Sexuality Happens

I met Q at the strap on class I was teaching in the middle of December.  We went for coffee and a movie a few weeks later, hanging out intermittently. We started having sex when I got back from my trip to San Francisco. And can I just mention that the sex just keeps getting better and better? And the kissing is hot, and the silliness, and just. Mmm.

I like what we have. Sometimes, we hang out. Sometimes, we just have sex. Sometimes, we hang out AND have sex.

She came to see the Vagina Monologues with some of her friends from grad school. Some of my long time friends didn’t even come, so that was really fucking nice to have people I knew (also L and F. All in the same night. Oy, but yay) there.

She was really supportive during my drama with Kali. I even kinda sorta almost cried on the phone with her.

But. So. Um. What? I kinda like her. As more than just a fuck buddy. Now, this friends with benefits thing is great, and I don’t want to fuck that up…but I’m kind of wondering if she might kinda sorta possibly be interested in more. But. What is more? I don’t want to live together, or to spend multiple days in a row with each other right now. I don’t want kids or marriage, or….

So do I just leave it? Does it matter what it is?

Half of me wants an answer.  This is what we are, this is where we’re headed for now, etc. It wants to be on the same page so nothing can hurt.  The other half says it doesn’t fucking matter. It just wants to let things go where they go, be what they are, and stop over thinking everything. This begs that question;

When do you have to define? And DO you have to define?

When F and I were seeing each other, it was like hello, and welcome to Communication City.  To me, there was over communication. If I didn’t bring up EVERYTHING to talk about (even things I didn’t think were a big deal at all to me), I was being closed off. During sex, we talked a lot, and told each other we were hot and beautiful and what we wanted and needed – and that was good. There was lots of “what are we, who are we, what are we feeling, where are we going, etc.” Sometimes, I felt smothered by too much communication.  Q is the opposite. She doesn’t process (which, right now, is fucking brilliant!). But she also doesn’t really communicate…not during sex, though I can coach it out of her (but did I mention that the sex is really good?), not after while cuddling. She just doesn’t.  Which is ok, but it makes it really hard for me to pull the “I like where things are, and they don’t need to change, but how do you see our relationship as two people, and do you see it continuing in the future?” card that I so desperately want to bust out. I mean, we’re had the safer sex talk. And the other day, I checked to make sure we were both on the non-monogamy page (Me: “we’re not monogamous, right?” Her: “What? I thought we were totally monogamous.” Me: *BIG EYES* “What???” Her: “I was kidding. Non-monogamous, yes.”)

So. Do I try to define? Or no? If yes, when? And if not…well. Then what?

-Essin’ Em

I was reading through my old Myspace blogs…and came across this one. I wrote it probably the first few weeks that F and I had started having sex, way back at the beginning of the fall, or end of the summer…while obviously it doesn’t apply to us anymore, I thought it was pretty, and descriptive, and certainly worth sharing.

-Essin’ Em

CONTENTMENT

Wrinkled sheets.

Crumpled blankets.

Pillows strewn about like an ancient abandoned city whose residents were forced to leave in a hurry…a modern day Pompeii.

A mingling of scents; candles, lotion and a hint of sex.

A faint bruise on the inner thigh.

A necklace dangling on the nightstand, discarded in the throws of passions.

Sore muscles that just slightly ache when flexed.

Two empty mugs in the sink.

The memories of heat and fire, of new horizons, of comfort and safety.

Words and thoughts invading my mind.

Pictures flashing across my vision.

Arched back, arms wide open, piercing vision looking into the depths of me.

Deep breathing, moans, pleading, askance, begging, nurturing, questioning, requests…sounds haunt my ears.

Fantasies of my balcony, my window, the elevators, the hot tub.

Uncertainty.

Shhhhh. I’m going to tell you a secret.

I am a romantic at heart.

No, I still don’t like diamonds. Or gold. Or even rings for that matter. 

I don’t like many of the cliche, traditional things. I hate pink. Steak dinners are pointless for this vegetarian. And if you spray odd sweet smelly stuff on my sheets, I’m much more likely to be turned off than turned on.

But you know what? I’m sitting here, reminiscing about the only time a partner/boyfriend/girlfriend/lover gave me flowers.  They were stargazer lilies (one of my favorite types).

I say I don’t like flowers, that they’re too cliche. But you know what? I fucking love flowers.  I think it’s a defense mechanism. I’ve been in theatre since I was 5. And everyone always got flowers.  And my dad brought me a bouquet once or twice. But I haven’t gotten flowers at a show since he died when I was 13.  So I decided that I didn’t even like flowers, so that after curtain call, when everyone got beautiful bouquets, I won’t be upset that I didn’t.  And this carried over into the rest of my life.  As long as I didn’t expect sweet things, I wouldn’t be disappointed when they didn’t happen. It was like waiting for a cast list to post; if I expected to be cast in the chorus, and I was, great. And then if I got a big part, hurray. It was harder to be disappointed.

My HS boyfriend, while nice, was not romantic. Neither were the people I dated in college. So I convinced myself that all I wanted was support. J bought me those stargazer lilies, and honestly, those kept me going for a good while. F was not romantic, nor did I expect her to be.

It’s hard, because I like sex. I like fucking. I like deep academic discussions. People don’t expect me to want to cuddle (something I’m finally realizing how much I like. Another thing I convinced myself I didn’t like because I was afraid of being rejected over it), because it’s not sex. I like cuddling. I like spooning. I love Love Actually. I love stargazer lilies, black calla lilies, and sterling roses (black roses too, but those are harder to find). I love cute little romantic gestures. Or I think I do.

I guess I feel that I’m hard enough to date as is. I’m a sex blogger/sexuality educator, which people find intimidating. I’m kinky. I’m awkward. I’m disabled. I’m vivacious. I’m chubby. I’m alternative. I’m outspoken.  That’s a lot to ask from a partner, that I feel that I can’t honestly expect someone to be sweet and kind and romantic. I mean, why would anyone want to be with me as is, none the less if I wanted romance sometimes? I try to make up for all my failings, by trying to always be helpful, and available and as wonderful as possible to my partners, and my friends for that matter. But you know what? Right now, this very second, I am sitting here with tears streaming down my face because all I want is some flowers, or someone to genuinely want to be with me, and to be loving and silly and romantic.

Usually, I’m tougher about this, and cover it up well. But this weekend, at the Vagina Monologues, I got to see Kinsey and her partner interact. He brought her flowers, and came to both of the shows.  Apparently, last year he brought her sushi each night. They chatted, and he carried her stuff to the car because she was so exhausted. It was so sweet, and loving, and beautiful. Opening night, every single one of my friends (including those that I had set aside comp tickets for) flaked out and didn’t show.  Forget flowers, I didn’t even have an audience that was there for me…the only person that came who I knew was someone I haven’t seen in 3 years, and didn’t even expect to show.

So I came home and wrote this. I don’t want to always be tough, and I’m sick of trying not to expect or want  anything from anyone. I deserve friends and a partner (partners?) that care about me. People who I can stop sucking it up around, and pretending that I’m just fine sticking it out on my own. People to support me…by coming to my classes, or plays, or derby bouts. Do you know in the 8 months I’ve been in CO, not ONE friend has come to any of my workshops, and only two have come to bouts (one because I bought her a ticket).

So no, I don’t want a prince on a white horse riding off into the sunset. But for once, I’d like to wake up to brunch in bed, instead of me always being the one making tea and pancakes. And I’d like to open the door, or stroll out into the lobby to a bouquet of flowers. No, I’m not perfect…but I’m not so bad that I can’t get some romance every once in a while.

I can be a strong fierce Femme with a softer side.  Strength and sweetness are not mutually exclusive.

That’s all.

-Essin’ Em

EDIT: The second night of the show, both my friend from college, and F both brought me flowers…so I am now feeling very lovely and cared for. I don’t need flowers from a partner, just in general. :)

Jiz Lee recently wrote a post that got me thinking.

The five love languages are familiar to me.

These are the five love languages:

1. Words of Affirmation

2. Quality Time

3. Receiving Gifts

4. Acts of Service

5. Physical Touch

I first learned about the 5 love languages at camp in 8th grade (welcome to smart kid camp). We all wrote our top two ways we best received love on our arms, so that people in our groups understood how to best demonstrate their love for us (again, gifted kid camp).

It’s important that people understand that there is no right or wrong language.  If you feel loved when you receive gifts, this doesn’t mean it has to be diamond rings…it could be cookies, flowers, a book someone thinks you’d like, a hand-me-down that is perfect for you.  Physical touch, while it CAN be sex, it doesn’t have to be.  It can be hugs, cuddling, massages, having your hair stroked. Acts of service can be anything from fixing a washing machine (or bed frame!) to giving you a ride to the airport or picking up a package for you from the post office. Words of affirmation don’t have to be said at a specific time or in a specific way; I love you, you’re beautiful, I enjoy how you make me think, thank you for being in my life.  These are all words of affirmation. And quality time? That can be whatever you make of it.  Strolling through museums, curled up on the couch watching movies, or supporting one another by attending events that are important to you.

I loved the concept, and made of poster of them for the wall in my bedroom. I literally just took it down from my mother’s house the other day while cleaning it out.  I held it, I read it, and I thought about how much I use it in various facets of my life, whether by name or not. Actually, I just had a conversation about the love languages with a woman who is in Vagina Monologues with me. They are everywhere.

It may seem silly, but those five simple ideas have helped me so much throughout my life. I know that Ifeel best loved through physical touch and quality time.  I want people I care about to hold me, to kiss me, to feel me, to touch me. I want them to want to spend time with me.  Walking through the Denver Zoo with Q, going lingerie shopping with my friend in SF, seeing people I love in the audience at my performances; this is quality time for me. Acts of service are hard, because when I’m sick, I want nothing more than soup and tea, and feel loved when people provide them for me…but when I’m not sick, I’m very counter dependent, and have trouble letting people do favors for me.

How do I best show my love? Physical touch, quality, and acts of service like woah fuck. I leave my phone on 24-7, so people I care about can get ahold of me whenever they need me.  I love giving people I love rides, I love helping them with online things, I love supporting them however I can.  I am a touchy-feely person; I give hugs, pets and cuddles like no one’s business. And quality time…? Well, just like I want people I love to spend time with me, equally, I want to spend time with them.

I can give words of affirmation. Usually they are written, although sometimes spoken. But I have much trouble receiving them. Especially from people I love.  I can’t imagine that they actually think I’m beautiful, or brilliant, or witty. I mean, yes, it’s a self-conscious thing, I know that.  And I’ve gotten better at taking compliments. But I still have issues with it.  I also have trouble getting gifts, unless I really know someone. But I do love giving gifts, things I’ve made, things I’ve found while out and about that are perfect for people I care about. So while I can and do show my affection in these ways, they aren’t the go to ways for me, as i have trouble receiving love these ways.

Knowing these things has helped me explain myself to my partners.  I realized when I was presenting my Poly/Relationship Mapping class at Femina Potens last month why having a partner who would bring me soup when I was sick was so important; it’s hard for me to ask for help, and so me asking for soup, and then having it brought to me was a demonstration of love…TO ME. It wasn’t until I was explaining it you all the people at this class that *I* realized why it was so important to me, so how could any of my former partners know how much this mean. When I hop into bed, and someone sleepily puts their arms around me, or strokes my back, I feel loved. When someone arranges to hang out with me, or just shows up wanting to spend time with me, I feel love.  When Monkey and Jen drove hours with 3 kids to come and take me to Fisherman’s Wharf and spend time with me, I felt cared for. When my best friend showed up on my door step the week before Valentine’s Day, as I felt like I lay on my death bed, with a half-gallon of minestrone and a smile, I realized how loved I was.

But also realize that I need to know my friends and partners love languages in order to best demonstrate my love to them, in a way that they understand and accept. I have some friends that are not touchy – I’ve learned this. So instead of telling them they just did an amazing job by giving them a big hug, I have to say it out loud. For some of my friends, they love it when I give them extra sex toys and porn, but are so busy that they don’t have time for quality time.  We have to adapt, and we have to know ourselves, so we can tell the people who love us HOW to best love us.

As usual, it all boils down to communication.  Communication is key, you know the drill :)

In hindsight, I wonder what the good doctor and all the gifted kid counselors would say if they knew how well discussing love languages helped relationships…sexual, kinky, poly and more.

Once in a while, I look back through my LiveJournal…the friends only blog I have kept since 2003 (before that, it was my Free Open Diary). Here is an entry from spring two years ago (2007) that struck me.  It’s about my mental creation of the perfect partner.

As many of y’all know, I’ve had this “perfect partner” list since sophomore year of college. From time to time, I update it. Recently, I’ve updated it quite a bit (you’ll notice that “moondance” and “gummi bear theme song” are no longer on there, and that there are a few additions). Enjoy my weirdness. 

The Perfect Significant Other (should there ever be such a thing):

*Never has been incarcerated

*Not married/divorced

*No children, doesn’t want me to bear children

*Not verbally, emotionally or mentally abusive

*Is pro-choice

*Likes cats

*Will take spiders outside for me so I can sleep alright

*Gives good back massages

*Can make at least one good vegetarian meal (w/o ordering take out)

*Occasionally eats dessert first

*Is capable of deep, intellectual discussions

*Enjoys the rain (singing, dancing, romping in it is a plus)

*Can quote Monty Python, End of the World, Summoner Geeks, etc.

*Reads. A lot.

*Enjoys a variety of music , with at least some overlap with mine

*Likes to cuddle AND snuzzle

*Spends a good amount of time on breasts (not a ‘radio-dial’ nipple person)

*Accepts my body as is (bonus points if s/he accepts his/her body as is too)

*Not a hair sniffer

*Good Kisser (biting/nipping of lower lip a plus), or be trainable

*If s/he gives hickies, s/he does so BELOW neck line

*Can stay up all night with me, talking

*Plays with my hair

*Acknowledges ‘us’ in public, but not into clingy PDA

*Roughhouses

*Is chill with driving around at 3am (to IHOP, VI or others diners = a plus)

*Leaves little notes to be found

*Leads me through big crowds

*Not an addictive personality

*Gives good, tight hugs WITHOUT the back patting

*Explains what s/he means when asked

*Laughs with me (and occasionally at me)

*Is creative (with things s/he does, dates, gifts, etc – none of the super traditional stuff)

*Doesn’t use baby talk or sketchy names (like Snugglebunny, or Booboobear)

*Abides to mutually agreed upon rules regarding other partners, etc

*Accepts my views, even if they differ from hers/his (religiously, politically, socially, etc)

*Makes me feel protected and cared for

*Ok with random nudity (RHPS, my car after 2am, after being in bed, etc)

*Believes in the existence of and works against sexual assault and domestic violence

*Understands and supports my sexual orientation

*Can and will read porn with me and discusses it

*Doesn’t have to spoon/cuddle ALL night long (gives space)

*Is ok with me having other (fe)male friends w/o getting jealous

*Doesn’t live with parents, has no job, and no transportation (1 out of 3 is ok)

*Is totally ok with my choice of profession in the field of sexuality

*Is not homophobic, transphobic, racist, chauvinistic, fatphobic, etc.

*Is not upset about my hair colors, piercings, tattoos, etc (enjoys them = a plus)

*Sexually experimental and open minded – not super vanilla

*Is not creeped out by my love for black roses, murder mysteries, etc

*Is communicative in all regards, including sex

It’s interesting how many things have changed since I originally made this list in 2003 (when I was still fairly certain I would end up with a cisgender male as my life partner in a monogamous relationship).  And how many things have changed since 2007.  And how many things have stayed the same this entire time.

Many of these things seem silly to have to say out loud, but many of them are based off of experiences I’ve had.  People I was with who perpetuated rape culture, even if they themselves did not commit sexual assault. People whose idea of communication was either leaving the situation, or spouting off cult like BS. People who have told me I’d be so pretty, if only I was a little thinner.  Hell, did I mention that F spent the night in jail a few weeks ago? 

I don’t really need to keep updating this list. I have one in my head of the truly important things, and everything else will drop into place. However, I think it’s important to see where we’ve been to help guide where we’re going. And this, gentle readers, is a piece of my past.

-Essin’ Em

Photo by Ken Norcross

I’ve always been single on February 14th.  My very first boyfriend and I broke up on Valentine’s Day, in 2002.  The plus side? I got to keep the Orson Scott Card books I’d gotten him, and started getting more into fantasy/sci-fi books.  Since then, I’ve never been in a relationship on Valentine’s Day. And you know, that’s ok.

For all of you in satisfactory/satisfying relationships; Happy Valentine’s Day! Keep on with the love and caring and hot bunny sex.

For all of you in unsatisfactory/unsatisfying relationships: You deserve more, you deserve better, you *can* be happy alone, or happy with someone else. Don’t keep on keeping on because it’s the only thing to do (or because the sex is that damn good…you will find more good sex!). You have to free yourself to be yourself.

For all of you, like me, in no relationship (other than the ones with my kitties!): Happy Single’s Awareness Day! You know, I started to celebrate this back my first year of college with my roommate. We made sweatshirts together, went and bought all the now discounted V-Day candy, and made beautiful silk flower vases for ourselves and wrote notes to go with them from secret admirers…written hilarious romance novel language of course. When I first started celebrating, I always though of it as sad…S.A.D even, that I couldn’t find someone to be with on V-Day. However, since then, I’ve realized that much of the time, it is far better to be alone, and to be who you truly are, and to love yourself, than it is to be in a relationship just to say you’re in a relationship. I mean, I can buy myself dinner, chocolate, flowers, you name it…but I can I never buy myself my pride, my personality, my time.

I have only date three people in the past three years. Now, this may sound like a lot for those of you who have been with the same person(s) for a long period of time, but given that only about 13 or 14 of those 36 months were spent in relationships of any kind, it’s really not that much.  I have trouble finding people to date…but I suppose that if I had tried hard enough, played the numbers game, eventually, I could have found more people.

But I never found anyone that liked me for me; they always asked if going to school for human sexuality meant that I had blow job/pussy eating classes, or working for HotMoviesForHer.com meant that I was a porn star. Some asked me when I was going to dye my hair a normal color, others wanted to know why I didn’t have more tattoos. Many wanted to know if I had plans to lose weight, while one or two fetishized as a BBW. I didn’t want to date anyone that didn’t see me as me, and accept me as such. 

Being single for so much of the past few years has really helped me to get to know me for me. Not who I needed to be to get a date, or not me as part of a couple, but who *I* really am, and what *I* want and need. I will not ever date someone again who is using me until they find someone better (been there, done that). I will never date someone again who is in love with the idea of being in a relationship, but not in love with me (been there, done that, he was institutionalized…woohoo). I will never again date someone because I am so desperate to be “normal,” to “be loved,” or “to have someone to wake up next to.” (Yeah, I’ve been dumb, I know.) I will never again stay in a relationship longer than I should for whatever stupid reasons I create.

I will only date someone because they like *me* and I like *them*. Not some idea of me, or a relationship, and not some idea of them.

I hope everyone who reads this realizes that single is not the horrible thing that all the chocolate, diamond, hotel, etc, companies try to make it out to be. It isn’t. It is about being who you are, discovering yourself, and becoming empowered. We live till 80 or 90; ain’t nothin’ wrong with spending a good deal of that time with the most important person in your life: YOU (and hey, that’s what vibes are for, right?)

I present on relationship mapping sometimes.  I talk about having primary, secondary and tertiary partners.  And you know what I’ve discovered? I am my OWN primary partner. I dedicate so much time, love, emotion and resources to myself. That’s how it should be. I’m happy to be my own primary partner.

So Happy Single’s Awareness Day. I’m single, I’m aware, and I’m just fine and dandy with it. Not to say that if the right person/people came along, I wouldn’t give it a try, but for now, I’m really ok with where I’m at. And I hope you are too.

Now go enjoy yourself…and if you’re like me, eat some chocolate for the hell of it!

Oh! I have an announcement. My derby wife, P. B. Arlene, and I are getting married tonight at the Shoppe (with 3 other derby wife couples). NO. Not really legal married. I’ll be wearing an amazing Cindi Lauper inspired outfit, and she’s be rocking the 80′s prom dress.  Cupcake wedding cake. Goody bags for guests with gift certificates for cupcakes, derby swag, and other fun things.  Ring pop rings.  My lovely wife is making me a red and black sparkly veil (can you tell how well she knows me?). I can’t think of a better way to celebrate February 14th…and given my thoughts about marriage, it’s likely the only time I’ll ever get married.  

A few people have asked me where I’m registered…well, amazon, lots of sex toy places, and paypal to help me pay for rent and travel.  Want to get me a wedding present because you’ve got some extra cash lying about? All the links are in my side bar (unless you want to get me kitchen supplies for my fetish, a jaguar (the cat), a queer gang bang, or an Njoy Eleven – in that case, please comment or email me for my address!).

Here is the invite she designed:

Ok, NOW that’s all. Mazel tov!

-Essin’ Em

Picture by Raven Sane Productions

About two years ago, I came out as queer. I’d identified as bisexual since I was 17, but I finally realized that the terms pansexual and queer fit me so much better.  I hadn’t had sex with a female bodied person until this time either…lots of making out and groping, but no sex.

So in two years, I’ve discovered a lot about my sexuality overall. I’ve worked hard on taking steps toward figuring out my gender identity and presentation…I’m a fiesty Femme who is allergic to pink, doesn’t wear lipstick, and enjoys packing upon occasion.  I’ve figured out my orientation; I’m attracted to a huge variety of people, and while they tend to be more masculine presenting, and while they tend to have cunts (by a variety of names), I refuse to limit myself in anyway (I kissed an XY guy at new year’s, and I liked it. So there).

I’ve also been extremely lucky in that I’ve had a variety of sexual partners, many of whom have been very open to experimenting and trying new things.

From my Dinah Shore affair, I rediscovered sex, and redefined its meaning. It was the first time I actually LIKED having sex. And wanted to have more and more.  We spend 12-14 hours in bed having sex…got up, went through our day, and did it again the next night. Then we woke up at 8am and had balcony sex. I discovered a lot of my Femme-ness. I started liking sex…A LOT. I discovered I could come with more than clitoral stimulation. I discovered that I loved g-spot stimulation. I discovered that I had quite an exhibitionist streak. I discovered that I am really loud when being fucked properly.

Then there was J. I had so many first with J, and other experiences that weren’t first, but I got to rediscover. I loved sucking his cock. It was my first time getting someone to non-semenally (new word) ejaculate – oh jesus, so fucking hot.  We tried anal fingering of each other…wasn’t my thing. I worked on stretching my cunt a bit (the few times I have had penis-in-vagina intercourse, the guy got sore.  When I had sex at Dinah shore, 2 fingers felt good, and 3 was pushing it)…with J, I got up to 4 fingers (with much time), and it felt good. I discovered how much I like being spanked. I discovered how much I like playing with toys with partners. I discovered how much non-monogamy works for me, so much more than monogamy. I discovered that I really like orgasm control and being made to bed in order to come (I also discovered that I hate gags. Even “breathable” ones. Ugh). I discovered I am really an exhibitionist; restaurants, parking lots, porches, you name it.

When I played with K at Submit, that was probably the most kink experience that I had had to date.  I was pierced, and hit…a LOT. And bitten, REALLY hard (causing hemotomas for a few months). I discovered how much I like having my hair pulled. I discovered that I really like edge play, especially knives. I discovered how cathartic piercing play can be, and that I like that. I discovered that I come that much harder with a hand around my throat. This is when I discovered that I was a lot kinkier than I thought I was. I mean, I knew I was kinky before…but this was now more than just a bondage thing.

With F…well. Let’s see.  Although I’ve always wanted to be fisted, this was the first time I was actually able to have that happen (going from 2-3 fingers to fisting in a year and a half? Hot damn!). I discovered that I like 3 fingers to warm up, and 3 or 4 to come.  I experimented more with breath play…and discovered that I still really like a hand around my throat. I discovered I like topping people a lot more than I thought I did (I’d topped a few people up until then, but never more than once, so it was nice getting to figure things out about what both of us liked). I discovered how much I like wrestling and fighting back. I discovered that I really like exhibitionism, and was frustrated that I didn’t get to play so much on that. I discovered that you need to spell things out when you negotiate open relationships…and that when things go wrong, sometimes they can’t just be fixed. I discovered my more dominant side, and my more submissive side.

With a variety of other partners, I learned other things. With C, I discovered that I really like having my cunt slapped, and can come that way. With my first woman partner, I discovered that I can have breast orgasms. With M (as well as everyone else), I discovered that I am really awkward, and have instituted a 20 minute post-sex get out of jail free rule. With S, I discovered that I *can* in fact ejaculate. With Miss P and S, I discovered that rope can be fun and not boring. With Miss D, I learned that there are different ways of looking at safewords and their use. With Sasha Sappho and Dana and F and another person I topped, I have discovered that I am a very emotional top, and have a way of bringing out deep emotions in people, and some how making them cry (not from pain, but more mentally). I discovered I like forced orgasms. I’ve discovered I like hot wax, and being flogged, and being punched. I discovered that I DO NOT like having my face slapped.  I’ve discovered I love vampire gloves. I’ve discovered I’m not very good at the traditional idea of romance. I’ve discovered that I function much better when I am consistently sexually active…otherwise, I get too horny to function.

I like learning things about myself, and about my partners for that matter.  I tried to learn at least one new thing about myself for every new partner I have, and sometimes I learn a lot more.

I would like to discover more about myself an anal sex. Interestingly (to me), I am much more apprehensive and picky about “losing” my “anal” virginity than I was about my first time having vaginal intercourse.  I feel like I might really like it, or it might be a take-it-or-leave-it kind of deal…but I want to explore. On both sides…I want to get fucked in the ass, and I want to fuck someone else in the ass. This is a goal…but with it will also bring discovery.

I want to explore and discover more about group sex. I kind of had a threesome last year…and would like to have more. I’d also like to be the recipient of a queer gang bang. Lots of cock sucking and spanking and fucking and hair pulling.

I want to discover more about topping men. You’d think I’d be better at this than I am…but I still get really nervous about it…I need to experiment more.

I want to experiment more with fisting, or with having two sets of four fingers inside me.

I am so excited to be at a place in my life where I can grow, and explore, and discover, and learn and change. And I thank all of my partners for being part of that with me…whether we were lovers, long term partners, a one night spiel…I thank you.

I raise my glass to discovery!

-Essin’ Em

I have mentioned, multiple times, on this blog, how important it is to me to find a partner who doesn’t want to “U-Haul” which is a modern (and mostly dyke-centric) verb for wanting to live together, usually within a short time frame of the onset of the relationship.

I’ve had quite a few people (a number that surprised me, actually), ask me what kind of odd relationship I was looking for if I didn’t want to live together.  Some phrased it differently, asking me if I was ready for a “real” relationship if I didn’t want to live with someone (as compared to the fake, living apart relationships?), and a few told me in no uncertain terms that CLEARLY, I was just looking for sex. I’ve decided to clarify things.

I DO want a relationship. Possibly more. I don’t know the difference between real and fake relationships, but I’ve never lived with (or wanted to live with) any of my past partners, and I’d qualify those as “real” relationships.  And while I do want sex (very much so, and much of it), I’d also like something that is, at the very least occasionally, more than “just” sex.

*Gasp!* How can this be? Someone who doesn’t want to live with someone?

Well, I take that back. With the right, long term partner, in the more so future, I could see living in a three bedroom house.  One room would be mine (probably a library with wall to wall built in bookshelves, lots of red, black and leopard print furniture, and a daybed like thing). One would be theirs (whatever THEY wanted — a woodshop (oh please oh please oh please), a sewing room, a yoga room, a green room, etc). The third would be our bedroom.

And now that I think about it, if we were renting, I COULD see a two bedroom…one room being mine, the other theirs.

Otherwise. No. No. No.

Let’s break this down.  Right now, I really like where I live (off street parking, indoor 24-7 pool/hot tub, workout room, pool table, free cable, etc). I do not want to move.  So the solution most people would suggest (should I end up in a relationship) would be to have them move in with me.

But see, I like my space. I like my alone time. I am a night owl (obviously), and I’ve never found anyone with the same schedule, and I know I’d wake them up.  I like running around my apartment naked all the time. I have a lot of stuff….I still have unpacked boxed of books because there isn’t enough room. What would I do if someone moved in with their own stuff?  I’ve never relished this idea, but after watching my best friend go through moving in with her boyfriend, and having to put about 75-80% of her stuff in storage, so that they’d fit into his condo, I’ve decided that I’m not ready to have two people living in an already live in one bedroom. Fuck that.

As for getting a place together?  While more economical that two separate places, a) we’d both have to wait until our leases were up, which isn’t likely to occur at the same time, and b) agree on a place.  Should all that happen, and we move in together, what happens lease wise when we break up? I mean, my longest relationship is six months…do I really want to set myself up for this?

Other reasons I like having my own place:

*When I’m sick, I don’t have to get my partner sick – I just retreat (vice versa)

*I have cats. Most people I’ve dated had pets. Sometimes, this is harder than melding families with children.

*I am messy. Not dirty (I sweep, mop, vacuum, wash dishes, take out the trash, etc), but messy. Sometimes my place looks like a tornado hit it…now, I know where everything is, but I’m also the only one who has to deal with it.

*I am not a morning person. Ever.

*I am a vegetarian.  Only one person I’ve dated has been. While I have no qualms dating a meat eater, I prefer not having meat cooked in my pans.  I had a roommate once who let meat go bad in the fridge regularly, and I had to deal with it. Never again.

*I’m OCD about weird things. My books are in alphabetical order…within genre. I clean out the fridge weekly. I have to sleep on the right side of the bed. Why would I subject someone else to that?

*My last few relationships have, thankfully, been open relationships. It is very hard to get it on with another person (other than your primary), when you live together, and have one bedroom. Not impossible, but definitely difficult.

*I like to cook for my partner(s) when they stay over…pumpkin pancakes in the morning, all sorts of things in the evening. If they’re in a hurry, I make them tea in a travel mug, and stick a granola bar in their pockets.  It loses its cuteness/sweetness if it happens all the time.

*I LIKE alone time.  It’s much harder to get when, you know, you’re rarely alone.

So you see, I think I have excellent reasoning for not wanting to live with a partner, at least not for a good and fair amount of time. Should I start dating something, and things significantly change, I’m willing to reconsider. But given where I am in my life (I’m not advocating my thoughts for anyone else), living together with someone else…NOT a Samuel Adams.

-Essin’ Em

For some people, safer sex is a drag. When I was seeing F, one of our only rules about playing with/fucking other people was that we had to use safer sex.  And then she fucked someone…and decided not to use safer sex.  Not because it was that difficult, or she didn’t understand it (I’d done the oh-so-sexy sex educator role play to show her, since she didn’t have a background in it), but because she didn’t like it.

Safer sex can suck sometimes.  Let’s say you’re sucking cock, and don’t have a a flavored condom. Well…yeah, normal condoms taste gross. But do you know what tastes grosser? Gonorrhea in your throat. Just saying.

Dams are not the sexiest things, and even non-microwavable saran wrap isn’t super hot. But neither is herpes.

Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m not perfect. After F had unsafe sex, I didn’t start using protection with her (and consequently had an ingrown hair which scared the FUCK out of me, and I’ve since been tested – 100% STI free – and am back on the safer sex band wagon).  I do believe in becoming fluid bonded with a partner, when you’ve been together for a period of time, and both go and get tested, and if you’re both negative for everything, and agree to only have safer sex with other people (and then actually follow this rule), not using barriers with each other.  My grad school advisor would think I was being really fucking stupid. And he’s right – there (as I’ve found out) is always the chance that one of you is cheating/breaking the rules/having unsafer sex.  There is the chance that one of you has an STI that for some reason, didn’t show up. And as I’ve also found out, you can always get bacterial vaginosis from a partner, even if they don’t have any STIs.  But becoming fluid bonded is a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve done it twice; with J and with F. And will consider doing it again with future long term partners.

But you know what I love, even when I’m fluid bonded? I LOVE black, latex gloves.  Actually, now I use nitrile, since you never know who may be in bed with you (ok, I do, but I wanted to sound glamorous), and you don’t know if they’re allergic to latex. But pull on a black glove? I am putty in your hands.

Now, I use gloves a lot, even with fluid bonded partners, a) because black gloves are really god damn fucking hot, and b) because I have nails…they’re not long, talons by any means, but I don’t keep them dyke-a-delically short.  And I’d really prefer not to scratch up my partners’ cunts (just their backs…shoulders…legs…anyways). So I wear them a good majority of the time.  And there are few things as hot as seeing a black glove disappear into a cunt.  

My photo set is up from my shoot on CrashPadSeries.com (video and behind the scenes will go up shortly…if you click through here to sign up, you’re supporting me, Pink and White, and super hot queer porn!), and of all the pictures, there are three or four in a row of Rex’s hand in my cunt…begloved, and lubed, and god, if these “black gloved hand in cunt” pictures aren’t my favorite in the set…and some of my favorite of me ever.

Safer sex is a compromise.  You can do your absolute best. You can do nothing. Or you can be like me, and meet somewhere in the middle, and figure out how to make it work. I will not go down w/o a barrier on someone I haven’t become fluid bonded with…but I will fuck them.  My toys are almost all sterilizable (expect my wood one, which is just for me), so I can use them without barriers.

But black gloves? I will use them as much as I possibly can…because really, is there anything hotter?

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!

-Essin’ Em

PS: Trouble from NoFauxxx.com is on my radio show on Radio Dentata tonight at 9pm EST/6pm PST – make sure you tune into listen!

Some of you may have read my post Blast from the Past a week or so ago. That post was from when F had offered to write a guest post of our first time playing together.  She had sent me the first half maybe two months ago, and then never followed up, so I finally just posted what I had.

Surprising us all (and by us, I mean me!), she sent me the second half the day I flew home from San Francisco.  While my feelings at this point are no longer of want or of need, they are also no longer of anger or true frustration. I’m actually feeling quite zen about things at this point (a variety of things have happened in the last two weeks that have helped me to feel this way).  So I thought I’d post the second half as well, less as a cleaning out of my inbox, but more as an homage to a wonderful thing that once was.

-Essin’ Em

I was taking my time shaving and cleaning trying to scrub every ounce of anxiety and insecurity off my skin. She came into the bathroom to see if I was ok and asked if she could talk to me while I was finishing up, sneaking little peeks here and there. I finished my shower, and dried off, put lotion on… it felt like my face was several shades of red.

She told me to go into her room and to place both of my elbows on the bed. A new sense of heightened awareness swept over me as i bent over in anticipation. I felt her fingers run down my back gently, reassuringly… and then smack! Her hand spanked my ass and then there was gentle rubbing on the place of impact… smack… this was exciting… and hard to anticipate… she continued on, bringing out so many realms of sensation and excitement… emotion… my body was still tense with anticipation when she told me to lay down on my back and bring my hands up towards the top of the bed.

She grabbed each wrist and strapped it in to her under the bed restraint system… my heart was skipping. She pulled out a knife and started to carve designs from my collar bone, around my nipples, over my breasts, down the inside of my hips, down my legs… my body was writhing with excitement! I was so wet and I felt like I could come with just the trace of this blade carving a gentle masterpiece of art brought out my the red scratches on my skin…

I asked her to kiss me and she did. Moving from my lips down my body to my cunt. Her mouth felt so amazing on my clit. Attentive to exactly what I wanted she then stuck her fingers inside of me, amazing. Working her fingers in and out with her thumb on my clit, my body trembled and trembled with an incredible aching, i couldn’t help but shove my cunt towards her. Her tongue licking and sucking on my clit… my face turned hot and I started to scream “I’m gonna come!! Oh my fucking God I’m going to come!” My hands still tied down, stripping me of the ability to grab her hair and smash her face into me. I had to lay there and take it, surrender to this explosion welling up inside of me… and then the release. My body contorting out of my control, gasping for breath, every muscle contracting…

She let me stay the night and sleep next to her in her bed – something she made clear didn’t happen very often. I was exhausted and so very thankful. I still am thankful for everything we did together and every experience we had because it’s helped me grow more and more into myself. Thank you.