Sexuality Happens

I wrote about sex at 2am a few months ago, and I’ve re-edited it to include how my chronic pain plays into my sex life, decsions I make about said sex life, and so on.  This is one of the pieces I read last night at Femina Potens for the Sizzle event focusing on dis/ability.

-Essin’ Em

It had been a long day. One of those days where I wasn’t sure if I would make it through on my own, whether I should pop a pill or just rely on the ice packs that had become my best friends.

It was supposed to be a romantic day.  We were supposed to do all these things; a walk in the park, a picnic, and then of course, have lots of hot sex.

But like it sometimes happened, today was one of those days. The pain trumped our plans, and suddenly, our romantic evening turned into a night of cuddling on the couch, trying to find just the right position where we could still be entwined, but where the pain couldn’t take over.

She went to sleep before I did, sometime around 11. I stayed on the couch, typing on the computer, watching mindless shows on the TV. The swelling had gone down, and the pain had mostly subsided with it. Of course, NOW I was ready to be romance, NOW my body agreed with me. Thoughts of “if only” danced through my head, but I pushed them aside. Pain is pain and there is no debating with it.  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.

Thoughts of what I wanted to do to her raced through my mind. It was 2AM; should I slide into bed, ready to sleep, and save my salacious plans for the next day? Or perhaps, just maybe, would I be forgiven for waking my handsome partner, as long as I did it with such good intentions? The questions raced around, and I decided to grasp the moment.  It seems as though there are fewer and fewer times where I’m in a low pain place, and even fewer when I’m relatively pain free.  Carpe diem and all that, right?

Gently, I crawled into bed to lay next to her. 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. The dice has been thrown, the decision made. I began more ministrations to wake my sleeping lover.

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.” I whispered sweetly into her ear, just before nibbling it softly, rolling her earlobe over the tip of my tongue.

“No you’re not.” Her eyes her still closed, but her chest had begun to heave up and down more; her sleep breathing interrupted.

“You’re right. I’m not sorry at all…you were just…there. And you looked so hot, so enticing, I just had to start playing with you.” Not once did I stop the movement of my fingers. Not once did I even consider stopping and falling asleep. My plan had been hatched, and I planned to follow through.

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

Carefully, moving very slowly and with purpose, I slipped my hand into her sweatpants, 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 rest of her perfect 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.

I honestly couldn’t remember the last time we’d had sex in the dark, and as her body gyrated to my touch, I felt a bit naughty. It was almost as though we were two random people, hooking up in the dark of the night, exploring bodies with no knowledge of each other. I felt my own clit begin to throb.

Pumping lube into my hand, I slid my fingers into her cunt to elicit a gasp. First two fingers, working in and out, in and out. Then I moved up to three as she bucked up into me, wanting more, needing more.

Wishing I could flip around, knees on either side of her head, I instead worked towards getting between her knees.  In the silence of the room, the crackle of the crepitus was evident, but she didn’t say anything, as my hand was still in her cunt.

She moved as if to take off her sweatshirt, but I swatted at her hands. There was just something to fucking hot about wanting it so bad that all I had time for was to push up her shirt and pull 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, her gasp giving me shivers. 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 sweet, so kind, and I let her place her sexy black vibe on her clit. She was almost there, and then opened her eyes for the first time since we started, looking at me, the connection so strong.

“Am I allowed to come?” she asked, her look begging for the answer to be yes.

“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. We relaxed there, all of our limbs entangled, nuzzling one another, showering gentle kisses down upon smooth skin.  My hips were pressed up against her, one of her legs between mine.

Slowly, so slowly that I barely realized I was doing it myself, I began to work my hips. Forward and back, over and over, up against her leg.  Her leg was nestled perfectly between mine, giving me just a tantalizing glimpse of the stimulation I wanted. Needed. Was craving.

I started moving my hips faster. Hard. With a lot more insistence.  She just continued to hold me in her arms, breathing ever so deeply, almost as thought she didn’t notice me pressing myself against her over and over and over again. As though she couldn’t be troubled by my horniness, and was content to just drift off to sleep.

Sighing, I slowed down my hips. No use in working myself into a frenzy just to have to wait for it to abate as we both slid into the land of dreams.  I held her tighter, and tried to slow my breathing down. Tried to not concentrate on the throbbing making itself very well known between my legs. Tried not the think about all the things I wanted her to do to me, all the things that I wanted and needed and craved.

And then, before I realized what was happening, she had me on my back, her arms pinning mine above my head. Not a word was spoken, but the power had definitely been exchanged in that moment.

Leaning forward, she placed her mouth on my nipple, beginning by slowly licking and sucking, and working her way into nibbling, biting and pulling. First one, then the other. My hips rose up towards her, in hopes of finally getting my swollen clit some of the relief it so desperately needed. Nothing.

However, relief was long in coming.  Putting both of my wrists into just her single hand, she slid halfway off the bed, grabbing a towel to place under me. Returning to the bed, she kissed down the rest of my body, and reached for the bottle of lube.  She squirted some into her hand, and without bothering to warm it up, she reached for my clit.

I gasped at the cold sensation, but before I had the time to really feel the temperature, she was rubbing and teasing me, taking my breath away. It felt so good, but damn it, she knew I couldn’t come just from fingers on my clit. She KNEW she was just firing me up even more. Breath regained, I begged her to fuck me. Begged her for even just a finger or two inside me, something for my aching cunt to clamp down on. She said nothing, just continued to tease my poor, swollen and completely over stimulated clit. Her ignoring my pleas only fuel the fire, and I begged even more, even louder, even harder.

Finally, just when I thought I was going to have to push her off of me, when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, she slammed two fingers into me. I moaned, I groaned, I sucked in air, and then I stopped breathing for a few moments as she just fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.

“Breathe.” Her voice reminded me that air was vital to both living, and to not getting panic inducing, hospital visit causing migraines. I sucked in more oxygen. As soon as my breathing was slightly more regulated, she added a finger. And then another.  Four fingers fucking me, not letting up, her thumb drawing circles over and over on my clit.

“We’re not playing any games tonight. You can come if you’d like.”

And I did. Over. And over. And over and over and over.  My cunt clenched around her hand as she never let up, fucking me harder and harder as I came on her, clamping down until she couldn’t move her hand, ejaculating on her arm, her hand, the towel, and anything else in the way. Reaching blindly, I grabbed the Hitachi, turning it on low and placing it on my clit.

I held it there and came more. Maybe another 15 times, who knows.  My hand was sore when I let go, almost in pain from clenching the vibrator so hard. Finally, I came hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and I was done.  I pulled her hand out of me, and pulled her up to me. Koala bear time, I thought as I wrapped my legs around her for cuddling, barely registering the puddle in which we lay.

We drifted off to sleep like that, completely entwined, thoughts of the delicious sex that had just occurred floating through our dreams.  Come morning, all that remained of the sex at 2am was the rumpled sheets and sore muscles. And of course, our memories.

Pain is in my life. It ebbs and it flows, but I can barely imagine what it would be like to live completely without pain. It interrupts my plans, dominating my life and I can’t call red to make it stop. I can’t stop it, but nor can it stop me. If my plans have to change, so must they, and if that means sensual, lights out, barely a word spoken sex at 2am, then that is when I’ll have it.

The other night, after my Let’s Talk Sex workshop at Fascinations, Q and I were cuddling in bed. I can’t remember why, but we started talking about vagina. Not about vaginas you see, but about the WORD vagina.

Q doesn’t like it. I personally think it’s an awesome word, and while I prefer cunt, I think vagina is just fine-a. Q disagrees. She thinks it is an uncomfortable awkward word, and wanted to know where it came from. I explained that it came from the Latin word for sheath. She quickly poo-poohed this, and went on to ramble on and on about how they should take the Latin word for “loving, granting,…”

And then she trailed off.  She couldn not quite articulate what she wanted the word to be, but she knew she just plain ol’ didn’t like the current term of vagina.

Now, I personally dislike most terms for vagina. I’m ok with pussy, but it’s not really sexy to me. No-no place is a no no,  hoo-haa makes me cringle, snatchula is awesome but only in a funny “oh, did you fall down and accidently kick your little snatchula with your skates” (at roller derby practice) way, snatch and crotch seem so high school, cooter just makes me want to gag, and so on. Both of us love CUNT, but there are times and places where it’s not quite as appropriate to say.

So we talked about it, trying to figure out what she didn’t like about the word vagina. I may have rapped about vaginas. Really. And sung some vagina opera for her. Yes, yes I did. But nothing could sway her mind. She did NOT like the term vagina, and nothing I said or did could change her mind.

I asked her what type of term she’d like to replace vagina.

“Something either awesome and powerful, like cunt, or more soft and flowy and nice.”

I asked her again, like what.

“I don’t know like gorgonzola.”

I started at her for almost a full minute, eyes big, and then we both burst out laughing.  Once we regained our breath, she explained that she had no idea why that came out, and she didn’t like it at all, especially for vagina, since it’s a strong smelling cheese, but it’s now a fabulous inside joke.

That said, what word SHOULD replace vagina, if we were going to make up a completely new word? Cave of wonders if pretty awesome, but it’s a bit long…

-Essin’ Em

Hey all –

Someone was kind enough to nominate me for a Lezzy, which is an award for lesbian authored blogs. I’ve been nominated in the  Sex/Short Story/Erotic blog category.

I didn’t post this before, because I don’t really identify as a lesbian; I identify as queer. However, I get where they are coming from with this, and would love to make it to the top three.

How do I do this? I need more nominations. You can nominate one blog (URL) per category per 24 hour period. All you do is fill out a little form, and then click on the email to confirm (the email part is important, or else it doesn’t count).

If I don’t make it into the top three, that’s fine. My happiness doesn’t rest on this. However, I think it would be awesome if I did a) because it’s awesome, b) because I’m a lot of different things (kinky, queer, disabled, non-mongamous in some counts, femme, Jewish, alternative, fat, etc) and would love to get to rep all of that and c) because it would be nice to have a queer person win and explain WHY I don’t identify as a lesbian.

If you’re up for helping me out, please CLICK HERE to nominate me, or just type in TheLesbianLifesyle.com whenever you get a chance. Remember, you can vote once a day!

Thanks in advance for your support!

-Essin’ Em

This post is based on thoughts I’ve been having for a long time, and then inspired by a post over at Alphafemme about the Markers of a Queer Femme.

She talks about goals she has that to her, seem very Femme.  However, if taken out of the context of her being queer, would there be any difference between a queer woman (femme identified) and a straight woman writing it.

Q and I were having a similar discussion the other night when out with a straight friend.  Q said something to her about being a Femme, and I took a little offense, but before speaking up, I asked our friend if she identified as a femme.

“Well, I like wearing heels sometimes, and make up, but it’s not like I do it every day.”

This then lead into a conversation of what does femme mean, and the different between femme and feminine. Etc.  This discussion I’ve had a lot, both online and in real life. I myself had a lot of trouble choosing the femme identity at first; I had confused it with feminine, and at the time, I was very anti the concept of feminine.  People talked to me about being a femme, and I’d answer with “but I don’t wear heels or lipstick, and I hate pink. Ergo, I can’t be a femme.”  Then, after much conversation, I realized that femme is not about skirts, or make-up, or shoes.  It’s about embodying an attitude.

Later that night, once our friend had gone home, Q and I were still talking about it.  She asked me if straight woman could be femmes (similar to a convo had online with other as to whether straight women and men could be butch).

I don’t have an answer.  But I want to say no. Why? Because *my* identity is developed around the concept of femme.  About being a strong queer woman who has femme wiles, but isn’t feminine per se. About being able to open the door but loving it when Q does it anyways. About being able to cook and then change a tire, all while wearing either jeans/t-shirt or heels and a pencil skirt.  To me, femme has become an extension of my queer-ness, a bridge between my orientation and my gender.

And it’s really hard for me to envision someone who hasn’t go through some of the things queer folk go through (disbelief as really being queer, having to fight for our rights, having our emotional and physical safety challenged, having our partners made fun of, etc) still being able to understand and embody that identity. To me, being femme is when someone calls Q “lady” and I comfort her and assure her than she is really such a handsome boi.  Being femme is when I can talk to people about gender who would never listen to someone who presents as gender queer. Femme is when someone says “that’s so gay” about his friend at the grocery store, and I tap them on the shoulder and say “no….I’m gay. The end.”

Am I being a gender hog? Perhaps.  I *know* deep down that it shouldn’t fucking matter. I’ve met queer men who identify as femme, and I don’t have as much of an issue. Gender isn’t a line or anything — it’s a schmorgasboard, and you can pick and choose exactly how you identify. If you want to be a glitter slut tranny boi fag, you can do it. So I’m not sure why I have such issues with straight women identifying as Femmes, but it’s totally a hang up for me.

Does it mean that straight women can’t be femme? Of course not. I’m not the gender police.  On the other hand, does it mean I’m uncomfortable with the terminology appropriation, just like I am when I cis-guy tells me he’s “just like all the other dykes I know”?  Yes. Very much so.

Thoughts?

-Essin’ Em

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

Our friends had just left, after we all watched Q’s team, the Jets, get their Superbowl hopes crushed.  I’d been telling them both about the Crash Pad Series, and it was still up on the screen.

“Wanna watch some porn” Q asked me, her hand on my knee.

“I thought you didn’t like porn…” I asked her questioningly.  She’d grudgingly sit through much of the porn I’d watch, but has never seen me in anything I’ve shot, and never seemed interested in purposely watching porn.

“I know, but YOU do. It turns YOU on.  So why don’t you show me some of your favorite scenes?”

After a moment of pondering as to what her plan was behind this sudden change of heart, I logged in and started clicking through. I knew which scene I wanted to show her; Dylan Ryan and Trucker Cash’s second scene shot for CPS – in the new location, on the edge of the bed.  Q and I have a very similar dynamic to these two, or at least to the way they play things out during their scenes. Moreover, I still find this scene one of the hottest queer porn scenes I’ve ever seen…and I’ve seen a lot. They have connection, they have fucking hot sex, they have everything.

I started the scene, and Q and I lazily draped limbs over each other on the couch as the scene started playing out.  Almost immediately, I started getting more and more turned on, and as Q’s hands began to wander, I thought she was feeling the same.

As usual, I was right. We only made it about halfway through the scene before Q was slamming my laptop shut and pulling me towards the bedroom. Usually, she likes it when I top her, make her call me Mistress, tie her up. Not today. Her lips pressed into mine as she forced me down onto the edge of the bed, perching on the edge as we devoured each other, her hands ripping off my clothes with no attempt at sensuality or romance. None was needed.

Once I was complete stripped, clothes scattered on the floor, she used her hand on my throat to press me back into the bed, the other hand grasping and pulling my nipples. I started to protest, asking if she didn’t want me on the bed, didn’t want me to take her clothes off, etc. She shhed me, and started moving her head lower.

Her lips met mine, and without meaning to, my body bucked up into her mouth. Her tongue danced across my clit; lightly at first to tease, and then with enough pressure to really frustrate me. She knows I love oral but can’t come from it, so she stayed there, on her knees, eating me out as I thrashed about on the bed, so horny, so frustrated, wanting more and not getting it. With one hand wrapped in her hair, pulling her closer into me, the other grabbed the sheets off the bed, reaching, needing to be holding something.

She pumped lube into her hand, and as she slid two fingers into me, she pulled me up to kiss her. It was a deep, wild, completely uncontrolled kiss, with me gasping; both for air, and because her digits were slowly turning my cunt intro a dripping puddle.  It took everything in me to get out the solitary word; towel.

Quizzically, she looked at me until the little lightbulb when off in her head.  Frantically, one hand still partially inside me, she looked around for a towel to stick under me, knowing that as soon as she really started fucking me, a torrent of liquid was going to start squirting from me.  

Having found one, she placed it hastily under my ass, and returned to her knees, this time putting another finger in me, bringing the grand total to three. Three fingers that she worked in and out and in and out of me until I began to come. So hard. Over and over. Then a fourth.  Her whole hand, aside from her thumb, was pounding into me as she ripped orgasm after orgasm after orgasm out of me, grunts, moans, groans and screams coming from my mouth like some possessed primal being. Finally, just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, she handed me the Hitachi. 

Again, I came. And came. And came. I felt like I’d fallen off the edge of the earth and was drowning in the atmosphere, unable to breathe or move or stop coming.

Then she brought me down again. Climbed up on the bed to hold me. Reminded me how crucial breathing was to living.  At some point, with her next to me, I returned to Earth, smiling, but oh so high, doped up on endorphins.

And then. as she ran her fingers over my body. I shivered. Just a little, but she caught it.

“What do you want? You want more? You can take more?”

I nodded just a little. “I might need a little bit. To calm down, to get water, I don’t know.”

Without another word, she was back on her knees, her whole hand in me, fucking me again. I came again, and lost all grip on reality. For the next few minutes, I couldn’t think speak act know be. I just was. I was coming and coming until I didn’t think there was anything left in me, and then I’d come again. I remember the Hitachi being back in my hands at some point. I know I must have been screaming really loudly, because I remember he hand over my mouth, much hotter and much less effective than any gag would ever be.

And then I shattered, and fell into pieces. There was no more, nothing left in me.

And she picked me back up, and cuddled me on the bed, stroking my hair, moving me out of the epic puddle I’d created, despite the towel. She kissed me gently, helped me drink some water to sooth my aching throat, and together, we lay there, reconnecting.

Who would have thought a little porn could have inspired so much?

Right around this time last year, Q and I had sex for the first time, and I started bringing out the kink in her, and turning her into a fancy schmancy little pervert. Obviously, this has turned into more than friends with benefits or even casual dating, as we’ve moved together to Phoenix, live in a two bedroom condo together, and have merged our kitty families.

On that note, last week was Kali’s one year adopt-iversary.  I got my lovely girl last year right after coming home from my shoots in San Francisco for Crash Pad Series and NoFauxx.com.  I welcomed her as an older cat (she’s almost 8) into my home after mourning the loss of my love Athena. She has wormed her way into everyone’s heart (although Kinsey does still go after her occasionally), and is definitely Daddy’s little girl with Q.  It’s adorable.

I shot my first porn last January. Since then, I’ve also shot for GoodDykePorn.com and for a movie that Madison Young is doing for Good Releasing.  Obviously, I don’t have the right body type, gender presentation or sexual orientation to be a mainstream porn star, but I really do love the shoots I done.  I love that I’ve gotten to show people that there is more to porn than blondes with fake boobs faking orgasms.  I love that I’ve been part of the queer porn revolution.

I’ve gotten to present in San Francisco, Seattle, DC and Denver, and soon will do do in Phoenix.  I worked a temp contract job for the corporate world (at Western Union), and now I’m working a dream job at Fascinations.  Oh how things can change so much in a year.

Despite my tonsil surgery (have currently paid out $4500, and still have more bills coming in), new pain in my hips and worse pain in my knees and back, despite my credit cards being maxxed out, and my friends all living 700 miles away, despite my car breaking down and having no A/C (in PHOENIX), I am in such a better and happier place than I was last year.

So I acknowledge that.  Less depression (although it’s still there, and poor Q is still the recipient of random bursts of tears at time), more goodness, same amount of painkillers.  I say that’s pretty impressive given all the change and the recession.

So happy 2010 to all, albeit a bit late.  I look forward to what is coming (other than myself).

-Essin’ Em

Hello!

I wanted to you let you know about a very exciting event is taking place for women of color this year in New Orleans.  The Femme of Color Symposium is an event created by women of color for women of color who self-identify as FEMME.

FOCS2010: Celebrations and Reflections, the inaugural symposium for FEMMES of COLOR, will create the opportunity-through workshops, community building/social activities, presentations, panels, and/or performances-to uncover and discover our similarities, our differences, our needs and how to support one another. It will serve as a launch point for a real-time and virtual nation-wide network of diverse individuals, prompt dialogue, and empower us to cultivate, sustain, and celebrate the vibrant connections we have made among femmes of color.

Check out the rest of the email for information about the hotel, our call for submissions and quick links to our Facebook, registration and website pages.  REGISTER TODAY to take advantage of our Early Registration Rate!

Three days of workshops, 2 keynotes, 1 great evening event and 100s of Femmes of Color rockin’ the Bayou in the French Quarter in historic New Orleans.  This is going to be a weekend to remember.  I hope to see you there!

Miz Chris
FOCS2010 Co-Chair

Astor Crown Plaza – Bourbon Street
The Astor Crowne Plaza is located at the Gateway to the French Quarter where Canal Street meets Bourbon Street. The excitement of the French Quarter awaits you right outside our door. Whether it be world renowned dining or the intoxicating sounds of New Orleans’ Jazz or Blues – you are in the heart of it all. The Astor Crowne Plaza offers easy access to nearby attractions like Harrahs Casino, the Aquarium of the Americas , Jackson Square, Morial Convention Center , Riverwalk Shopping, the New Orleans Sports Arena and the Superdome.

Call for Submissions

Call for Workshops, Papers, Performance, and Art

Femme of Color Symposium (FOCS) 2010: Celebrations and Reflections
March 26-28, 2009
Astor Crowne Plaza
739 Canal Street
New Orleans , Louisiana 70130
www.focs2010.com

FOCS2010: Celebrations and Reflections, the inaugural symposium by and for self-identified FEMMES of COLOR, will create the opportunity-through workshops, community building/social activities, presentations, panels, and/or performances-to uncover and discover our similarities, our differences, our needs and how to build the bridges that will allow us to support each other in all ofwho we are. It will serve as a launch point for a real-time and virtual nation-wide network of diverse individuals, prompt dialogue, and empower us to cultivate, sustain, and celebrate the vibrant connections we have made and will make among femmes of color.

We invite femmes of color from all over the map-community members, artists, academics, homemakers, activists, etc..-to participate in FOCS2010 as presenters and participants.

Submissions of all kinds are welcome. In particular, we hope that the intersections of femme with race, region, class, faith, access, ability, privilege, and marginalization will be talked about, given space, meditated upon, constructed, and deconstructed.

We hope to draw participants from across discipline, medium, and social boundaries. We encourage submissions from anyone interested, regardless of sexual identity (lesbian/gay, bisexual, etc.). We do ask that you read our mission statement before submitting. Though we would not be able to live, love and/or laugh without our many allies, this conference is for elf-identified
femmes of color only.
We are soliciting contributions from any woman who is interested, including (but not limited to):

• Workshops
• Performances
• research presentations
• skill shares
• activist & organizational topics
• visual art
• video or film

Submission deadline is January 31, 2010.
To submit a proposal, please submit the following to Krysia Villon at klvillon at aol dot com. Please put “FOCS Proposal” in the subject header.
*For research presentations, send a 300 word abstract
*For workshop and skillshare proposals, send a 300 word description of your workshop or skillshare ideas
*Visual artists should send samples of work and a 300 word description of their artistic vision
*Performers, filmmakers and other creative artists should contact us for more information
To learn more about us, our mission and to contact us with any questions, comments or concerns, please find us at our website:
www.focs2010.com

This week’s theme is to put up your favorite HNT of this year.

I had a lot of pictures this year that I really liked.  So I put it to a vote…on twitter, amongst my friends, and asking Q.

Hands down, the favorite was this one:

Photo Credit: CrashPadSeries.com

I really liked this whole set of photos from my shoot on Crash Pad. The one above is my favorite.

However, I also really like this one:

Photo Credit: CrashPadSeries.com

Click here to see my bio, and the rest of my pictures from my shoot with Rex.

So with that, Happy (almost) New Year, and Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!

-Essin’ Em

This is a continuation of the erotic writing Sex at 2am from a week or two back.

We lay there, all of our limbs entangled, nuzzling one another, showering gentle kisses down upon smooth skin.  My hips were pressed up against her, one of her legs between mine.

Slowly, so slowly that I barely realized I was doing it, I began to work my hips. Forward and back, over and over, up against her leg.  Her leg was nestled perfectly between mine, giving me just a tantalizing glimpse of the stimulation I wanted. Needed. Was craving.

I started moving my hips faster. Hard. With a lot more insistence.  She just continued to hold me in her arms, breathing ever so deeply, almost as thought she didn’t notice me pressing myself against her over and over and over again. As though she couldn’t be troubled by my horniness, and was content to just drift off to sleep.

Sighing, I slowed down my hips. No use in working myself into a frenzy just to have to wait for it to abate as we both slid into the land of dreams.  I held her tighter, and tried to slow my breathing down. Tried to not concentrate on the throbbing making itself very well known between my legs.

And then, before I realized what was happening, she had me on my back, her arms pinning mine above my head. Not a word was spoken, but the power had definitely been exchanged in that moment.

Leaning forward, she placed her mouth on my nipple, beginning by slowly licking and sucking, and working her way into nibbling, biting and pulling. First one, then the other. My hips rose up towards her, hoping to get my engorged clit some of the relief it so desperately needed. Nothing.

However, relief was long in coming.  Putting both of my wrists into just her single hand, she slid halfway off the bed, grabbing a towel to place under me. Returning to the bed, she kissed down the rest of my body, and reached for the bottle of lube.  She squirted some into her hand, and without bothering to warm it up, she reached for my clit.

I gasped at the cold sensation, but before I had the time to really feel the temperature, she was rubbing and teasing me, taking my breath away. It felt so good, but damn it, she knew I couldn’t come just from fingers on my clit. She KNEW she was just firing me up even more. Breath regained, I begged her to fuck me. Begged her for even just a finger or two inside me, something for my aching cunt to clamp down on. She said nothing, just continued to tease my poor, swollen and completely over stimulated clit.

Finally, just when I thought I was going to have to push her off of me, when I thought I couldn’t take it any more, she slammed two fingers into me. I moaned, I groaned, I sucked in air, and then I stopped breathing for a few moments as she just fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.

“Breathe.” Her voice reminded me that air was vital to both living, and to not getting sex-induced migraines. I sucked in more oxygen. As soon as my breathing was slightly more regulated, she added a finger. And then another.  Four fingers fucking me, not letting up, her thumb drawing circles over and over on my clit.

“We’re not playing any games tonight. You can come if you’d like.”

And I did. Over. And over. and over and over and over.  My cunt clenched around her hand as she never let up, fucking me harder and harder as I came on her, clamping down until she couldn’t move her hand, ejaculating on her arm, her hand, the towel, and anything else in the way. Reaching blindly, I grabbed the Hitachi, turning it on low and placing it on my clit.

I held it there and came more. Maybe another 15 times, who knows.  My hand was sore when I let go, almost in pain from clenching the Hitachi so hard. Finally, I came hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and I was done.  I pulled her hand out of me, and pulled her up to me. Koala bear time, I thought as I wrapped my legs around her for cuddling, barely registering the puddle in which we lay.

-Essin’ Em