Sexuality Happens

I was out drinking boba tea with my derby wife when Q texted me.

“Still want to bang?”

“Of course.  Come over.”

“I can only stay till 10.”

“Fine, I’ll have you home by 10…pumpkin.”

I looked at my lovely derby wife.  ”Three hours? What the fuck am I supposed to do with three hours?”  I had been planning for six or seven, and I hated having to condense my plans like this so last minute.  She looked at me.

“Um. Have sex? And then you could kill time with a movie?”  She didn’t get that my complaint was that three hours wasn’t ENOUGH as compared to it being TOO MUCH.  I grumbled a bit more about having to fuck on my feet, and headed home to meet Q.  We played a bit of tag as I went to the front door and she to the back, and then reversed, but finally, I had her inside.  Two to three minutes of small talk later, I was slowly trying to undress her.  Trying was the key, because she wears layers like they’re going out of style, so it’s much easier to just pull everything off at once. However, I’m trying to stop looking like the 15-year-old hormonal boy who just wants to fuck, and actually be more sensual. Right.

“I’m kind of tired, so I’m not going to top you tonight. Unless you want me to. I mean, what do you want me to do?” She referred back to this ongoing conversation we’d been having about her topping me. I didn’t think it was feasible, she holds that it is, and so this play date was supposed to have been a fight for the domination.  But you know, if someone is asking you if you want them to top you, it’s usually a sign that they’re not in a top mode. No sweat, I had it covered.

As I took the last of her bloody layers off, I discovered a giant bruise on her chest. “What the fuck is that from?”

“You.”

“No fucking way.” We hadn’t hooked up in a week and a half, and I was pretty sure I’d remember leaving a bruise like that.  Guess not.  She asked me to be a little more gentle, and no biting for the night, and I acquiesced.  I like having people want to come back – hurting them when they were tired never did anyone much good in that case.  I picked up a pair of police issue handcuffs, safely putting one key on a necklace around my neck, the other on my key chain.  Bringing her hands in front of her, I cuffed them.  See, I had thought ahead. I wanted her to wear them for sometime, but I also wanted her to have used of them. 

Pushing her up against my pantry door, I started to play with her incredibly sensitive nipples. “So I put your hands in front of you for a reason.  Can you guess what that was?” She was already so distracted by me playing her her. “Hey! Hands. You. Think it through.”  Perfect – she started playing with me through my jeans.  I was brilliant.  Till I realized her jeans, shoes, and worst of all, SOCKS, were still on.  I told her to figure out a say to take them off.  The punk tormented me by threatening to keep her socks on, and I told her fine, she was welcome to stay handcuffed with her socks on in my kitchen all night, at least till ten. The socks came off.

I teased her a bit more, then took her to my bedroom, lying her on her back on my leopard print sheets, her hands cuffed together above her head.

“Mmm. You look good against my sheets.” She laughed. “No, really, you do. You know, that’ a requirement. Match my sheets, and get along with my cats. Otherwise, you’re out.”  She told me she understood, and complimented my sheets. If nothing else, Q is a quick learner.

I continued to play with her…pinching, twisting, licking, nibbling and sucking her nipples, coming up to kiss her every once and a while. She moved her hands. “Every time you move your hands, that’s one more orgasm you’re going to have to give me.”  Nodding, she moved them back…but a few moments later, they were down again. “That’s two.”

We got to chatting. I like chatting during sex…I mean, when you have marathon sex sessions, keeping quiet would just be creepy.  She had told me that her chest bruise had almost acted like a cock block on her trip to NY. I used that information now to my advantage. “So, you got laid in NY then?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Just one.”

“So you’ve gotten to come more recently than I have. I think I should add one to your total.  That’s three times now. And you know, you were supposed to make me come once already, so that’s four.  You have to make me come four times before you get to come.” I am so fucking brilliant. She is one of those people that takes a while to come, and can only come once in a pretty long period of time. I don’t take very much time at all (especially after the first one, and now that she knows how I tick), and can come in the dozens of times.  Ergo, I employed fucking math, and currently, it was at a ratio of 4:1.

As this was going through my head, I had started to play with her cunt. God, she gets so god damn fucking wet, and it’s one of the hottest things ever. I’m talking like seeing her drip, and watch more ooze out of her to replace it.  I understand that she’s just someone who gets really wet, but in my mind, I see it as me really turning her on, and then that turns me on, and god DAMN.  So here I was stroking her cunt and playing with her nipples, and watching her squirm as I was trying to be all vanilla like, with out biting or pain or anything.

“So, you have to make me come four times.  Do you want to do it all now, get it over with, and just do the rest as they come up, or do you want to intersperse them, or do you want to wait until you’re just about ready to come, and do them all then?”  She looked at me for a second, and then her eyes closed again in pleasure. I hadn’t stopped my ministrations of her cunt, and was now very lightly rubbing her clit.  I love making people make decisions like this, especially when their brain is somewhere completely different. “Hey! I asked you a question. I mean, I can keep doing this, but you’re not going to get to come until I do at least four times, so you should probably answer me.”

“I can’t think right now. I mean, wait, can you repeat my options?” I laughed, and did.  She was so out of it already. I fucking love fucking Q. Mucho fun.  She’d keep starting to move like she was going to fuck me, and then get distracted, and go right back to lying on the bed, my fingers teasing her cunt.

Finally, she shook herself out of it.  ”Ok, I’m going to fuck you.”

“Great! Oh yes, I want you to do at least the first one with the handcuffs on.”  She looked a little put out at first. “Didn’t you say you enjoyed a challenge?”

“Did I say that?”

“I thought so. But I mean, if you don’t think you CAN get me off with them on…” I goaded her.

“I can do it. Fine.” She told me where she wanted me, and I oh-so-helpfully moved my cunt towards her.  Watching and feeling her try to kiss me, and play with my breasts while still holding herself up, her hands bound together by metal, was ridiculously hot. As was seeing her give up on foreplay, and begin to fuck me, the cool metal hitting my skin as it contrasted against her warm hands.

To be continued…

-Essin’ Em

I think sex should be fun. And funny. And all that jazz. I’ve written about that all before.

But I thought you might enjoy some instances of when laughter is necessary.

*When M and I were hooking up, there were many amusing things. Such as the infamous “My Anus is Bleeding” interaction, and the conversation about her being my pet. 

*F and I were fucking once, and heard a crack. She paused. “Don’t you fucking even think about stopping.” She looked at me inquisitively. “I don’t bloody know what that was but fuck me harder NOW!”  About an hour or so later, we were cuddling, and I got up to go to the bathroom.  When I came back, I looked at the bed, and her. She’d rolled towards the middle.  In fact, the whole bed had sunk into the the middle.  After we took apart the whole bed, we found out that she, in the oh-so-important process of fucking me, broke my frame in two places, and bent it in another.  It was about 2am, and we were trying to take apart a broken bed, and put it back together. All we could do was laugh.

*I thought the other night that I had a brilliant idea. Now, often, during sex I have many “brilliant ideas.”  Usually, I’m smart enough to think things through, and warn my partners that I’m about to try something that may in fact be ridiculous. An epic fail.  Like the one time I had one hand deep inside Q, and was trying to put a condom on my Hitachi, with one hand (PS – putting condoms on Hitachis is fucking hard with TWO hands – they should make Hitachi specific safer sex covers). I tore the condom open (carefully) with my teeth. I tried to oh so smoothly slide the condom over the Hitachi (after telling Q to look away in case it went horrible wrong…and of course, she didn’t). Yeah, some how (no idea how) snapped the damn condom into my breasts…hard enough to leave a mark.  Second try, I got it on, but was still laughing really hard. Anyways, the other night, I had an idea. I forgot to tell Q about my idea though…I just made her stay on her knees on my bed, legs spread apart, hands handcuffed behind her neck. I thought it would be a genius idea to go down on her by sliding underneath her on my back, and eat her out that way.

Ultimate FAIL.  I got come all over my face. I’m talking about not being able to breathe, sealing my eyes shut, in my eyebrows, in my hair (a bit ala Something About Mary). I was so distracted by all of the come (as fun as it was) and trying to breathe that I wasn’t able to properly eat her out. I wound up laughing a lot before pushing her back on the bed.

When people fall off the bed, or snap themselves in the boob with a condom, or so other similarly silly things, all you can do is laugh. And keep going. If you can’t laugh, then what can you do?

I share these stories with you not because I enjoy people laughing at me (although sometimes I do).  I share them because I think I have pretty fucking phenomenal sex.  I haven’t had an unsatisfying sexual experience in over a year.  Lately, it’s been really great amazing sex…with F, with S, with Q.  And you know what? It hasn’t been smooth, perfect, everything goes as planned sex. F and I laughed all the damn time.  S tried to tied me up with a sling of sort around my neck that I almost strangled myself with, and I couldn’t get the damn condom on the Hitachi.  With Q, I’ve had Kali decide to sit on my ass for a good 30 or 40 minutes while I was between Q’s legs, going down on her. I’ve said really awkward things. We’ve spooned with Kinsey.

Sex is fun. It’s funny. It HAS to be. There will be sex fails, just as there will be successes.  Why not enjoy it?

-Essin’ Em

Somedays, I can’t stand up.  I can’t even get out of bed. I’m in so much fucking pain that my body cannot bear my weight. Some days, I take a cocktail of pain killers, anti-inflammatories, and muscle relaxers, and lie in bed, praying that they’ll knock me out so that the pain will go away. It fucking sucks.

However, while I sometimes physically cannot stand up, I will ALWAYS stand up for myself regarding my disability. I feel guilty and horrible enough about it as is, I refuse to let other people break me down, make me feel worse.  I will stand up, I will speak out.

As evidenced:

To Whom It May Concern;

I would like to file a complaint regarding my treatment by the security guard who identified himself as J. B.  On the night of March 19th, I left the building around 11:15 pm.  I was approached by Mr. B, and asked if that was my car in the parking space market “Handicapped visitor – 4 hour maximum.” I replied that it was. He told me that in the future, I shouldn’t park there, or my car would be towed. I asked him why that was.  I told him I had signed into the building at 8:15pm, and was well within the time limit.

He then questioned me as to whether I had read the sign, or seen what was on the pavement.  I told him that indeed I had, and that my Colorado issued handicap placard was displayed in the front window, as required. He obviously hadn’t even looked at it.  He looked me up and down, and told me I didn’t look like I should be parking there. I explained that I’d had three knee surgeries, had patellor-femoral arthritis, and was on medication for all of my joint issues. I even offered him my physician’s phone number should he want proof of my diagnosed disability.

He then started to walk away, telling me that it was no use talking to me because I just needed to listen.  I asked him if he would please clarify what his complaint was against me, and why he had threatened to tow me, as I was in fact disabled according to the state of Colorado.  He walked back towards my car, and told me I had parked slightly crookedly, and that while there was not a parkable space next to me (there was a handicapped unloading area), I was being disrespectful by parking “in that area.”  I walked next to my car, and saw that although I was close to the line, I was still one hundred percent within the lines. However, in an effort to reduce the intensity of this altercation, I apologized to Mr. B, and told him I would be more cautious of my angle of parking in future visits to the building. I wished him a good evening as he turned his back to me, walking off and grumbling under his breath things I could not make out.

I do not take kindly to be treated in such an accusatory and disrespectful manner.  I have been disabled for over nine years, having had surgeries, injections, medications, physical aids such as canes and crutches, and more to help me negotiate my injury.  Clearly, my doctor and the state of Colorado maintain that I am in fact disabled – handicapped placards are not very easy to get.

I’m feel targeted by Mr. B, and am shocked that he would even deign to assume that I wasn’t “disabled enough” to park in the handicapped space (even though I had the required placard on display), much less threaten me with the towing of my car.  He was unable to provide a viable reason for this threat, as I had signed in the guest book as required in the lobby, was well within the four hour limit, and had the proper permit and paper work to be in a handicapped space.  As I stood up for myself, he became more rude and disrespectful, to the point of concocting a ludicrous issue regarding my angle of parking.  I have seen many people park slightly crookedly (and even straddling parking space lines) in a variety of parking lots, including this one, and have never seen, or even heard of someone being towed away for such a reason.  In my opinion, my angle of parking was clearly a trumped up charge he created once I refused to be cowed by his mockery of my disability.

I do not enjoy being disabled.  I do not see my handicapped placard as a perk or bonus; rather it is a necessity and constant reminder of the fact that I am in chronic pain. Daily, I am reminded of the fact that I do not have the same ability level as I used to, or as the majority of people I know. It is hard enough living with a disability in our society without having other people take it into question, and use it against you, particularly in a threatening manner. Not only was this interaction with Mr. B incredibly disrespectful to me, but it was also emotionally trying.  Please imagine living in constant pain, and having someone tell you that not only do they not believe you, but then threaten to tow your car based on their diagnosis of you, having only glanced at you.

I do not plan to take legal action or call in the American Disabilities Association based on this single issue.  However, I would like my complaint to be heard, and for this to be discussed with Mr. B.  Moreover, I would appreciate contact from the management to let me know how this is being handled.  I would hate for this to go no further, and have Mr. B attack the validity of other people’s disabilities. I look forward to hearing from you regarding a resolution to this conflict.

The Layaspot Vibrator by Fun Factory is abso-fucking-lutely adorable. This goes without saying. I’ve actually been dying to get my hot little hands on one of these babies for over a year, and finally, I got one. Better yet, it matches the rest of my sex toys. I love black sex toys. And red sex toys. I love.  And I love Fun Factory for making so many of their toys in a black option. Mmm. Black and silver are sex.  Sorry, on a tangent.

Now, unlike a good majority of my toys, which are rechargeable, the Layaspot takes batteries. Two AAA batteries to be exact. I found the same problem I’ve had with most of my Fun Factory vibrating toys; the battery compartment sucks. It’s hard to open, harder to shut, and has a tendancy to pop off during use.  Apparently, this vibe is “supposed” to be waterproof; however, given the number of times the battery covered popped off during my useage of the toy, I didn’t want to even think about attempting this for fear of waterlogging it.

Quality wise, it’s plastic and medical grade silicone…ie, it’s phthalate free (obviously, if I’m using it), and it can be sterilized (not by boiling or dishwashing…come on!) by wiping it down with a 10% bleach solution. Yay for body friendly toys. Also, it comes with “Body Fluid” which is Fun Factory’s lube. I just used Eros Aqua, cause that’s how I roll. Please don’t use silicone lube with this toy…it could go melty, and then no one is happy.

It was a few speeds (although no fancy roller coaster settings or anything like that) with easy to use up and down push buttons. I had a few problems hitting the wrong buttons or popping off the battery cover while I was…um…getting down to business, but it’s possible this was user error. 

For two AAA batteries, it backs quite a kick.  However, the kick just wasn’t enough for me. I tried teasing myself first, I tried using other toys, you name it. It just wasn’t enough to get me where I needed to go, which was quite frustrating to say the least.  It did feel good, even on other body parts, like nipples, it just wasn’t enough power. I finally said fuck it, and went back to my tried and true.

I liked the Layaspot. I didn’t love it…I prefer toys that sound like an airplane taking off. However, unless you need weapons grade toys, I can definitely say that the Layaspot might be for you. It’s affordable, body-healthy, pretty fucking sexy, and well worth a try. 

-Essin’ Em

Mollena’s HNT post last week started me thinking about menstruation, and fucking people while they’re bleeding. I started by writing her a comment, but clearly, I got very involved. It was about blood, and fucking, and fucking while there is blood involved.

I have an odd relationship w/ menstrual blood. I personally hate *my* period, and love that with CBC, I can have it once a year…and have no problem being fucked during that time. It isn’t the bleeding that bothers me. It’s the pain, and inability to walk for a day or two, and the pain, and the nausea, and the…anyways. I have it once a year or so, ergo, I rarely have to think about the role that bloody plays in my sex life.

J had some body dysphoria regarding bleeding that I hadn’t been aware of, and the one time we tried having sex during J’s bleeding, J flipped out and I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening comforting. I felt awful. I know, not entirely my fault, but I’m Jewish – I feel guilt like a professional

F was only ok with it the last day or so of hers.  We were together long enough that I started to remember her cycle, and to figure out the few days she wasn’t ok with it.  Usually by the time I got the “all clear” from her, I might get a little hint of blood on my hands or the glove, but barely enough to even notice.

A week or two ago, things changed. The other day, I needed sex so god damn fucking badly. I cannot explain this. I mean, I was humping bike racks in downtown Boulder. Masturbating wasn’t cutting it. I tried to booty call text Q. “This isn’t really a good week” she said. At first, I thought she was busy, and was confused…wasn’t she done with stuff for spring break? “Ok.” I wrote back, frustrated.  How were we supposed to be using each other for sex if there wasn’t any sex taking place?

Later that night, it hit me. It was that time of the month for her, must be. I texted her “you know I’m totally ok with fucking people who are bleeding, right?” (oh, I was so that suave. No, really.). She wrote back puzzledly. This went on for a bit, and later we were talking about something else, and I brought it up on the phone. I explained that I had no issues with it, and had a throe, towels, and a shower, so it’d be fine.  We then made arrangements for fucking a few days down the road.

I didn’t bring up the fact that I have a fantasy about fisting someone on their period, and then smearing their blood all over them in sort of a fun, fucking artistic statement. And on me too. I think it would be interesting and fun, and probably creep out 99% of the people I’ve had sex with.  So welcome to secret sharing 101 – I’ve never told anyone that before.

Long story short, we fucked. And it was bloody and messy. That’s what the Fascinator Throe is for, right? A red towel to clean up afterward, and voila.

Actually, it was very interesting. Normally, Q is a two finger kind of cunt. Well, her cunt is, I don’t mean to call her one. Anyways, as I started to fuck her, I slid into her, and she opened for me. First for three fingers, then for four. I was shocked, but it felt amazing as I felt her open up, as I found more and more of myself inside her.  And I even had a first (I don’t have that many firsts anymore); I felt her cervix.  Not only that, but she liked it (I’ve had my cervix bumped a few times and did NOT like it. In fact, I hated it. Resulted in pain and cramping).  She liked it so much that I continued to play with it…I massage her cervix as I fingered her and fucked her. Now I’m wondering if she likes that when she’s not bleeding.

Then I washed the Throe, boiled the toys, popped the condom off the Hitachi, and called it a day.

So voila. My thoughts on fucking during bleeding. As long as both parties are ok with it, I have absolutely no problem with it, and even think it’s fun. Plus, for many people, orgasming during that time can reliving cramping.  As if you really needed another reason to fuck!

-Essin’ Em

This picture was taken during the Vagina Monologues. I’d somehow found a random piece of foliage (perhaps a filler from someone’s bouquet of flowers?) and decided that it looked perfect in my hair. I totally did the opening part of the show looking just like this. It just worked for me.

My hair is no longer bright red. In looking for a job, I dyed it. I couldn’t get a job at very many places period, and I was afraid that the red might impede my search.

I miss the red. It doesn’t look bad now, not really. It just isn’t me. I like being vibrant and vivacious, and different.  Even my mother, who never seems to agree with most anything I say or do, told me that my hair looked really good red and black.  Whenever my hair is bright, fire engine red, I feel me, I feel safe. Other colors (black, green, blue, purple) are fun, and I love changing it up on occasion, but this red is me. I feel like this should be my natural color, that I’m at my most natural, the most myself when it’s this color.

Right now, I feel muted. I feel like I’m covering me up, like I’m playing a role instead of living as myself in my life (for many reasons, but this is one). I’ve had to dye it before, and I felt the same way then. I know many people get full sleeve tattoos, or facial piercings, and have an amazing “this is me, take it or leave it attitude.” I would love to do that. I’d love to say “fine, I don’t want to work for anyone that wouldn’t hire me because of my hair.”  But I’ve been unemployed (with both “normal” and “bright red” hair) for almost eight months. I’m scared of being evicted. I’m worried about feeding my kitties. I don’t have the luxury of that “fuck you, let me be me” attitude that I wish I did.

So goodbye red hair. You’ll be missed until I can get you back again. And Happy Half Nekkid Thursday to all!

-Essin’ Em

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #162? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

The Balance of Power

“A wave of lust coursed through her body at his words”

Betrayal

“What’s this? Evidence of pleasure?”

Secret signals

“I will adore him for it”

Sugasm Editor

Not An Overnight

Editor’s Choice

The Ghost of Abuse

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Unknown found via Art or Porn

Pleasurists is your round-up of the adult product reviews that came out in the last seven days from bloggers all around the sex blogosphere. Did you miss Pleasurists #20? Read it all here. Do you have a review for Pleasurists #22? Submit it here before Sunday March 29th at 11:59pm PST. Please re-post this list on your own blog if listed.

Note: Since there are SO MANY contests this week the Editor’s Pick is all of the contests. Enter and win something!

Want to win some free swag? All you’ve got to do is enter.

• Anal Toy GiveAway Deadline: Tuesday March 24th.
• The “Screaming O” Orgasm Contest Deadline: Thursday, March 26th at 11:59PM.
• Win a Regard Indiscret Set! Deadline: March 27th at 11:59pm PST.
• Win a $20 Gift Card to Babeland! Deadline: March 28th 2009.
• $20 Babeland GC or Quickie Kit! Deadline: Tuesday, March 31st
• Blush Contest Deadline: April 1st by midnight EST.
• Pleasurists Contest: LELO Toy Giveaway! Deadline: Friday April 10th at 11:59pm PST.
• CrashPadSeries.com Contest! Deadline: April 22, 2009.
• Do You Have an Erotic Adventure to Share? Deadline: May 31st, 2009.

Madame Editrix

Scarlet Lotus Sexgeek

On to the reviews…

Vibrators

• Sasi by Nadia West
• Venus by Sommer Marsden
• Paris Duckie by Beautiful Dreamer
• Showerbabe by Miss KissThis
• Xtreme Kit by Epiphora
• Nubby G by Beautiful Dreamer
• LELO Mia by Sienna
• Fusion Duality by Evolved by CarrieAnn
• Benjamin Bond by Epiphora
• The O Honey by Ginger Leigh
• Evolved Novelties Citron by Thursday’s Child
• Liv by LELO by Wendy Blackheart

Dildos

• Melon Crank Glass Dildo by Scarlet Lotus
• Ella by HotMoviesForHer Sex Toy Crew
• Phallix Glass 24 Karat Gold Double Happiness by Sexorcism
• Crystal Wand by HotMoviesForHer Sex Toy Crew
• Belladonna’s Magic Hand by Joe Mirabella

Anal Toys

• Power Probe by The Countess
• LELO Bob by Amber of Scarlet’s Letter

Toys for Cocks

• Fun Factory Love Ring by Beautiful Dreamer

Lube/Massage Oil/Bath Stuff

• Astroglide by Joe Mirabella
• Ginger Pheromone Massage Cream by Domina Doll
• Kama Sutra Sweet Heart Kit by Cinnamon Chambers
• Kama Sutra Sweet Celebrations Box by Catalina Loves

BDSM/Fetish

• Door Jam Cuffs by Thursday’s Child
• Shining star crop and Star Paddle by Essin’ Em
• Lovers Headgear Advanced Mask by Thursday’s Child
• Kinklab Leather Bondage Collar by Ang

Adult Books

• Best Lesbian Erotica 08 by Scarlet Lotus
• The Story of O by Sienna

Adult Movies/Porn

• The New Romantix by Epiphora
• Intimate Temptations by The Porn Librarian
• Dangerous Liaisons by FrzKey
• Tribade Sorority – Campus Life by J.D. Bauchery
• Breakin’ the Rules by The Porn Librarian
• Friends Don’t Let Friends Fuck Alone by Beautiful Dreamer
• Lesbian Life: Real Sex San Francisco by Sinclair Sexsmith
• A Transsexual Love Story by Domina Doll on Viviane’s Sex Carnival

Storage

• FYN Big Foot by Marla Singer

Miscellaneous

• Regard Indiscret Set by Scarlet Lotus
• Gold/Black Satin Corset by Sleeping Dreamer
• Ruby Nipple Dangles by The Countess
• Liberator Throe by Carnivalesq
• Erotique Sheer Lace Gloves by Epiphora
• La Femme Harness by Alpine Subdreams
• Regard Indiscret Set by Domina Doll on Viviane’s Sex Carnival
• Chocolate Party Hats.Com by That Toy Chick

The other day, the lovely Thursday’s Child wrote a post about her confusion with all these names, labels, identities, and more.  I think it may have been inspired by a twitter conversation Shay and I were having about my identities, and whether “queer dyke” was redundant.

Queer, gay, lesbian, genderqueer, trans, dyke, butch, boi, femme, lezzie, bisexual, poly, pansexual, non-monogamous, tranny, fag, transfag, pig, bear, moose, you name it.  Our society is full of labels and identities; those we choose for ourselves, and those that other place upon us.  

Thursday wondered how she was supposed to know what which label/identity meant to which person, and how she should use what, and and and. Great question. And I have a great (easy) answer.

Ask.

This is what I said to her:

As many have said, asking is always the easiest and most respectful way. When I teach my classes, I always start out with asking for people’s pronouns, so no one has to assume.

Identities mean such different things to different people…for example, my NoFauxxx contest asked people “what does queer mean to you?” Here are all the answers that people came up with – notice that no two are the same.

I am a queer, kinky, non-monogamous, disabled, perverted, curvy, alternative, open-minded femme dyke. Often times, queer covers it for me. Queer is an umbrella term, an open ended term, an encompassing term, a welcoming term, an inclusive term.

My identity was ever changing. First, I identified as the default I was given; straight. Then, I identified as bisexual. Then I realized I was attracted almost 100% to female assigned people, so I identified as a lesbian. Then I realized that I was attracted to and loved gender queer people and transmen as well…so I identified as pansexual for a while, but realized that in my mind, it was more of a term for people who are open minded bisexuals. I first heard the term queer without giving it second thought, and then I realized that it fit me. It didn’t matter who I was attracted to, and whether or not it changed. It didn’t matter how many people I liked at one time, or how kinky I was… I was queer, and didn’t have to keep re-defining me. I just…WAS.

And that’s my take on it. Again, it never hurts to ask.

Everyone has different identities. Some people reject all labels, others pile on as many as they can identify with. Some people change from day to day, depending on how they’re feeling when they wake up, or what happens to them. You can have one identity/label, or multiple. It’s all you.  Queer means one thing to one person, and something different to someone else…ditto with every label, and every identity.

It very rarely, if ever, hurts to ask (respectfully, of course). I’ve never been offended (personally, obviously) being asked about my identities, being asked to explain what they meant to me, or even why.  I would much rather that than when people assume I’m _______.  

So ask if you want to know, if you’re confused, if you have questions. Perhaps someone will tell you that they don’t want to share, but often, you’ll spark a very interesting conversation.

-Essin’ Em

This is totally not sexuality related…but I think you can handle it.

I forgot how much I love late night shopping. And when I say late night, I mean somewhere between 1am and 5am…so I guess it’s truly early morning shopping.  I went tonight, after a 2am gym run (also brilliant), and god, I just fell in love with it all over again.

Me, the solitary car in the parking lot, my choice of spaces. Once inside, no screaming children, no cranky old ladies slowly pushing their carts down the exact middle of the aisle. 

Down some aisles, there are boxes and dollys; time for me to navigate this hardcore shopping cart obstacle course.  Other aisles show me a man scanning items.  We banter back and forth as we dance the “I need to be where you’re standing…” “Now I need to be where YOU’RE standing” tango.  In the produce section, I am completely alone, the only sound the misters going off as I ponder which of the fresh items I want – all the fruit and vegetables having literally come in off the truck, some of it still sitting in its boxes next to the stands.

I am free to meander the store, stopping only for the old man pushing the floor waxing machine. He smiles at me, I grin back. As I pass two women stocking shelves in the dairy section, I overhear bits and pieces of their conversation about raising teenage daughters, and how much freedom one should allow them. Continuing on my shopping spree, they fade out. I can shop at my own pace, picking what I want, not rushed, not slowed by other shoppers either. It’s actually quite zen.

Only the self check out is open…so although I have a cart full of items from my bi-monthly grocery excursion, I am destined to scan them all myself. I love scanning my own purchases…perhaps because they didn’t have it when  I was a kid, and I have always wanted to. And the best part? Leisurly bagging my items. I have a system that is a cross between canvas bag tetris, fitting the items in as perfectly as possible, and my mental Excel spreadsheet, putting all the fridge items in one bag, the freezer ones in another, and the bottled drinks in a third bag as they can remain in my car until my next trip up.

I strike up a conversation with the customer service woman who has come to help me with my larger items (two very large containers of cat litter crystals).  She tells me how much she loves working the night shift; because it’s quiet, far less stressful, and the people she meets are much more polite, more interesting, and less hurried and harried. We wish each other lovely evenings, and I thank her for her help.

In the parking lot, there is one car driving by the front of the store. Even though I’m no where near the crosswalk, it slows down to a stop, allowing me to cross to my car, even though it could have sped through there before I even started to cross.  People ARE more polite at 4:30am.

I finish loading my car, and begin to walk my cart to the front of the store.  The buggy wrangler meets me halfway, nodding his thanks.  I wish him a good evening, and then hop in my car.

It sounds silly, but grocery shopping at odd hours is incredibly relaxing to me. I come home finally ready to sleep. Yoga stresses me out, meditation bores me to tears. But wandering the aisles of my local super market? One of the most tranquil things I’ve experience, outside of floating in bodies of water, or getting a massage.

So here is my ode to you, to late night grocery shopping. You are calming, and soothing, and help me to center myself. I thank you for that.