thing of which to be happy.

Cherry 10: First Knot Learned

This just happened last night, but I’m including it here because of cherry jars and lack of motivation to post things often. Kailin taught me a handful of knots last night (single column tie, double column tie, square knot, half hitch, how to reverse tension, somerville bowline) and it was intimate and kind of awesome.

Cherry 11: First Kiss in the Snow

Cue “awwwwww.”

Queerly,

Roux

A Hotel Blowjob

Dear Kailin,

Your mouth on my dick isn’t a feather-light fantasy. It isn’t just pretty red lips and some mind-fuck-of-a-blowjob. Your mouth on my dick is the release to a coiled spring, you sucked me in and “being hard” was no longer a metaphor. I could be blindfolded and still feel the way you suck me down and make me moan. Usually blowjobs are about watching some pretty boy suck me off and wishing I could feel more of it, wishing that the image matched the imagination, wishing that I wasn’t stuck in the hollow place somewhere between “this is my cock and it’s real” and “this is is a teal dildo and what if I’m just a lesbian.” It’s hard to explain. You make it as real as it could be. “Real” is a terrible concept in this case because my cock is not real but it’s not not real either. It just is. It begs to be respected and named and pleasured. And fuck do you do that well.

I liked the way you kind or rolled on your side when you sucked me off. I liked the way you came up off it gasping a little. I liked when you pulled back and whispered that you’d taken it deeper than you usually could. My knees got weak at the image of the head of my cock pushing at the back of your throat, making the thicker saliva bubble to the surface. I know what that feels like, the split second panic-clarity that comes from deepthroating past one’s tolerance, the gasp for breath and the sticky, sweet drool that wells up in the back of one’s mouth. I love that feeling and maybe you do too, it’s so hard to tell. I have a hard time asking and you have a hard time saying and somewhere in the moment of in between we get a little lost in each other or at least that’s what it feels like for me.

I got a little lost in your mouth. I got a little lost in its curves and crevices, in your tongue lapping against me, at your cheeks contracting in as you sucked. I got a little lost in the way it just made me tip my head back and gasp out under my breath, “oh fuck.” I got a little lost in your hands around my hips, gently guiding me in and out. No one’s ever let me fuck their mouth before. I’ve been sucked off …a lot, but flexing my hips, pulsating forwards, in, out, in, out…. fuck, it feels good and it makes me want more, lots more.

You make me want to fist your hair and fuck your mouth hard, then take it out, ask you to stick out your tongue, and slap it with my cock. You make me kind of want to hear you gag a little, to put a hand on your throat and feel it contract as I go a little too deep. I want to let you suck my two first fingers so I can feel you working me inside your mouth even more, feel the grooves and the pockets and the pressure. You make me want to tell you to kneel and to call you boy. I’m sure you wouldn’t at all agree with that term. You don’t have to. I’m not trying to assign it to you as a comment on your gender or as a comment on our D/s dynamic or whatnot, it’s just what I find myself wanting to call people I feel kind of dominant towards. I keep resisting the urge to type it like I resisted the urge to say it. Standing at the edge of that hotel bed, I wanted to say, “ohhh fuck, boy, you make me so hard, your mouth feels so fucking good on my cock. Suck it boy, deeper…fuck yes.

…but I get shy…

…But I want it again. I want you again. I want you more and more and more. Every time we play you leave me dripping. And I’m enjoying the way you make me think. I like that we haven’t slept together yet or had sex or whatever euphemism you want to use to describe something that involves exploring each other’s naked bodies. I like that we’re taking our time, because it makes me think and contemplate. It makes me stop and FEEL things, like the way I felt your hand when you jacked me off a little. You could have made me cum, between your mouth and your hand, I could have cum without you even touching my cunt at all. Which is incredible. You’re incredible. You make my head spin so much that it’s just hard to say things sometimes…okay, a lot of times.

You asked me what I defined sex as and I gave a non-answer. I’ve always prided myself on not having a definition of sex; on saying that sex doesn’t have to be defined by going down on someone, or toys, or penetration, or orgasm. Sex can just be whatever it wants to be. I still believe that, but I have something else to add: I want to see what sex can be with you. I don’t want us to talk it to death, I just want to see you and feel you and touch you and kiss you. I don’t know in what order or in which places or at what pace or pressure or with what implement or anything else and I don’t think I want to know. You just make me want to feel…to feel you or things or something… and other than that I have no agenda.

Queerly,

Roux

Impact.

Ty hit me last night. Spanked. Flogged. Paddled. Punched. Ass. Thighs. Chest. You could say I got beaten up. Hard. And it felt incredible.

They started with my ass, not letting me see what was coming. Palms and fists and leather colliding into skin and muscle and flesh. The sensation of it all was such a rush. But the front, the front is what really sent me spiraling. I loved getting punched in the chest, slapped hard across. I felt the air get knocked out of me every time. And my inner thighs, so sensitive that every hit had me reeling around inside my own mind, bouncing off the walls, unable to escape the pain.

I don’t really know any other way to describe it, but I hate using the word “pain”. It hurt, but it hurt in such a life-affirming, grounding, centering, sensational way. I loved the way my body twitched and flinched and tensed sometimes without me knowing it. And when I was on my back I loved seeing Ty’s face as they let loose on me. So satisfying. For both of us.

I felt buffeted by sensation. Picked up and hurled around and slammed back into my own reality again. I felt like I could face anything after that beating. I feel like a new person.

And near the very, very end, when they were doing some work on my inner thighs, I felt myself close to tears. I almost cried…I wanted to, not in a negative way but in a positive, letting-it-all-out kind of way. I decided against it, though and backed myself away from the edge, but I’m so thrilled and proud of myself for reaching that edge. I really pushed myself farther than I thought I would my first time. And I hope next time I do cry. I hope next time I stop thinking entirely. I hope next time I bruise. I hope next time I’m strong enough to let go.

That’s my new goal for 2014: being strong enough to let go.

New Skin

"Up on the overpass 
the night was wide open 
and blowing headlights like a sea. He stood against the wind and let it peel him 
clean. " 

- Anne Carson, "Autobiography of Red"

Was wondering why my stats suddenly shot up from a few wandering people to a number in the hundreds and then realized that Sinclair over at Sugarbutch.net had included a few quote of mine in their reader mini-interview series. And that’s super flattering. So super duper flattering that I’m blushing and I don’t blush.

So hello wandering sugarbutch-ians, stay for a while won’t you?

While we’re on the topic of Mr. Sexsmith, maybe I should admit something: I LOVE their work. I love it. If I could spend my entire day crushing hard on them, I would. If I could write half as well as they do, I would be honored. My close friends will tell you that I become a serious fan-boi when Sinclair’s name comes up in conversation. By the way, isn’t it awesome that I have conversation in which that name just comes up?

I’m starting to realize that my life has become almost what I wanted it to be when I first started coming out. I’m not 100% there and of course by now my goals have shifted and I want new and different things, but when I was first coming out, coming into the identities of queer and genderqueer and kinky, the things I envisioned …they were this. They were getting invited by old friends to play parties where I could be both silly and sexual. They were being able to talk entirely openly about my sex life, my sexuality, they way I felt about my body and soul and self to anyone I wanted. When I was just starting out all I wanted was to find other people that shared my interests, that GOT me. Well I found them. I found them by the bucketloads.

I do feel like my nights are wide-open now. I feel like the wind is peeling me clean day by day. Each day I rise with the sun and each night I let the wind and the moon soak me and strip me bare. I’ve always identified strongly with wind and with night. They’re the two elements that make me feel the strongest. I would not be the person I am today if I didn’t have a breezy lake shore to escape to as a child. When things got bad, when my parents fought, when I had that recurring nightmare about kissing the short-haired girl from school, when I couldn’t stop crying and didn’t know why, I always walked down the street to the lake shore and sat in the blackness, feeling the breeze off the water on my face and seeing all the stars reflected in the surface. I didn’t care much for the water itself, but the wind, the wind and the black they helped peel me clean.

And now I’m here and I’ve got a new skin. A skin that started growing when I first clicked that Autostraddle link over to sugarbutch in 2010. I recently found the article again, because I was curious where all this started. The Autostraddle article is this one and this is the Sugarbutch story it linked to. It’s actually not one of my top favorites but reading it again, I know why that first cell divided and multiplied and sparked itself onto my rubbed-raw exterior: vulnerability. I was at a point in my life where I was out as “gay” and had been with two partners but didn’t really understand how to orgasm. My latest breakup had devastated me and I was finally starting to get help for what I would soon discover was chronic depression. That was the summer I found sugarbutch and antidepressants and orgasms. All in one summer. All in one month actually.

And my skin blossomed. And I became whole.

It’s really nice to be whole.