Sexuality Happens

Q is genderqueer. For the most part, she identifies as a butch dyke.  For the most part, she uses feminine pronouns. When we’re in public, and there are no gender neutral bathrooms, she chooses to use the women’s bathroom, if she really really really has to go and there are no other options.  So yes, she is a “woman” by many cultural standards.

But she isn’t one. She’s genderqueer.  Everyone morning, I watch her put on two sports bras (or the new Frog bra/binder I got her) to try and squish down her chest, and every night I watch as she takes them off, angry red lines around her ribcage the only evidence of how hard she tries to hide what she feels doesn’t fit her gender.

There are times where it takes us an hour or two to get ready to go out, not because we have to look perfect, but because that day, her hips seem to show too much in outfits, or her chest isn’t flat enough for the shirts she wants to wear. I look at her and tell her how handsome she is, how much she looks like a frat boy (minus the popped collar), but it seems as though nothing I say can convince her.

Sometimes, there are mini (or maxi) gender melt downs.  Something usually triggers it; something someone said to her (like calling us ladies), something I said that I didn’t realize. Or maybe it’s looking in the mirror, or not having clothes fit the way she wants.  She’s start crying, and she’s inconsolable. I understand why…but I WANT to fix it, and feel completely powerless and inept that I can’t.  It’s similar to when I have disability melt downs; there’s nothing anyone can say to make it better; it’s both an internal issue and a social contruction, and nothing can just make you feel better or make it go away.  So I lie there with her, and I hold her.

It’s hard. I wish there was an answer. When I was in Denver, she called me in tears; someone, a high school student on campus for some conference, had called her out in the women’s bathroom, asking her what she was doing in there.  Half of me wanted to tell her it was going to be ok, tell her to fuck ‘em, tell her that I loved her (which I did), but the other half wanted to say CONGRATS! You’re getting viewed the way you want to be.  You’re making people think outside the binary.  But I didn’t. Why? Because that doesn’t make it any easier given that she’s going to have to go to the women’s restroom at work every day. She’s the only genderqueer appearing staff member in her building (and one of very few on campus). She’s very alone.

While I have issues with Femme Invisibility, I know my frustration with that doesn’t even hold a candle to this. I just can’t imagine how she feels. I wish I could hold her and fix it and make it better. I wish it was “just” an issue of money; I’d say up, and get her top surgery, and it would all be better.

But this runs so deep. It is entrenched in many layers of herself, and in many aspects of society.

So what so I do? How can I be there? What does support look like? I’ve aksed her…sometimes she answers, and sometimes she tells me that she doesn’t even know.

I don’t know what I’m asking here. Tips? Ideas? Empathy?

-Essin’ Em

Photo Credit: Hawksdream

I like breasts. I like Q’s, I like other people’s breasts. I even like my breasts.

I used to not like them. I used to hate them. I researched breast surgery…but not to make them bigger, no no, to make them smaller.  They gave me back pain, kept me from getting into outfits I wanted (most memorable was the sweetheart dance my senior year of HS – I was a 16 year old with DDs, and couldn’t find a single dress at JCPenny’s that my boobs fit into), they got me the kind of attention I didn’t want.

I decided against the reduction surgery because I learned about it, and how it could dull the sensation, and worse set, how they could just “grow back” in more than a third of the people having the surgery. I chose to just deal with them.

Over time, I’ve learned to love them. For sometime, I could have orgasms just from breast stimulation. That is not the case anymore, but it made me love them more. I learned that I can put my hands on/under them to keep warm, and that they’re good for carrying my cell phone when I have no pockets.

In fact, the other day, I realized that they’d shrank a bit.  I was now a small D/large C.  I wasn’t losing weight — to the contrary, I’d gained 20 pounds during and after the move. So why were they shrinking? And moreover, why was I upset?

Why? Because I had learned to love my body. Because I think MY breasts are beautiful, and anyone that disagrees with me can just bugger off. Yes, they’re big. Yes, they’re a little lopsided (ok, about a cup size in difference).  Either way, I love them, and I really love this picture of them.  So yay boobies, and all that jazz.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!

-Essin’ Em

Q went to sleep before I did. I stayed on the couch, typing on the computer, watching mindless shows on the TV.  Finally, I started dozing off, and I headed to bed.

She lay there, arms splayed, cuddled up cozily in her sweatshirt. So peaceful, restful even.

God did I want her.

Gently, I crawled into bed. Oh so carefully, I draped my arm over her, my fingers gently grazing her nipples through her sweatshirt. No movement.  A bit more intently, I ran my fingers over her breast, concentrating carefully on her nipple. A small sigh escaped her lips. Success.

Moving slowly, I slid my hand under her sweatshirt, fingers finally contacting directly with her nipples, hardening beneath my touch. Moans emitted from her throat as I begin to pinch her nipples, playing with them more roughly as she started to come into consciousness. 

“I’m sooooooo sorry to wake you up.”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not sorry at all…you were just…thee. And you looked so hot, so enticing, I just had to start playing with you.”

As I kept playing with her nipples, pinching and pulling them. That shut her up, as she was back to moaning and breathing heavily. 

I slipped my hand into her sweat pants, slipping my fingers between her lips, searching and hunting for her clit. A gasp from her told me I was getting close. Running my other hand over the body, nails scrapping against her skin, I whispered in her ear how hot she made me, how much she turned me on, how much I wanted to fuck her.

Pumping lube into my hand, I slid my fingers into her cunt to elicit a gasp. First two, then three as she bucked up into me. 

Flipping around, I placed my knees on either side of her head, pushing her pants down to her knees. She moved as if to take of her sweatshirt, but I swatted at her hands. There was just something to fucking hot about pushing up her shirt and pulling down her pants in order to get access to her. Then I lowered my tongue to her clit, and she pressed up into my mouth as I licked and sucked all over her, my fingers still working inside of her, fucking her almost relentlessly. 

When I felt like she was getting closer and closer to the edge, I slipped a fourth finger into her, and slid back around to get better access. With one hand rocking her clit, and the other pistoning in and out of her, she was making all sorts of delightful and delicious noises as I fucked her closer and closer to oblivion. 

As she got closer and closer, I was so kind, and let her place her sexy black Onye vibe on her clit. She was almost there, and then opened her eyes, looking at me.

“Am I allowed to come?”

“Yes, you can. I want you to come so fucking hard for me.”

And she did…oh she did.  Her entire body spasmed, her cunt grabbing and squeezing my hand, working in and out of her, breathing so deeply, moaning so loudly.  She came over and over, almost for two minutes straight. 

We cuddled, my arms wrapped around her, our legs intertwined. After a few minutes, I started rubbing up against her…

To be continued…

-Essin’ Em

She was nervous on the way there, and asked me to drive her car.  I did, although driving in a perfectly lace corset and 5″ heels is no joke.

She was nervous as we checked in, showing our brand spanking new APEX membership cards, and checked in.

She was nervous as we got brief introductions to all the people there; girls, women, butches, femmes, dykes, bisexuals, bois, grrls, etc. It wasn’t really a queer party per se, but I did feel like we fit.

She was wearing my favorite outfit of hers – a black shirt and a red and black tie, to match my flame corset perfectly. God, she is so god damn fucking hot.

She was nervous as we sat their, munching on cheese and pre-cut fruit platters.

She was nervous when I open the toy bag, selected a few floggers, a paddle, some black zipties, vampire gloves, a knife, a vibrator, a cane and 6 clothespins, which I clipped onto her tie for ease of access.

She was very nervous as I lead her into the jail cell room, until she realized no one was there.

She was only moderately nervous as I kissed her deeply, pulling first on her tie to bring her closer, and then on her hair, as I grabbed it and held her into me.

She seemed only a little nervous as I undid her shirt buttons and jeans, leaving her in only a black ribbed tank, boxes, and of course, her tie.

She was a bit more nervous as I bent her over the table, using the zipties to hold her arms in place as I pulled down her boxers. My hands gently slid over her as, until I began to spank her, giving her a warm up.  And then, I moved on to the paddle, and then, the cane.

I had to remind her to breathe.  We need to work on that, for both of us. Breathing is, shockingly, important.

She relaxed as I rand the sharp vampire gloves and knife over her ass and back.  Again, she tensed up as I hit her with the floggers…first, the smaller, more stingy one, and then, the larger, heavy, distinctly thuddy one. Red and black, of course.

I cut the tied, and brought her to the cross, removing her clothes completely.  I made use of the clothespins – a few on each nipple, and the vibrator, as I alternated it between nipples and cunt, all the while still kissing her, biting her, licking her, playing with the clothespins on her nipples. I slapped her face a bit when she forgot to call me Mistress.

She was only a smidgen nervous when I made her lie on the table, holding the vibrator to her clit. 

She wasn’t nervous at all when I slid my fingers into her…first two, then three, then four.

She wasn’t a bit nervous as I fucked her on that table with my left hand, reaching up to pinch her nipples with my right.

She wasn’t nervous, not in any sense of the word, as I fucked her silly, in my corset and short skirt, hand disappearing into her cunt, her moans making my own drip with anticipation.

-Essin’ Em

I like many kinky things. Particularly sensation toys. Hot things. Cold things. Sharp things.  And I also really really really like squeezy things.  

What am I talking about? Why, clamps of course!

Now, I make it a habit out of collecting odd things to pervert and make kinky. I have some awesome plastic clips I found at a vintage store in New Hope, PA that look like biting teeth.  Very amusing to me. In that same vein, I have some bag clips shaped like lips that I love clipping onto people.  And of course, there are always my good old clothespins – wooden or plastic, extremely cheap (so I’m not sad when they break, or get stolen by certain thieving kitties), come in HUGE packs, great for making zippers with to pull off peoples’ bodies…you know the drill.

But every once in a while, it’s nice to try out a toy that is actually designed to do what you want it to do. Ergo, when Babeland so kindly offered me a set of crocodile nipple clamps, I obviously took them up on their generous offer.

Visually, they’re quite nice.  Plastic package, but once you take them out, beautiful in their simplicity. SIlver clamps and chain with a bit of black rubber accents.  They do have teeth, but they’re covered by the rubber (unless you pull it off), so they shouldn’t hurt TOO much.

My problem is that I like to be a bit aggressive with my clamps…and these, when I tugged on the chain, slip right off.  Moreover, they are fairly small, so if whoever you’re putting the clamps on has medium to larger nipples, or you want to put them on a thicker area, like the outer labia (oh yes, Virginia, you can clamp pretty much anywhere on the body!), it makes it a bit more difficult to get them on, and a LOT more difficult to get them to actually stay on.

I think these particular clamps are great for either beginners (like if you want to try something a bit different than clothespins), or people that don’t like a lot of pain.  On the other hand…if you’re looking for something a little more threatening or intense clamp wise, I’d suggest clover clamps for you. MUCH more intimidating…both in look and action.

For my personal use, I’d give these 2 or 3 stars (out of 5), as I don’t really use them in my personal life…but as far as doing workshops, and domming, I can give them a 4 as something affordable and fun to add to my collection.

Get your own set of crocodile clamps here!

-Essin’ Em

This is Q’s chest.

One might wonder why there is a giant NO written onto her skin, on said chest.

One might ponder a while, wondering as to why it was there, and one might think it is there because she had done something wrong, and that I was telling her no. Conversely, one might stare at this picture, and conclude that I had told her not to do something, and was re-cnforcing it by carving a reminder into her chest with my nails.

And either one would be wrong.

I have so much fun playing with Q’s breasts, and more specifically with her nipples.  However, she was in the kitchen, cooking dinner for me, wearing only her sports bras (by the by — I want to get her a binder instead. Does anyone have good suggestions?). And it was distracting, because I could just grab a breast in each hand…or slide my fingers over her nipples and elicit such delicious and amazing moaning. And dinner began to take forever, and she was getting concerned that the quinoa was going to burn.

So, I tried to tell myself no. I did, I promise. But they were RIGHT there, and what is a femme suppose to do with a hot butch wearing nothing on top but a few flimsy sports bras? Yeah. I know. Seriously.

Ergo, I created my own solution. I carved NO into her chest with my lovely nails, so that every time I had half a mind to do naughty things to her, to make her shiver and moan and make noises that made me wet, I’d see the NO and remember to stop so that we could eat dinner.

Of course, having carved NO into her chest was just as hot an experience if not more, so we made very quick work of dinner, and proceeded to my bedroom, where we fucked like bunnies. On crack.

The end.

-Essin’ Em

I walk into my bedroom, ready to cuddle and drift off to sleep with Q’s arms around me.

Instead, I find her masturbating, rubbing a buzzing vibe up and down on her clit.

As I start to fuck her (wearing nothing but a teal plaid newsboy cap), I pinch her nipple, and drag my nails down her chest, living lovely marks for me to admire.

I keep fucking her until she comes…and comes…and comes. And then as she shakes her head and begs “no no no!” I take the Hitachi from my night stand drawer, placing it on her oh so sensitive clit as she tries to get away from it, and from me. She can’t. The noises and moans she is making are absolutely delectable.  

Afterwards, I cuddle her, and let her “koala bear” me.  I continue to rub my nails over her back, and pinch and twist and bite and lick her nipples, keeping her in a sub space for almost an hour after sex.

When I ask her if she liked the new toys, she tells me “I like the toy.  It feels good.” When pressed as to what felt good, she responded “the feeling felt good!”

With Q still high on endorphins, the two of us drifted off to sleep. I may or may not have woken up a few times in the middle of the night and played with her nipples until she moaned and almost awoke.

God I love her.

-Essin’ Em

…The mouse will play!

I was at Q’s the other day, and I think she had hopped into the shower before we headed over to the Farmer’s Market – and so I decided to do a little naked photo shoot on her couch.  Last week’s striped panties picture was also a result of said naughtiness.

So please, enjoy the boobies, and one of my favorite necklaces, and my crazy hair when I’ve just woken up in the morning.

And a Happy Nekkid Thursday to you all!

-Essin’ Em

I am a nerd.

When I go to Pride Fest (Denver, Colorado Springs, Philadelphia, New Hope, etc), I do it up. Now, I don’t own rainbow belts or fancy clothing like that, but I DO have a fuck ton of eye shadows in different colors.  And rainbow ribbon.  And a FetishMovies.com tank top. And a BDSM/Leather pride key chain. And bandanas in my ass pockets of my skirt, to flag kink and fisting.

Ergo, interwebs at large, please enjoy my Pride outfit, my show of Pride, my outdoing of myself in rainbows, and of course, my cleavage (as if that was going to not be here – I have a lot of pride in that as well).

And that is all, for now.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!

-Essin’ Em

I love this picture.  Not because how I look. I’m kind of meh in this photo.

But I love my hand, and Q’s hand. Together. Just chilling, resting upon each other.

I love her. And it’s easy to do. I never feel forced to tell her, I never feel or love is forced. It’s just comfortable and it works.

Also, Q’s cat is on the table.  I love him. Not quite as much as I love Kinsey or Kali, but I definitely have a big spot in my heart for him.

So yeah. This is why I love this photo.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!

-Essin’ Em