Sexuality Happens

I’ve decided to write a series of articles, both for here and for Good Vibrations. It’s going to be called Sex 411: The Sex Ed You Never Got in School. It’s going to be informative, interesting and amusing, and it’s going to cover things that I (and hopefully you) deem important things about sex/sexuality/etc that you never got in your middle school/high school/college sexuality education classes. I already know some topics I’m planning on writing about, but I’d love to hear from you, from your friends, your partners, your kids, etc, about subjects that warrant discussion.

Here are some ideas I’m already planning on writing about:

*Lube; different types, when to use it, ingredient allergies, social perceptions

*Safer sex; how can we make barriers less icky and more sexy, since no one REALLY loves a condom/dam

*Period sex; pros/cons, how to do it safely, talking about it, etc

*How to talk with your partner about relationships styles (mono, poly, partner but playing, etc)

*How to come out as kinky

*First timers; how to deal with fears, concerns, etc, and figure out the right time

*Toys; introducing them, figuring out what works for you without blowing the budget

*Post sex activities; clean up, peeing (no UTIs), etc

*When you DO have an STI: people DO get them — how do you tell current, future and/or past partners

*Casual sex; how to have it while making it as safe and fun as possible

*Role playing: Types, discussions, etc

*Sex with/as a survivor; how to provide/ask for support, resources, etc

Any other ideas?  I’d love to hear them, and hopefully write about them.  Please comment here, unless you’d like to be more anonymous and send me an email at essinem at GMAIL dot com.  Either way, please, let me know topics you wish you’d learned in sex ed in your school(s), or from your parents, etc. If you can re-post, re-tweet, etc, and let people know about this, I’d really appreciate it!

Thanks!

-Essin’ Em

This is an issue.

A huge one.

Domestic violence, and relationship violence, and sexual violence, and all of that? Huge issue, period. Regardless of who is involved. It affects EVERYONE, whether you’re a victim/survivor, someone who knows people involved, family, friends, counselors, etc.  Everyone is part of this.

We have a lot of problems talking about DV/RV and getting everyone to realize that it IS a problem affecting everyone. Our concepts of it are that men abuse women. Physically, mentally, emotionally, with threats.  This is all violence. It’s hard to help people understand that abuse is more than just hitting, yet most people “get it” eventually.

But what happens when it is a woman abusing a man? Suddenly, everyone is skeptical.  Women abusing men? But how?!? Teh men are all so big and scary and…what? Are they going to hit them back and become violent themselves? Are they going to hurt their partners just to get out of it? Why can’t we see women as abusive? Because let me tell you, they definitely can be.

And if people have a hard enough time understanding that women can abuse men, it gets even more complicated in the queer community. Can women abuse women? And men abuse men? Moreover, does it matter on gender presentation?

I have a friend. Actually, the first dyke I had sex with. Who now identifies as either a stone butch or a transguy – we haven’t talked too much as of late. Anyway, this amazing person is a victim of relationship violence at the hands of their Femme partner.  And very few people can fathom this.

Because if women are abusing women, it MUST be the more masculine presenting person doing the abuse, right?

Bull fucking shit.

Anyone can abuse anyone, regardless of relationship type, gender presentation, sex, age, etc. Abuse is abuse, anyway it happens.

It is fucking hard to report abuse, to ask for help, period. It is even harder to leave. Depending on whose statistics you read, it can take 7-12 times of trying to leave your partner before you can actually do it without going back. Ridiculously hard to do, for a variety of reasons.

Now imagine trying to ask for help, to get support, when you are in the minority.  When you’re queer, or gay, or lesbian, or in a poly family, or a butch being abused by a femme. Imagine how much harder it is.

I’ve looked for resources, because I wanted to share.  In Colorado, we have the Colorado Anti-Violence Program, which has a hotline, but it’s generally geared towards violence against queer people by non-queer people.  I’ve talked to generic DV/RV hotlines, and they say anyone is welcome to call…but having talked with a few of their workers, I can see how hard it would be to be queer and call in.

So folks, I put this to you.  This is a problem in our community. It is.  How do we provide help, support, resources and more? Are the numbers and organizations I don’t know about? Post them here, please share them. Do you have ideas to help make this cause more known, and/or take the stigma away? Please, speak up.

To all victims/survivors of abuse, regardless of gender or orientation, please know I support you. In any way I can. My heart goes out to you…and hopefully, we, as a community, are on our way to creating a better support system for you and your loved ones.

That is all.

Essin’ Em

I was just realizing that there hasn’t been nearly as much posting this year about April being Sexual Assault Awareness Month.  So I thought I’d just mention something before my least favorite month of the year draws to a close.

Some one you know is a survivor. Likely, many people.  You might not know that they are, but statistically, it’s pretty impossible to not know even one.  Depending on the study you read, 1 in 4 college women are survivors, and 1 in 17 men.

Here is one of the largest and best resources for survivors:

Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network.

There are tons and tons of local places; hot lines, shelters, organizations, hospitals, etc. Ask around, google, call RAINN, write me and I’ll figure one for you. You are NOT alone. Your friends, family, and loved ones are NOT alone. There is support there, regardless of your age, sex, gender, orientation, who assaulted you, when and where the assault occurred, etc.  You are never alone.

Here are my posts in the sexual assault category, and here is the story of my sexual assault.  Don’t feel the need to read any of them, but sometimes reading about others stories, and support, it will inspire you in a variety of ways.

Also…

Alix Olson is one of my favorite poets/spoken-word performers, and I was lucky enough to hear her perform at Take Back the Night at Colorado College in 2006. All of her words and lyrics are incredibly inspiring for a variety of reasons. I’d like to share some with you.

Warriors

The paper called me a warrior.
a bad girl. a bad example.
The paper said I smile big,
but I curse too much.
and it’s true. I do
Feel like a warrior just for making it through the day, sometimes
I feel like a fighter. Cause I fight
to keep the fighting away and, sometimes,
Walking down the street is a scientific experiment.
your body laid out, splayed out, just for them
to tamper with it.
But you know, I think it’s those with the scalpels
who are really the rats
They want to dissect your ass cause your brain won’t hold still for them
Under that slide marked:
’split and fill with bullshit’.
Y’know, my ass don’t fit under that glass
And my brain moves way too fast for that.
Cause if this is a movement we’re making,
we have got to get moving
In this crazy maze we’ve been handed, we’ve got to quit losing ourselves.
We gotta use our big fat mouths to talk,
We gotta use our big thick thighs to walk.
We got to follow those who choose
a different way to knock,
Those who banged with persistence
like the Audre Lordes, the Barbara Lees,
the Leslie Feinbergs, the June Jordans of my existence,
Who chose a different way to walk,
took a chance, didn’t prance, tiptoe,
twirl though this world.
You see, I refuse to slide past
Even if it means coming in last.
I’m gonna stomp and rage and kick,

talk hard, think thick,
Y’know, it don’t take a dick to have balls,
it don’t take balls to knock down the walls
Of this cheap joint.
You know, the point’s hard to find with all these
ground down passions.
But we’ve got a chance if we sharpen our visions
with our voices.
It’s a choice to make noise, it’s hard to be heard
They’ll toss you a muzzle wherever you go.
But baby, it’s the waves that let you know
the ocean’s alive.
So, we’ve gotta go deep.
Down past where your daddy found your key,
unlocked your knees
And took control
Past where your brother cruised your borders
like some kind of nightguard patrol,
Past where the babysitter stuck a pencil up inside you.
So many ways they get you to hide you
From the world, girl,
We gotta go deep
We gotta use our black and blues like a second skin,
Let our bruises thicken,
Then begin again.
We gotta get up when we’re pushed to the ground,
They aint gonna hear us if we’re screaming face down.
We gotta rise to double the size of our sound.
You know warriors are better
the second time around.

So the other day, I was actually signed onto AIM, shocking us all. I was ALWAYS on in through most of high school, and had it on CONSTANTLY (with creative away messages when I was AFK – away from the computer, in college).  I had friends all over the world, and AIM was the easiest and cheapest way to talk to them, all the time. As I hit grad school, I had less and less free time (working full time, part time and going to grad school full time…then add roller derby in there), so I wasn’t on that often. Nowdays, I mostly use g-chat through gmail, although I occasionally sign on to AIM if I want to talk to a specific friend.

The other day, I’d left AIM on.  I got an IM from someone whose screen name I didn’t recognize, so I began the conversation. Turns out it was him.  The guy that sexually assaulted me.  Turns out he lives in Denver now…actually, about five minutes away from me.  Don’t know what I’m talking about? Read “Sexual Assault, My Story.”

At first, I was just shocked that he was talking to me. I can’t remember the last time he tried to IM me.  Sophomore year maybe?  I remember I saw him this year at homecoming, and just froze. He didn’t recognize me.  I’m a little taller now, I had red hair at the time, and I have a fuck ton more self-confidence than I had at all in college, especially my first year.  But now he was talking to me, telling me he lived near me. It took me a second to figure out what was even going on.

I think he’s one of the guys that doesn’t realize what he did, what happened, how much he has affected my life.  There was a video we watched once in college, and this guy talked about how he’d gotten a girl really drunk, how he’d taken her to the special room his frat had for taking drunken and drugged girls, and how he held her down with his arm across her chest as she tried to get away, and how he fucked her. He doesn’t consider himself someone who has ever perpetrated sexual assault. Some guys just don’t get it.  I don’t think this one does.

I signed off. And called Q. I didn’t know who else to talk to.  F hadn’t been very supportive when I told her about seeing him at homecoming. My best friend was asleep. I needed someone.

At first, I was non-chalant.  ”Sorry, I know you’re busy. I didn’t want to bother you. I just was kind of, upset. But I’m fine now.” And then, I started talking. I’d never told her my story…in fact, at our Vagina Retreat, I’d realized that she was the first person I hadn’t told about my assault before we had sex. I thought that was a good sign, that I was healing more, moving on. But here I was, pouring out my heart to her. Less than 4 days after our “not looking to be girlfriends, but let’s be friends who fuck” talk. I sat there, tell her, through my tear (oh yes, he can still make me cry) how I was terrified I’d run into him at the store, or I’d be in the park and then he’d be there, and what would I do? Calmly, she told me I’d turn and walk away. That I could do that. I cried more, explaining that I was so angry there was nothing I could do now. I hadn’t reported him when I was 17…I didn’t know I could, and it took me a while to even realize what it was. I couldn’t report him, I couldn’t hurt him, I couldn’t do anything. I had no control, and that scared me. I don’t like having no control. I was angry, and hurt, and felt like he had just regained power over me, as now I was nervous about going to the store.  We talked for a while. And I felt a little better. I told her part of my story, and about the guilt I felt, how it was my fault for entering the situation, and my fault for not leaving.  She didn’t tell me it wasn’t – she just listened.

This is now six years later. More than that, actually.  And still, this intense reaction, these emotions pouring out of me. This fear, this anger, this hurt.  Right in the middle of the Vagina Monologues, of all times.

It goes to show that it never goes away. It never heals. You can be a survivor, at veteran of sexual violence, but it never ends. It runs through you, affecting you, sometimes without you even realizing.

So this is me, speaking up, speaking out…yet again. Sexual violence is not just creepers in the bushes. It is not just abusive husbands. It is not just a product of war. It is HERE. It is people you know, people you love.  It isn’t then, it is now. It it always. So support your friends, your family, your loved ones, and work to stop to violence.

-Essin’ Em

I love vaginas. I love women. I do not see them as separate things. Women pay me to dominate them, to excite them, to make them come.

Sound like something I’d say? It will be.  It’s from the piece I’ll be doing in the Vagina Monologues, entitled The Woman Who Loved To Make Vaginas Happy (so fitting).

I’ve been involved in the Vagina Monologues before…three times before.  I will be involved in them again, as many times as I possibly can.  The Vagina Monologues are part of the V-Day Campaign.

What is the V-Day Campaign? The V-Day Campaign is a catalyst for mobilizing women and men to heighten awareness about violence against women and girls. By creating this global community, V-Day strives to empower women to find their collective voices and demand an end to the violence that affects one in three women in the U.S and around the world.

I am involved in this not because I am a theater nerd, and feel the call of the stage. I am involved in this not because I’m excited to moan and orgasm in front of tons of people.

I am involved in this because every day, there is violence perpetrated against women and girls. In Colorado, in the US, all over the word. Against cisgender women, against transwomen, against children.  Some of the violence is obvious; it’s physical violence, it’s genocide, it’s rape.  Some of the violence is less obvious; it’s girls not having the same educational opportunities, it’s the pay gap between what women get paid and what men get paid, it’s the sexism perpetuated against women in offices, schools, sporting events, etc.  I will do my absolute best to continue to be involved in this until the violence stops.  And if it never does, neither will I.

Please come hear the stories of women, of girls, of vaginas. Come Reclaim Cunt with us, come cry tears with us, come laugh out loud with up. Come support women. Come.

That’s all.

The Vagina Monologues will be playing in Boulder, Colorado on February 27th and 28th at the St. Julian Hotel, 900 Walnut Street, and March 10th at Boulder Theater, 2032 14th Street. All three shows are at 8pm.  To purchase tickets for the February shows, order them here. To get tickets for the March show, visit the Boulder Theatre. I hope to see you and your friends there.

-Essin’ Em

As some of you (all of you? many of you?) may know, I was sexually assaulted in college. I wrote up my story of being assaulted here, in recognition of sexual assault awareness and prevention month (April). Read it or don’t; it is out there because I feel survivors should speak up, if they can. Without our words, people can continue to pretend that it isn’t happening, that the numbers are wrong, that our friends and family members aren’t really victims and survivors of rape, assault, incest, harassment, and more.

There is a call out for women survivor’s stories (I am one of the first to point out the plethora of male survivors as well…but this specific project focuses on women). It’s called “Hear Us Roar“, and their goal is to collect the stories of 100 women (not just the story, but how you have recovered, who you’ve grown, and what you want to share with other survivors) by July 31st, turn them into a book by the end of the year, and use that book to raise a ton of money for sexual assault response and prevention charities, as well as to help other survivors get through their experiences, and realize that there is light on the other side.

If you are a woman who has experienced sexual assault, I encourage you to share your story. I know not everyone can…and that’s ok too. However, if you’re at that point please go to Hear-Us-Roar.com, and share YOUR story (by Thursday!), in order to help out women and charities all over the world. I know I submitted mine (and cutting it down to 1200 words was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done!). Please feel to repost, and tell your friends, families, readers, etc, about it.

My thoughts and hopes are with all survivors, regardless of sex, gender, age, orientation, race, religion, ability, or how it happened. We’re all in this together, and we’ll all pull through.

-Essin’ Em

Let me preface this: I do not believe in victim (or survivor) blaming, in any way shape, or form. EVER.

That said, many psychologists believe that people tend to fall into three groups (or just two, depending on who you’re talking to); predators, victims, and those in between. Many self defense classes teach you to take more of a predatory stance; how you walk, how you talk, how you act in a situation.

I’ve been wondering…do I give off victim vibes? Not really in a sexual assault, come jump me sense, but more of a…weak sense? I know that doesn’t make sense.

It’s recent events that have made me think on this. A few weeks back, a friend, C and I were at a queer party. A hoarde of drunken straight guys was there as well. They tried to dance up on some of us…our friend (a former pro-domme/roller girl) stuck them in the bathroom to stop them from bothering us. They came back. I kind of backed myself into a corner so that they couldn’t come up behind me, and kept dancing. Finally, we were ready to leave. I was trying to get to C and our friend, and the guys had surrounded me, and one blocked me.

“Excuse me.”

He didn’t move. I drew up some courage, and tried to be aggressive: “MOVE.”

“Oh really? That wasn’t very nice.” I was starting to get nervous now. Really nervous. In fact, more nervous than I’ve been around men in years. Worried for my physical saftey. My friend was on the other side, I didn’t know if she’d noticed my plight.

“PLEASE move?” He didn’t move an inch, until he went flying into a table and broke a chair.

“I heard her say please. You didn’t move.” My friend had gotten pissed, and solved the situation the old fashioned way. I ran outside and left. I was worried…what would have happened if she hadn’t been there?

I was so proud of myself a week or two ago. I was dancing at an after party; C and I had a girl sandwiched between us, and were dancing. A guy came up and put on hand on each of our (C and I) shoulders. “Looks like you could use a little bit of me in there.”

I grabbed it hand, not so gently threw it off my shoulder, and said “obviously, you’re wrong. Back off.”

I was telling this to K, and said something like “you would have been so proud of me” and then told the story. I finished it with “I know it’s not a big deal to you, but it was really a big thing for me.” He said he knew.

Why is that a big thing? Why is it this huge deal for my to defend myself, to keep others out of my personal space? Why do I rely on others to fight my battles for me?

I wrote about post a few days back about the woman who was making me uncomfortable. A couple comments asked why I didn’t leave earlier, remove myself from the awkward situation. It happened with a woman at Roller Girl Karaoke in Philly too. She kept stalking me around the bar, and while I felt that I had shown her I wasn’t interested, she kept pursuing. I have an issue with hurting people; either their feelings, or physically.

I also have an issue with authority, but not the normal “fuck authority” kind. Authority figures tend me make me feel timid and weak. I know that sounds weird. I told my friend (the “I throw men into tables before breakfast” friend) that I don’t take risks. She looked at me, and pointed out that I write a sex blog, I have naked pictures of myself online, I’ve fucked people I’ve just met, etc. She’s right. Those ARE risks.

However, I don’t tend to take risks that deal directly with authority. The two times I’ve been pulled over in my life, I started crying…not to get out of a ticket, but because I was upset. The one time I was called to the office in high school (for a non-celebratory reason), I was bawling. I don’t shout “fuck the pigs” even if I’m angry with the cops. When I get in altercations, I back down, and if I need to deal with it later, I deal with it through writing. While I’ll dance on the table at friends’ houses, and bars that allow it, I hate going out with really drunk people, because I don’t want to get kicked out of public places.

Maybe I do somehow come off as a victim, because I’m scared of hurting people, and terrified of getting in serious trouble (the kind that would come from punching someone in the face). Because I don’t want to seem like I’m over reacting when I’m uncofmrtable, maybe I just shut down, rather than getting myself to a safe place.

This is not good. I don’t want to rely on people to protect me. I can protect myself, damn it. I’ve taken self defense classes, I know how to rack someone, and as I recently discovered, I can call someone an ass to their face. I just worry that I’m going to continue to freeze up in these situations, to not do anything for a variety of reasons, and to set myself up for this treatment over and over again.

But how do I change who I am?

-Essin’ Em

I had sex. Really good, emotionally and physically fulfilling sex. With someone who is intelligent, witty, amusing, creative, and as it turns out, incredibly artistically talented.

Remember my post about Sex vs. Skin Hunger? Yes, same person. She was at this giant roller derby event I was working this weekend, hanging out with a mutual friend. Friend had to go, I offered to drive her home, if she oh, wanted to stay for the after party and dance it up. See my suaveness? She did stay; we went and saw the last bout of the night (and the Philly Liberty Belles won! Congrats), and dipping ourselves in the pool for a bit.

After party was wonderful; free food, a perfectly made grasshopper, and lots of dancing with friends, and derby girls from around the country. My newly found friend (we’ll call her C. For Crackerjack. Don’t ask, she just wanted that) needed a smoke break (yes, I know, I know. My new list of “nots,” but sometimes, it’s just worth it), and we wound up hanging out on a stoop outside, lying on each other again. It just felt good, and if it feels good, I say do it. I found out later that between the outside, and leaning on her shoulder inside, there were all these rumors abounding through the derby league, many involving us having sex in the bathroom (did not happen), or making out on the dance floor (also, did not happen).

Finally, it was late, and I was rocking 3.5 hours of sleep, so I drove her home. Due to a key mishap, we had to go meet her roommate in the woods, and then we finally got back to her place. Where she asked me if I wanted to come up. No one ever asks me that. But I (of course), said yes, and braved two flight of steps.

It was nice, hanging out. She’s incredibly talented in an artistic sense; I was just floored by some of her work. Beautiful. We talked, and chatted, and looked at interesting things, and by this point, it was really late. She asked if I just wanted to stay over…and after remembering that I’d left out extra food for the cats in case I wound up crashing at the event hotel, I agreed (of course). She handed me an extra t-shirt, and I change, and went to the bathroom. When I came back, she was in bed, toppless, and asked me if she could turn out the light.

I settled into bed with her, and took her arm flayed to the side as a sign that I could rest my head on her naked breasts.

Let me take a break from the sequence to remark upon her breasts. They were honestly the most perfect set of breasts I’ve ever seen. This is not hyperbole, it is the truth. They are the right size for my hands, they sit perfectly on her chest, they are soft and grabbable, and the shape that when people paint breasts, that they paint them. I’ve never really been a huge fan of breasts (other than my own) before….but by god, I wanted to just grab them. All the time.

Back to the story. So I lay next to her, head on her breasts, and ran my fingers slowly over her arms, her stomach, hips, neck, face, etc. It felt so relaxing, so safe, it was just wonderful. And then I asked her if it was ok if I took my shirt off too (I am all kinds of about consent), and when it was, I did.

Skin on skin contact is phenomenal. People who don’t get it on a regular basis (myself included), are missing out. It just feels so wonderful. We were there together, gently running hands over each others bodies, skin bonded together, and it felt so calm and peaceful. I didn’t have any plans to try and get her to sex me up (weird, I know), I was just enjoying being there so much.

I wanted to run my fingers over her breasts. I wanted to touch them, to hold them, to feel them. I didn’t know quite how to ask. I ran my hands through the middle, up her sternum, around the bottoms of them, but I wanted to be feeling them.

“What can I touch?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Anything, except I don’t want pressure of any kind on my neck.”

That wasn’t a definitive answer. Anything could mean anything that the average person wouldn’t consider sexual. Not enough consent for me to grab them. I kept on moving my fingers over her curves. I moved my hand closer, and tried to look at her questioningly, to get approval, but eye contact in a mostly dark room is iffy at best.

Finally, I asked. “Um, is it ok if touch your breasts?” Not the most eloquently phrased question I’d ever asked, but at least I’d have a straight answer. When she replied in the affirmative, I slowly moved my hands up. God, they felt just as wonderful as they looked. If I had breasts like that, I’d be groping myself all the time, every day. Seriously.

I’m always worried when I play with a new person who I don’t *know* to be kinky. I know what I like on my breasts and nipples; firm pull, pinching, twisting, biting. Most people aren’t into that, but I never know how hard is hard. Which is why I’m all about communication. So I asked her.

We were there together, moving, running hands and fingers over each other, my reaching over, and gently grabbing each breast, her running her hand down my back, making me shiver. It wasn’t even overtly sexual, it was just this…I don’t know how to describe it. It reminded me of a play I was in during college, called (interestingly enough, oh Dan Savage) “Savage Love.” It was a variety of poems and words, and each within a scene, and people moved throughout the building to see the different vignettes. One involved a group of us lying on the ground, entwined completely, gently removing each other’s clothing (not all the way), breathing heavily, writhing almost snake like. I felt almost the same way; the touch, the movement, the comfortability you feel with a cast you’ve been working with for weeks. It was similar.

I don’t remember who started it. I think she kissed me on my forehead or cheek. I don’t know. Suddenly, it was more sexual. Not overtly, not a hand shoved into my underwear, or lips pressing against each other. It just was. My breath intermingling with hers, both of us breathing heavily, I could feel her heart beating in her chest.

We actually didn’t kiss for a while. When we did, it didn’t feel like I’d been waiting forever, it just felt right. Our hands still moved over each other’s bodies, fingers occasionally intertwining with each other.

Again, I asked what was ok, what she liked. What was ok, because consent, even in a non-kink based scene, is so important. I wouldn’t kiss someone on the neck without asking (or at least asking what wasn’t ok), I wouldn’t put my fingers in their hair and grab, I just wouldn’t. What she liked because I was getting so turned on, watching how she reacted to what I was doing.

C liked having her hair pulled. And her nipples tugged, and licked and slightly bitten. She liked having her ears and her neck kissed…and bitten. Mmmm. Biting.

I was allowed to leave marks.

Some people bring out more of my dominant side. She is one of them. I wanted to bite her and leave marks. I wanted to wrap my fingers in her hawk and pull. Hard. I wanted to grab her breasts, and then, I wanted to do whatever she’d let me.

So I did. I kissed her, and bit her, and left these beautiful marks. I like leaving marks. A lot. Not sure why…but I do. Which is weird, because as much as I like getting marks now, I used to totally not understand the purpose of hickeys or wanting to leave marks, in general.

Her nipples were sensitive, but just the right amount. I do this thing with my tongue that she seemed to like, and her face, and the slight noises she was making set my clit throbbing. I really enjoy making people feel hot and bothered.

I asked if I could touch her over her underwear, and then eventually, I asked if I could take them off. With them gone, I had access to her completely.

I wish I’d had lube. I’m not used to playing with people without it. I need to keep a bottle of Aqua in my purse or something, just so I have it. That would be a good plan. Genius in fact. Anyways, I worked without it, and all I wanted to do was (after a while), shove my fingers inside her, feel her grip onto them, and fuck her.

Finally, I asked what I could do to her, and she asked how I felt about putting my fingers inside her. Perfect. I slowly entered her with one, and worked my way up to two, and was fucking her, and enjoying her reactions…

When she suddenly sat up, and grabbed my hand, and told me to stop. I did, of course, but was confused. Ok. My nails are currently ridiculously short (done to prove a point), so I didn’t think I’d somehow scratched her. I’d asked if the two fingers felt ok, and there had been a positive response. What the fuck had I done wrong?

She told me it was just something that had struck her in a not-ok way, a mental reaction, a trigger. I didn’t ask her what; people will tell you if and when they want to. I gently pulled out, and she had her arms around me, and I was doing ok, although slightly disappointed, but that’s my problem, not hers. We sat there, and got back to talking. I went to put my hand on her cheek, gently, the same way we’d been doing all night. She flinched and jerked away from it.

Yes. I understand that this is something that has nothing to do with me. Yes, I get that.

However, I don’t know if I’ll ever get that picture out of my head. Reaching towards someone, and having them jerk away from me. I felt dirty. And horrible. How could anyone ever think that I, nick named in college “Queen of Consent,” would ever hurt someone? I know that it was a natural reaction, and that we all carry our pasts on our shoulders (I’ve written about this a lot before), but I just felt this incredible frustration that it seemed that no matter what I did to try and make things ok and comfortable, and safe, I always did something that fucked things up. When I was with J, there was the issue during his period. With Dana, Miss Avarice’s girlfriend, it was accidentally making her cry (which turned out to be not my fault at all, but it still felt awful), and now I was making someone wince when I tried to touch her. I felt awful.

I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to roll over and go to sleep, to try and get the water filling my eyes to go away. I told her I was fine. She said my eyes (although how she could see in the dark, I don’t know) said something different. So we talked about some of it, about how everyone has issues, and sex fucks up people at different points, and we always learn about new triggers.

And then, she told me we’d better take care of some of this…frustration, that I was feeling. And asked if she could leave marks on *MY* body. Of course, as I am not going on vacation soon, the answer was yes.

I loved kissing her, feeling her hands in my hair, pulling my head back, teasing me as I wanted her to kiss me. Her biting my breasts, my stomach, my collarbone. Her fingers pulling on my nipples, her tongue working it’s way along my breasts. I felt her hand between my legs, and bucked up against it. It all felt so good.

I wanted to ask her to fuck me, but felt that might be uncouth. I didn’t know what she was ok with, and after what had happened, I didn’t want to push anything. She asked me what I wanted, but I didn’t feel right asking to have her inside, and I wasn’t really in a position to be thinking deep thoughts anyways, so I think I may have made the curved to finger sign with my hand. She told me that she’d like to be inside, but didn’t have gloves with her, and had a cut on her hand. I must have been really into whatever was going on, because I said something like “do you have cuts on both hands?” rather than just taking that as a no.

She didn’t, and felt amazing as she entered me. First with one finger, then two. Again, I wish I’d had lube with me, as lube makes everything better, but it still felt wonderful.

I was worried. I have only come once or twice without a vibrator or oral stimulation. She was fucking me, and rubbing my clit, and it felt so good, but what if I couldn’t get off? I wanted it so badly, first of all, and secondly, I didn’t want her to feel weird about it if it just wasn’t going to happen.

But it did. And when it did, it was amazing. I came…and every time she moved her fingers again even just a little, I would be coming and moaning and shaking all over again. I don’t know if they were multiple orgasms, because I usually think of those as separate, but it was wonderful. It went on for a few minutes, until I told her I couldn’t take it anymore, and then, even when we were kissing again, and her thigh brushed against me, I was getting set off again.

After a bathroom trip and more talking, I discovered something new I liked, that I hadn’t even considered before; get slapped on the vulva. It’s ridiculous; it hurts, and feels fucking phenomenal at the same time…to the point where I was actually able to come from it (I’ve found that once I’ve come once, I can do it more easily and in a bigger variety of ways). I really liked it, and will have to play with that more in the future.

C told me I was really passionate. I didn’t really understand what she meant…was it that I was loud, and didn’t hold anything back? Was it that my entire body shudders when someone runs their nail down my spine? Was it the marks I left on her chest and neck? It was a compliment I think, but I just wasn’t sure what she meant by it. But it made me think about how many people are scared to be loud, or make noise, or move, or really enjoy themselves. I’ve decided that if I’m too embarrassed to do______ in front of someone, even though that’s how I feel/it makes my orgasm better, than I probably shouldn’t be having sex with them.

We cuddled up and talked for a bit, and then her apartment mate walked in on us, both naked, which was amusing. She was having a hard time, and some guy trouble, so she came in and sat and talked with C. I tried to be help out, but I didn’t know the situation, so I tried to be unobtrusive and blend in, and eventually, fell asleep.

We got a little over an hour for sleep before my cell phone alarm went off. After lazing around in bed, I convinced C that taking a shower together was in our best interest. And it was. Fabulous in fact. Not only did she look simply breath taking with the water pouring down her body, but soaping up each other’s bodies while pressed up against the walls was a great start to the day.

After a quick breakfast in the local diner, I had to run to make a bout I was reffing. I drove her around the block, gave her a quick kiss, and was off.

*This* is the kind of sex I want to have. All the fucking time (well, minus the triggering people part). When I say I can’t really have vanilla sex anymore, I don’t mean it has to be a full blown scene; it just can’t be completely plain. This worked. There was conversation, and communication and consent (my 3 C’s of sex). There was banter, and smiling, and fun. There was hot sex. There was touch. There was cuddling, and showering, and it was good. I felt comfortable sleeping in someone else’s bed (not often the case), and it was actually quite comfy (not always the case). I felt safe talking about what bothered me. I felt like I could ask for what I needed/wanted. I didn’t need it to turn into a long term relationship (not that it could, what with leaving). This was ideal, for me.

Strangely, I was thinking about the sex. It kind of reminded me of this one scene in the queer porn movie “Full Load.” Less fetishy, but more with the playfulness, and dominating-ness of both parties. Lots of fun.

Anyways, I have bruises all over my stomach, one underneath my breast, one on my collar bone, and possibly and hint or two of them on my neck. It’s lovely, and when I see them, I remember how I got them (one of the best part of marks!).

I saw her for a second at the after party last night, but I was tired and cranky and bitchy, and decided to go home and sleep. I hope to see her once before I leave to say good bye (and to be honest, I wouldn’t have said no to a quicky), but at least I got a text that was a nice follow up (that she was glad that I had decided to stay over), because I have this fear that I have sex with people, and they either a) get obsessed and stalkery, like my college boyfriend, or the woman at the sex club, or the derby girl, or b) they never talk to me again (like Julius, although that was just making out and gropage).

I’ve done well these last two months. Two good, albeit very different, nights of sex. With people I trusted. Good job me (although, I was telling a friend, how sad is it that sex is such a rare experience in my life that I get so excited and write about it, and such, pretty much every time I have it, because it happens so infrequently? Yeah).

And interesting people who I would now consider my friends. If only I had met cool friends like this before I turned against Philly.

-Essin’ Em

Note: As I re-read this, I realized that I wrote it without ever once using the word cunt. Interesting…I don’t think I’ve ever written about sex (either erotica or sex I’ve had) without using that word. I wonder why I didn’t use it here. Thoughts?

Note: I am now back from sleeping over with her. I spent my last night in Philly pressed up against her body, running my fingers over her curves. I’m glad I made that choice to drive cross town at 1am. Most certainly worth it. More later.

Here is another picture from back in the day in college for a fund raiser for the VDAY foundation. I like it :) Taken by Anne Bean.

Happy Nekkid Thursday!

In other news, tomorrow is the Day of Silence. Click on the banner to the right, or go to DayOfSilence.org.

There are only a few more days left in voting in the Sugarbutch Star Contest. Click Here to Vote (my idea is Shanna: The Diner on the Corner). I appreciate your support (plus it’s just a reeeeally hot story!).

Also, there is less than a week left in April; Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Mont. As many of you know, I’ve been blogging for GBBMC2008, and raising money for RAAIN. However, they’ve had a slight glitch in the system, and the box where you fill in the blank hasn’t been working. IF YOU DONATED, please let me know by commenting, or emailing me (essinem at GMAIL dot com) with your donation amount and transaction number, so it can count towards the contest. Click here for GBBMC2008 info and to see the amazing prize(s) I can win if you donate in honor of me. I know it’s a pain to email me, but I’d really appreciate it (I DO NOT need your credit card numbers, real names, etc, just your transaction number and amount). Even FIVE DOLLARS helps, both RAAIN and me!

If you haven’t donated yet, please click below. This money goes to help your family, friends and even strangers that are survivors of sexual assault and violence.

Donate here to help fight against sexual assault. Tell them I linked you (Essin’ Em or my blog name) and it’s for GBBMC2008. Then shoot me an email letting me know your transaction number and amount.

Otherwise, I’ve got a new hair color, new glasses coming in next weak, and a really hot, legit and far too expensive corset from Passional Boutique. Look for them in the future!

Essin’ Em

I posted this blog back on December 13th, 2007. However, given that it is Sexual Assault and Awareness Month, I am re-posting it, because I think it is very poignant to what is going on in our society. We always think of sexual assault as male on female, and MAYBE male on male. However, men can be sexually assaulted, both by other men AND BY WOMEN. Contrary to some legal definitions, erection DOES NOT equal consent. So as you think about preventing assault, and supporting survivors, please please please do not forget men who have been coerced, harassed and/or assaulted, for there is just as much, if not much more shame associated with being a male survivor than there is with being female. RAINN helps ALL survivors, so if you’d like to donate, please see the link at the bottom of this post.
-Essin’ Em

You know, after a conversation with friends the other night, and a talk with AAG, I’ve been thinking a lot about sexually assault, and unwanted sexual experiences from a different perspective.

I’m a survivor of sexual assault. It happened my first year of college, and while it’s not something you ever get over, I’ve done a lot of processing and work, and I’ve worked for sexual assault prevention groups, and on hotlines, and it’s not a touchy “I can’t talk about it subject.” It’s a big activist thing for me. However, it really gets me when anyone makes it a women’s issue, because it’s not, not from ANY perspective. It’s not only women that need to watch themselves, certainly the people who are doing the assaulting need to take the responsibility, but it is ALSO not only women that are the survivors (I like that term a lot better than victim) of sexual assault/violence/pressures/abuse.

I’m not minimizing AT ALL, in any way shape or form what happens to women. AT ALL. Let me state that first. It happened to me. It happens to millions of women everyday.

It needs to stop. That goes without saying, and I will work to stop sexual violence against women until my last breath.

But we also need to think about men. Men are “victims” as well. I don’t just mean men that are survivors of incest and child abuse. I don’t just mean men that are survivors of domestic violence or stranger rape (5-10%). Let’s look at our social construction of masculinity and male (esp heterosexual male) sexuality in our society.

Imagine going off to college and wanting to not be sexually active, and still wanting to be “cool” and fit in. You go to a big party, you meet some “cool” new guy “friends” and suddenly, everything about being cool and fitting in is about sex. They introduce you to an older woman, maybe a sophomore or a junior, and she is all over you. She tells you she loves to deflower freshman boys (I’ve met women in college like this; they do exist), and to fit in with that crowd, you have to “prove” your sexual prowess. By this point, you’re drunk, and you’re scared, and you just want to make friends They show you to a room upstairs, shove you inside with the hot sophomore, maybe hand you a condom if you’re lucky, and lock you in, telling you to bang on the door when you’ve “done your duty and proven yourself.” You just want to go home, to get out of there, but don’t know how to do it without physically pushing this girl off of you. You tell her no, you’re not interested, and she asks you if you’re gay. You tell her no, you’re just not ready for sex yet. She pushes you onto the bed, takes your clothes off, gives you oral, and has intercourse with you. After you come, she opens the door, tells all the guys that you’re a real man now, and you’re finally accepted.

Things like this happen allllllllll the time. If the sexes were reversed, that might VERY easily been seen as date rape, or at least sexual coercion, but here, it’s generally seen as a guy finally manning up and losing his virginity in such an AWESOME way. I see it as a form of sex assault, to be honest.

Look at the movie 40 Days and 40 Nights. At the end of it, Josh Harnett ties himself to the bed so that he won’t touch himself (to fulfill the end of his Lent deal). His ex comes in and RAPES HIM. She has sex with him completely unconsentually as he is saying no and struggling. Then, his current girlfriend comes in and rather than comfort him, or help him deal with the situation, she tells him how “disappointed in him” she is. The movie completely makes light of the fact that a male was just sexually assaulted, because clearly a guy is “always” wanting it, and therefore cannot be assaulted.

Social and peer pressures make it hard for men to ever say no, especially in settings like high school, college, offices (rumor mills, the water coolers), construction sites, etc, where groups of guys “prove themselves” as men based on sex. If they aren’t having sex, they are seen as weaker, possibly as gay, not as “real men.” If they tell a woman they are with that they don’t want to have sex, sometimes she will feel unwanted, that she has done something wrong, that he isn’t “man enough”, that he is gay, that he “can’t get it up” etc.

Again, peer pressure and social conceptions pressure many guys into having unwanted sexual experiences that they aren’t ready for and don’t want to have. Some of these sexual experience a woman has can be placed at sexual assault, but I think it is very important that we won’t completely discount men when we talk about this subject; men are struggling too from this whole Tough Guise (thank you Jackson Katz) issue, and may need support in the same way that women do, but we are so quick to categorize ALL men as villians in the area of sexual assault and violence.

Just something to think about.

Essin’ Em

Donate here to help fight against sexual assault. Tell them I linked you (Essin’ Em or my blog name) and it’s for GBBMC2008
GBBMC2008 info