Sexuality Happens

This post will be divided into what happened and then thoughts/processing…

The Day
Today was my last free weekend in Philly, as next week is the East Coast Derby Extravaganza, and I will be busy all the time with derby.

After a fun night at Rocky Horror Gay Bingo (fabulous, I know), I wound up rocking the grocery at 3am (to pick up fruit). I was there in full Magenta costume (see above; however, my hair is still wet; it got much poofier). My checkout lady confused me for her therapist, and wound up talking to me for a good 35 minutes, and I couldn’t get away. However, once I finally escaped, I made it back home, and proceeded to make a really fucking pretty fruit salad. It has a strawberry base, with blackberries and raspberries forming a bulls eye, and thin half wedges of lime and lemon around the outside (then I sprinkled it with lavender). It was fabulous looking. Then I took a shower, and packed a bit, and was in bed by 5:00 am.

Today (father’s day, I know. ps, my dad is dead, thanks for reminding me), I went and had brunch (hence the fruit salad — I’m not that productive for no reason) with K and his friend. French toast and fruit salad = mmmmm. Delicious. I also go to play with Orwell, the kitty K is fostering. Who, while climbing me like a mountain, was able to get two good scratches in on my left shoulder. First ever real claw marks; my scratched up virginity has been taken. After playing with teh kitteh, his friend headed out, and we got ready to go to the Art Museum. While getting ready, I check out his new set of clamps that he just got (which I found with my superb interweb skillz). Then he remembered that he had picked up a pair of Bull Nose nipple clamps that I had wanted.

Of course, I had to take them out of the package to check them out — who wouldn’t? And then I needed to test them, because what if they weren’t what I wanted? And then K had to help me put them on, see how tight they were, and help me figure out the adjustment thingies. And then there was the brilliant plan of tucking them into my bra, and wearing them to the museum.

As if I’m not horny enough all the god damn time, let’s add nipple clamps, and send me out in public.

And we did.

The worst part was driving; my seatbelt somehow brushed against both of them, at the same time, over and over. And once we got to the museum, I hopped into the restroom to adjust one, and we were back to the art.

There are some fantastic items at the museum, but not nearly enough modern art. However, I did like some of the temples, tea houses, etc, that they recreated. However, it was a little difficult to look in and pay attention to a church room when K kept tapping me, right where the clamps were. Plus, my breasts are naturally really out there, so I’d keep running into things (and him), and ow. Better yet, I ran into a friend and his parter from school, and of course, I had to hug her when we saw each other, and then again to say goodbye. Yowch!

One exhibit was just breath taking. There were thousands, tens of thousands of black butterflies made out of paper, in swarms all over this white room, and stair case. I lay down on my back, just to get a better view and take it all in. It was beautiful, and haunting, and inspiring, and just amazing.

After this, we ran into Whole Foods to get Mint Water (HOLY CRAP – amazing! Try it!), as I took my clamps off in the car before the next part of the journey, and then we headed to the boondocks, to a kitschy tourist town, that happens to have an awesome fetish store. Of course, we wound up stopping in other stores on the way, and I ended up with 4 mouth/teeth shaped clamps, which may serve me well in my future endeavors. I also got a pretty pair of elbow length leopard print velvet gloves…you never know when you might need them! The fetish store was closed, but they let us in anyways, and we made for the toy section.

They have these beautiful red and black floggers. I want one so freaking bad, but of course, they are $175 and up. Sigh. One day, I will find a rich person who wants to buy me pretty toys and clothes, and let me take pictures with them and write stories in return. A girl can wish, right?

K and I were looking at all the slapping and stinging toys, of course. Some hurt a decent amount, some not at all, and some were definitely “OWs.” He found a synthetic cane that he’d been wanting, and I, of course, wanted to know how it felt (because I’m brilliant like that). It hurt, but in a good way. I’ve never been caned, and I think it’s something I’d either really like, or really not like. Hmmm…

I, on the other hand, found a pretty and ingenious toy. It’s got a regular handle, and these 5 long, blue see-through plastic…strips? They’re round, like spaghetti, and fuck, they hurt, but so good! And it’s pretty, and different, and I got it. In fact, as I type this, Athena is trying to run off with it. Interesting how many sex toys double as cat toys (by accident).

Anyways, we paid, and headed out get some guacamole, albeit wit some lovely marks on both forearms. If we hadn’t been in a hurry to get so they could close, I might have made some suggestions… and also tried on a latex dress. But hey, what can you do?

Guac was delicious, and we decided to head home. As we were driving, I was getting tired, and so he had the excellent idea of putting the clamps back on, and was kind enough to do so as I had my hands busy driving. Definitely kept me more awake and alert.

Then something happened that completely set me off (read thoughts/discussion below), and I wound up crying. Really crying, not just tears, but sobbing. Not for that long (thank god, since I was driving), but I’m not broken. I’m not feelingless, I CAN cry.

Once back at his place, I took off the clamps, placed and ice cube on each nipple (they were sore by this point!), and headed home. All in all, a fabulous adventure, and I’m ridiculously horny…of course.

Thoughts and discussion:

I realized something the other day; it was unfair of me to rely on K to challenge me, to make me uncomfortable, to make me cry. That’s my shit, and I need to own it.

I really like K as a friend. He’s fucking awesome; he’s intelligent, he’s funny, he can cook, he walks the right speed at the museum (without making me feel like I’m going too fast or too slow), he is adorable with Orwell. He tells me he is going to come visit me in Colorado, and I really hope he does. I could do with more friends like this.

However, there is still this pesky bit of attraction. First, I decided to pull the stunt I always pulled in college, and just ignore it. Sex talk = no no, etc. Yeah, not way that was going to happen. Ever. So then I decided to put it out there, telling him that I was actually less interested in a scene than in just fun, friendly, and because it’s me (and him) sex. Seriously, more people need to have playful sex. Myself included. But then I politely dropped the subject.

But it’s fucking hard. Like my clit right now. I mean, how do you turn off your sexual attraction to someone when they’re talking about black latex gloves, tapping your nipple clamps, throwing around innuendo right and left, testing out canes on your arm, etc? It’s near impossible. Now, this isn’t an either or thing; I want to be friends, regardless of anything else. And if nothing else ever happens, fine. However, if things continue this way, I may explode. A lot.

Chris suggested that maybe someone might get off as controlling the situation by teasing. Sure, I totally agree. On the other hand, you can only tease so far. Either something has to happen, or it needs to stop. BEFORE I EXPLODE. Just saying.

It was worse at dinner. I was talking about the fact that I’d done a lot of “kinky” or “non-normal” (by social standards) things, but I seemed to have skipped a lot of the stereotypical things. I’ve never fucked someone with a strap-on, and I’ve never really been fucked by someone with a strap on. As I said this, I thought out loud that I would probably be pretty disappointed in it, given everything else I’ve done. I mean. how does that compare to 13 orgasms in 24 hours? And what if it’s just like penis-in-vagina intercourse? The 10 or so times I’ve had that (with the same guy), I was thinking about whether my meter was running out, which paper was due on monday, and what I could say to get him to come faster. I never even contemplated thinking about trying to orgasm from it. It kind of hurt, and was boring. So what if getting fucked by someone who is strapped on is the same way?

He laughed and shook his head. He said that me saying that make him want to strap it on and fuck me right then. I replied that he had 7 days (before I left Philly), and he asked if it was a limited time offer (again, with the planning to visit). So basically, yet more things to just keep me on edge. Jesus.

A total side note, but he told me my dad sounded like he was a really cool guy. I mean, that doesn’t mean much in the scheme of things (and I’m sure I talked about him way too much today, unconsciously. I really miss that guy), but since none of my current friends had ever met him (he died in 1999), it really meant a lot to me that he’d say something like that.

Now, for the crying. Because I know you all want to read about me blubbering and turning blotchy as I cruised at 75 down the freeway.

K bought this cane, right? And had hit me with it, but I hadn’t felt it with my hands, the material, etc. He had it out of the bag, and was holding in the car (he really likes it). I said, perhaps too quietly with the music, “Can I feel?” I hadn’t felt the material, and was interested. He continued to hold it, and didn’t move or answer, so I waited a moment, took it as a yes, and reached over to feel it.

He pushed my hand away, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was feeling it (duh?). He told me I should always ask before I did something like that. Stunned, I told him that I HAD asked. He told me (and I’m not 100% positive on the word choice, but it definitely was not “I didn’t hear you,” which would have been a different story) that I hadn’t asked. I told him that I’d never touch something without asking, and he said he hadn’t thought I would, which was why he was so surprised, but that he swore I hadn’t asked.

It was miscommunication at some level. We were both tired, and in pain (great combo I know). However, his word choice triggered something. Had he told me that he hadn’t heard me, fine. Radio was on, I didn’t say it loudly enough, whatever. Mistake, fixed, end of story.

But the word choice set me off. I think it was a two parter; firstly, I really value personal space and property. I won’t hug someone for the first time unless I’ve gotten permission, and I usually ask “can I hug you,” even if we’ve already done so in the part. I don’t grab things from peoples’ hands. I ask. I try to be respectful and polite as much as humanly possible. For him to think that I wouldn’t do that hurt. Secondly, was “you didn’t say it” thing. While (as I found out afterwards) that wasn’t what he meant, to me it sounded like he was telling me I was lying. I was telling him that I’d said it, and he was telling me that I hadn’t. I don’t lie to people I care about. Ever. Fuck, I don’t even lie to customer service people, cops, neighbors, etc. In fact, I can count the stretched truths I’ve told in the last year, including telling my grandfather that I’m a “counselor” (rather than a sex educator/consultant), and telling my mother that my bruises were from derby (but I did tell her the needle marks were from piercing play). I tell people when outfits look bad, I tell people if they said something to hurt me, hell, I don’t even lie to my cats about going to the vet. Honestly is very fucking important to me, so to have (or feel) someone imply that I was lying was like being punched. Hard. In the stomach. How could he think I’d just grab something, and further more, lie about asking? He clearly didn’t know me at all.

My eyes welled up with tears, and I hunched forward, muscles taut, knuckles turning white as they gripped the wheel, my foot punching the gas. He asked what was wrong. If he thought I was a liar, what did it matter what I said? He touched me lightly and a shook off his hand; usually that makes me feel better. Fuck that, I didn’t want him touching me. If he thought that I’d do something like that, he didn’t get to touch me.

I drove like this for a bit. He asked again what it was that had happened. I didn’t even know fully how to explain it, and I was angry. It was the same feeling as when J told me that I was objectifying the trans community; someone I care about was telling me that I wasn’t something that I tried so hard to be. In J’s case, it was an ally and inclusive; in K’s case it was respectful and honest.

Yes, it’s dumb. I realize this. But it was my reaction. Yes, I took it the wrong way. I was tired. And I’m stressed; I’m trying to move, and find a job, and apartment, and am leaving my friends here, and am about to drive 4.5 days cross country with two cats and my sister. I am highly flammable right now, and this lit the fuse.

Finally, after some deep breaths, I felt myself relaxing. He asked again what he had said that triggered this (like any person would). I couldn’t express it properly; someone like that (both that I cared about, and who was very dominant) essentially telling me that I was wrong, that I had lied. How do you explain that without sounding like an idiot? I tried, and wound up bursting into tears, and crying, sobbing, shaking. As I drove (no shoulder). I didn’t crash.

It felt good. And awkward. My two best friends (in Denver and Seattle) are the only two people I feel comfortable crying in front of. They won’t judge me, they won’t think I’m weak, they won’t see it as losing control, they won’t see me/think of me differently because I broke down. I don’t know K like that, as much as there is that odd feeling of trust. I felt like an idiot, but hey, that’s been happening a lot.

I stopped. And kept driving. K asked me what I needed. I said “a life,” but that I was fine. He said “no, what do you NEED?” I said “a hug,” feeling that was impossible in a car. Without hesitation, he unbuckled his seatbelt (mother, if you’re reading this; it’s not my fault!), and leaned over, placing his arms around me. And I drove like that for a little until I felt less like driving over the edge of the overpass. He kept a hand on me the rest of the way back to his place, even once he was rebuckled.

Other than the awkwardness and embarrassment (he is NOT my therapist, he doesn’t need to deal with this hot mess), I felt so much better. The constriction in my rib cage has subsided a bit. I don’t feel broken, that I’m heartless and can’t cry. I work. And it didn’t take having someone hurt me significantly (emotionally or physically) to cry. So that is good.

On the other hand, what the fuck? Things like that should not set me off. All I can hope is that this situation was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and now I’m good to go. I cannot ever deal with crying on the freeway again. I did it last fall on the way back from NY when J broke up with me, and wound up getting on the wrong road. I could have crashed today. Crying is good for non-moving times.

Anyways, welcome to my weekend. God, I need therapy.

-Essin’ Em