Sexuality Happens

Photo Credit: Hawksdream

Back in Denver in January, when I was doing this shoot, I did a lot more kinky specific/dungeon photos.  But I did ask the photographer to take a few for Q, to show her that I was missing her and thinking of her during the shoot, even though I hadn’t seen her in almost a week.

She really really loves the outfit I wore on my Crash Pad Series shoot, especially the red bra. She really likes this weird cover up maxi dress think I got from Torrid on mega sale.  My homemade (in college) snow leopard and black fleece boa/scarf matches the snow leopard and black dress perfectly.  And of course, I have my glasses, which she likes a lot. The ring around my neck is one she has given me with a beautiful back story behind it, and I wear it about 90% of the time, as it feel connective to her, her strength, her passion for social justice and more.

Is it the most glamorous picture of me? Not be leaps and bounds.  It’s a bit dark, it’s an odd angle, and all of that.  But it’s full of stuff Q would like, and that was the whole point of it, so I feel I have found success. And for those of you who don’t know or care about Q and all of that, there is boobies. So enjoy.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday to everyone!

-Essin’ Em

When I was in San Francisco, I had four classes and one reading planned. The reading went off without a hitch, and two of my four classes (Vaginal Fisting for One and All and SexAbility) had particapatory, albeit small audiences, and were awesome.

However, two classes just failed. My BDSM 101 class failed because no one had shown up, and I’d gone through all the trouble of lugging floggers, canes, crops, knives, vampire gloves, wartenburg wheels and more from Phoenix to San Francisco, and then from the hotel to Femina Potens.  Alas, these things happen.

But what has shaken my confidence a bit, and taken a while to get over was my Relationship Mapping/Poly 101 class schedule first, on Wednesday night. 

First of all, no one showed up to open the door till 5 minutes till 6. Which really didn’t matter, since no one had shown up by then.  Finally, two people, a couple showed up. I waited a little longer to get started, and then I did. With a class of two.  One of whom told me he’d been around paint fumes all day and was in not mood to be interactive or participate.  Which was great, since this is the class where we all draw relationship maps of our own lives, and figure out what they mean, how they change over time, etc. Ok, fine.  Q was there with me, so she, and I, and the volunteer, and the woman in the couple participated. And then! My friend from Denver who is now going to school in SF showed up. Yay! Another friendly face. I continued in my talk when suddenly, 25 minutes into my presentation, the woman stood up, said “this is way too basic for us. I mean, maybe if you’d been here last year, we’d have gotten something out it, but we’re not interested.” And she and her partner walked out after taking my handouts (that I save for the end of the class).

I sat there in shock for a moment, and then, to my chagrin, I burst into tears.  Thank goodness for the volunteer, and Q, and my friend, and the next speaker, Catherine Toyooka, who all comforted me, and said that they were clearly just looking to pick up another poly couple, and that they were rude, and that some of the questions they had asked indicated they might be a bit homophobic.  None of these answers made me feel much better, but having a little group of people, only half of whom I knew, trying to comfort me, that in and of itself was comforting.

Did it shake my confidence? Oh yes.  I have NEVER had anyone walk out of a class/workshop before…regardless of whether there were 50 people or 5.  I was a little angry, because purposely put 101 in the class name, so that people who have all the basics don’t accidently show up (likely why no one came to my BDSM 101 class). But more so, I was hurt.  Was I really that bad a presenter that people couldn’t even hang on till the end of the presentation to leave? Was I so bad it was worth being rude to me?

The next day, I did my fisting demo.  I had almost 15 people, which again, while small, created an interactive and intimate audience that was wonderful. I was a little nervous and shakey to start, but I had Q and the lovely Alphafemme in the audience, and a plethora of strangers asking great questions and being really engaged. I felt revitalized and excited and so happy to be educating again.  It helped that Roxxie of Cyber-Dyke was my brilliant demo bottom.

So where do I stand now? I fly to Brown University on Sunday to present 4 classes/workshops on Monday and Tuesday.  I’m doing a cunnilingus class here in Phoenix in April. I was on Kink on Tap last weekend and felt that Sarah Sloane and I rocked the casbah. So clearly, some people/groups like me and want to hear what I have to say.

But every time I present now, I know I’ll have that tiny little worry of “what if?”  What if people walk out? What if people want to walk out but are too polite to and just sit through a horrible class? What if I can never “make it” as a sex educator?

And that, my dear readers, is my most recent story of sex educator fail.

-Essin’ Em

Last month, I presented a workshop at one of the Fascinations stores in Phoenix entitled “What’s In Your Toybox?” It was recorded, and now is online for everyone to see, in case you missed it, don’t live in Phoenix, etc. Enjoy!

-Essin’ Em

(Special thanks to Matt at Fascinations for rocking out with the video stuff!)

As some of you know, this year the New York City Sex Bloggers Calendar is going national in their search for models. I really really really want to be a part of it.

I need your help times 2.

A) I’m trying to figure out a good “pose.”  As their site says, it should represent sexual sexual freedom, what it means to you, how you express it.  I had several ideas, from doing a blind lady justice thing with scales and hand cuffs and rainbows, to being suspended in rope with my cane. I just don’t know.  I express sexual freedom by being me; by being open and honest and educatory and transparent and loud and stubborn everyday. How do I express that visually? I’d love any ideas you may have.

B) I’m in need of a photographer.  I love love love working with Michael Barone, and I think this is right up his alley. However, he lives in Pennsylvania, and I won’t be going there before May. I also contacted a local photographer I’ve met here in Phoenix who I think does excellent work and would get the whole sexual freedom thing, but she hasn’t responded to me.  This is where you come in; do you know someone in the Phoenix/Tucson area that would be interested and does great photography?  Or someone in RI (I’ll be there March 15th and 16th) or NY (I’ll be on Long Island April 1-4th)?

Any advice, suggestions, support, etc would be very much appreciated!

<3

-Essin’ Em

The name of this product alone makes me want to get all sassy and say “you go girl…”

What is it?

It’s the Go Girl, provided to me for inspection and review by Babeland.

It comes in Camo (above, which we got) or pink.  Not so much my thing. What is it? It’s a STP (stand to pee) device, useable for all sorts of things from gender varient people wanting to use urinals to going camping or even rocking out at musical or Pride festivals. It’s an easier way to pee standing up.

Now, I’ve tried something similar before, also from Babeland last fall; the P style (read my review). I was excited to see what made this one different, and hopefully better, and even chatted it up on twitter with the lovely Nina Hartley.

This review may turn into a comparison of the two. Sorry, but I think that is more helpful.

The Go Girl wins for transit, that’s for sure. It’s flexible, so you can roll it up, put it in this cute little tube it came in, put said tube (and TP if you want) in the little Go Girl plastic bag it came with and done. It’s tiny – you can put it in your purse, pocket, back pack, even sock.  Contrast this to the long and fairly rigid P-Style, and Go Girl wins out on transportable-ness.

How about usability? P-Style wins. Hands down. Both Q and I tried the Go Girl….it aims well, yes, and fits fairly well in the crotch-al region. However, we both had our own issue; when she was using it, she over flowed the cup part, and had to work on slowing down/stopping her urination stream, which is not easy to do.  Mine seemed to be ok as far a speed/quanity was concerned, but I somehow wound up dripping it down my leg (perhaps it was trying to use it while wearing a skirt?). Contrast this with the P-style, which was easy to use, didn’t overflow, and was no drip. Plus, with the P-style, the harder surface can be used to wipe excess pee off in a forward motion much more easily. P-style wins on action.

Both are fairly easy to clean, both can be wiped down easily, both have color options.  All in all, I’d say take the P-style if you have room (they make cute little baggies for it), but the Go-Girl if you have a space/packing issue. One last thought; I think Go Girl is a really stupid name to market something that will be very useful to gender variant folks.  Q certainly doesn’t identify as a girl (nor do I for that matter), and I can’t see a lot of trans men and genderqueer people being like “let me just grab my go girl” with it’s pink packaging.  Marketing could certainly have done better on this part.

5 stars for the concept for Go Girl, but only 3 for actual function.

I wonder what Nina thought of it…

Click here to get a Go Girl of your own, or click here if you’re more in the mood for the P Style.

-Essin’ Em

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

Note: I don’t actually have this suitcase, although I really wish I did!

This afternoon, Q and I are leaving to the wonderous city of San Francisco. I’ve only been once, and she’s never been, so it should be very excited.

I’m teach on Thursday, Friday, and most of the day Saturday. Click here to see what classes/workshops I’m doing when and where. I’d love to see you!

Additionally, I look forward to meet up with Dr. Charlie Glickman, Carol Queen, Jiz Lee, Madison Young, Ian Sparks,  Margaret and T of They Belong to Us, Mollena, and hopefully a variety of other awesome sex-positive people while in the Bay Area. I’m going to hook my essinem at gmail dot com email up to Q’s phone, and I should have wireless in the hotel, so if you don’t have my number, and would like to meet for coffee/tea/drinks/veggie friendly food, just shoot me an email or DM me on twitter with your number

Hoping for good weather, safe travel, low pain, full classes/workshops, and a great time all around.

See you on the flip side!

-Essin’ Em

This is a repost from ShannaKatz.com for the most part. For those who don’t follow me on Twitter or Facebook, I’m heading to San Francisco this week. Q will be at a higher ed conference, and I’m going to put on some classes/workshops, as well as meet up with some of my favorite sex positive people.

Hope to see you there!

-Essin’ Em

I’m heading out to one of my favorite cities this week; beautiful San Francisco. While out there, I’ll be presenting not one, not two, not even three, but four classes/workshops AND I’ll be reading erotica with the lovely Rita Seagrave and dashing Patrick Califia.

What’s the 411 on what’s going on? Well, you can always check my schedule, but I’ll break it down for you here as well.

February 25th – I’ll be at the Center for Sex and Culture talking about Relationship Mapping and Poly 101. Click here to get more info.

February 26th – I’ll be presening my famous Vaginal Fisting for One and All at the CSC. Click here to get more info.

February 27th – Today is a busy day, as I’m part of Sizzle at Femina Potens. At 2pm, I’m talking about BDSM 101 (click here for info/tickets). At 4pm, I’m presenting Sexability, about sex and dis/ability (click here for info/tickets). Then at 8pm, I’m reading erotica (click here to get info/tickets).

There you go folks; 5 opportunities to come learn, chat, grown and talk about sex with me. I’ll be available after each class/workshop to talk more one and one, and I certainly hope to see many of you (of those in the Bay Area) at one or more of these events!

Since moving to Arizona, I’ve tried to get involved in many communities, including multiple facets of the kink community here in Phoenix.  Within the first two weeks, we’d joined three groups, been to a kink carnival and orientation, and a women only play party, not to mention a munch or two. I tried to meet people, to make things work, to fit in.

While we made a few select friends, for the most part, we didn’t fit. There are very few queer identified people out and about to start, and even less in the kink community. In several groups, we’re the only queer identified couple.  At the women’s only event, I received a little bit of femme bashing, and Q felt incredibly out of place. And queerness aside, we felt very out of place because we not attach a D/s dynamic to our relationship, and it seems as though almost everyone here is very staunchly identified as top or bottom, Dom(me) or sub, and we don’t.  We don’t even identify as switches.  While occasionally she’ll call me Mistress during sex, or I’ll call her Sir while all tied up, we don’t play with power much. We’re just kinky, and that doesn’t seem to be an option.

I decided to start a new group here; AlternaKink. For those of us who don’t play within the typical power structure of BDSM, those who are queer or have different gender presentations and don’t feel comfortable in the current spaces, for those who like to laugh while playing, and who are alternative.

And cue the storm of “oh my god, you’re a horrible person, you’re not community oriented, you’re fracturing the community.”  Never mind that I specifically noted that I respected the other groups, planned to stay of member of them, and was just trying to create a safe space and additional options.  There aren’t even parties every weekend here, none the less a choice of “should we go here, or here.”

Apparently, everytime someone has tried to start another group here, they’ve been shouted down, told that they’re community wreckers, and been sabotaged in a variety of ways. Well, that actually comes after the guilt trip; I had comments, messages and wall posts telling me that the current (and only) public dungeon in Phoenix IS a safe space, is queer friendly, has no problems, and that I should just shut the fuck up (essentially). Then, there where the offers of having my new group meet at and rent space from the current (and only) public dungeon.  Why branch out? Stay here, with this dungeon, in the community. Don’t do your own thing. Don’t create a space. Here, come, drink the kool aid.

Please don’t tell me a space is safe if I don’t feel safe there. If I, who am stubborn and annoying and go out of my way to meet people, feel uncomfortable, judged, and unwelcome, don’t tell me that is invalid. If when I suggest going to a play party, my partner tells me she does not feel comfortable going there, do not tell me that I’m just “making things up” or “haven’t tried.”

Communities thrive when there are lots of branches of the same tree. In this anaology, the tree is kink. If there is only one big branch weighing down the whole tree (said public dungeon), nothing new grows, nothing thrives, and eventually, the tree falls over and dies.  If there are lots of groups, that create new opportunities and spaces (both physical and conceptual), their is constant growth, and the tree continues to grow and thrive over time. New buds come (new members joining the community), old buds bloom, and everything is well and good. I can be a member of and support a community by creating a new place for people who feel they don’t fit in the old one.

Sometimes I meet people who have been to one kink event, and hated it. They don’t want to go back because they don’t identify as D/s, or as part of a leather family, or because they got stared at for having full sleeves, or short hair cuts, or for appearing gender queer.  Instead of just telling these people (myself included) to fuck off and kick them to the curb, why not create a new space in the community, and welcome them with open arms.  While they may not be on the same main branch of the tree, they are at least IN the community, instead of feeling like outsiders.

I know, I’ve set myself up for a lot of crap coming my way. Yes, it’ll be a struggle. But our first coffee/tea meet up is tomorrow, and I have hope.

Why? Because I WANT to be part of this community. I don’t want to feel like I don’t fit in. I want to grow and change and have fun and play and light people on fire and beat them up, and hope is what makes change happen.