Sexuality Happens

I’m be in Seattle this weekend, at Sex 2.0 2010.

I was lucky enough to go last year in Washington, DC (thanks to a little help from a friend who hired me to edit her novel). This year, I’m going thanks to Fascinations, who is also a Gold Sponsor of the event.

This morning, I’m doing on a workshop on the Intersections of Sexuality and Dis/ability, and then will be lucky enough to check out all of the other sessions, workshops and panels.  I’m excited to be seeing some of my favorite people again, as well as getting to meet lots of new and awesome people.  I’m also psyched about the gift bags Fascinations is bringing. 

Sunday night, I’m shooting my final episode for Point of Contact, with some hot Seattle queers. 

Life, she is good.

If you happen to be here this weekend, come find me!

-Essin’ Em

For years, more than three to be exact, I’ve been really good about posting once a day, every day. Even if it’s a shorter post (more like 200, 300 words), I post every day. I remember reading a post from AAG back in 2007 telling people that was the first step in developing committed readers, and becoming a professional blogger. I never really became a professional blogger, but I did become a professional pervert, and I think AAG’s advice and this blog have had a lot to do with that.

As my life gets more busy and crazy and complicated, and I have a “real” job that pays my salary, and involves some travel and/or late nights, I’ve been having more trouble getting this done. Why? Because self-care has become an important anthem in my life (blame being in love with a social worker), and whereas I used to stay up till 4am to wake up at 7am for work, I now try to be in bed, whether for sleep or reading by 11pm or midnight. While I used to sit and watch TV and type posts until the wee hours of the morning, I now keep my TV time and internet time mostly apart, and am back to reading voraciously, because that is how I decompress.

What does this mean? Not as many long, deep, oh so witty posts. I promise you, those too will present themselves, but not always in the mass that they have in the part.

However, I’m taking another tip from AAG.  She tends to post an “old school” post two or three times a month, a post from back in the day, so that people who are newer to reading her get a hint of what’s gone on in her blog’s past. I LOVE that.  Ergo, I will be posting the occasional (maybe two times a month?) back in the day post.  While I haven’t been blogging nearly as long as you, I have some good posts from 2007 and 2008 that I think some of you may enjoy. And some of them show exactly how much I’ve change, so that is always cool as well.

Please don’t hate me. I promise to keep this updated as much as I humanly can. Just remember I also need to take care of myself as much as I humanly can, so that I don’t fall back into depression, or go a little too crazy.

I love you, dear readers, though I don’t always understand why you actually read this.  But note, I’m not going anywhere, just being a good little moose and practicing some self care.

-Essin’ Em

Avenue Q is a witty commentary on PC-ness, racism, homophobia, sexism and discrimination in our society, very tongue in cheek.  It’s one of my favorite musicals.

Funny, then, isn’t it, that I experienced such egregious discrimination and ass-hattery while attending this show.

In case you weren’t aware, I am disabled.  I walk with a cane sometimes, sometimes not, but I am in pain at some level every single day of my life.

We walked in, tickets in hand, asked the usher where to go, and he told us “that way to the stairs.” My friend asked where the elevator was, and he sneered at us, possibly thinking “a couple of fat girls…pshaw.  Don’t want to take the stairs…too bad.”  All he said was “no elevator, stairs are that way.”

Thinking I had misheard (I mean, this was a national tour of Avenue Q, not some local rep putting in on in a warehouse turned brilliant theatre), I asked him politely “so, if one is disabled, how might they avoid the three sets of steep stairs to get to their seat?”

“You should have bought the disabled tickets.” I was stunned. Ok, fine. Maybe I should have called Q to remind her to ask for something accessible. However, I can walk down one or two stairs, and every large theatre I have ever been in (a lot) has had elevators to the balcony level.

“Ok, well, we bought the tickets we could afford, on the balcony. Would the disabled tickets at the orchestra level have been the same price as the cheaper tickets?”

“No, you would have had to pay orchestra prices. Now, can you just get inside?”

Again, astounded, thought I shouldn’t have been, by his rudeness, it took me a second to move. Able-ist and classist.  $15 tickets versus $100+ tickets.  Clearly, if you’re a cripple, you have money to blow, right?

So I walked inside.  And up three flights of stairs, crying just a little as I got to the top.  I hate being disabled, but what it 10 times worse is when other people blame you for who you are (same thing can be said for different races, genders, orientations, etc).  I wanted to go to the restroom at intermission, but if I’d walked down those 3 flights of stairs to pee, I would have kept on walking out of the theatre.

Upon my walk, I had one or two people walk around me (as I was moving very slowly on the handrail), remarking that it was “hard walk” and “not very handicap friendly, huh?” but no one stopped to ask for help. No one was outraged at this theatre, large as it was, being incredibly inaccessible.

I will never go there again. Our friend said something about “next time, we’ll get the accessible seats.”  I think I stunned her with my vehemence when I said that I would never ever return here again.  She didn’t get it. She didn’t get how small and gross and much of a failure at life they had made me feel. She didn’t get that I wanted to go home and curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep.

I couldn’t help but view the irony of what we were seeing.  We can sing about how everyone is a little bit racist, but able-sim still runs rampant and is almost never discussed.

Next time I want to see a big show, I’ll wait till it comes to the Buell in Denver. They’re incredibly sweet and accessible, even if you don’t tell them till the day of.

-Essin’ Em

When I hear the word Fetish, I usually think of foot fetishists, stocking fetishist, etc. I have a tie fetish – I see a person (esp a gender queer looking person) in a tie, and I get wet. Ditto with glasses.  While I’m not defining it as the traditional definition of fetish (something that someone HAS to have in order to get turned on sexually), I generally group them into sexual fetishes.

However, I’ve realized I have a lot of other fetishes.  I mean, take cooking supplies. Me-OW.  As we unpack, I realize I have a cheese cutting set, a pasta maker, a mortar and pestle, a fajita set, a food processor, blender, fondue pot, banboo cutting boards, etc. Things I don’t need ever day, but make me feel all warm and fuzzy just having them, and even more warm and fuzzy when I use them. God, how I want a shiny, red kitchen aid. If that’s not lust, I don’t know what is! The Bed Bath and Beyond catalog is like porn to me, and don’t get me started on walking through IKEA.

And then there are office supplies.  Multi-colored sharpies and highlighters, filing folders, color-coordinated paper clips, interesting paper, animal print sticky notes…the list goes on. Just walking into an office depot or staples can really get me going.

Some people feel this way about cars, or tools, or clothes.  I do collect books like no other (even Q is shaking her head at me as we unpack box after box of vintage Agatha Christie, Anne McCaffery and Rex Stout).  So what makes something a fetish versus a like?  I mean, pumpkin scented things can get me just as revved up as an exciting new vibe in the mail?  Is a fetish something that turns us on as in we want to fuck right now, or is it something that arouses us in SOME manner, possibly sexually, but more in a mental, feeling butterflies inside kind of sense?

-Essin’ Em

Today, we begin the next leg of our adventure.  

That’s right. Q and I are moving to Arizona (Phoenix, to be exact) today.

Who’s coming with us?  

2 of our friends to help us with the drive, and these three kittehs:

Kali

Kinsey

And Jasper

I’ve moved a few times with cats before, including Denver to Philly, and Philly to Denver. It’s always an adventure…and Kali has never really been in the car before, except to go to the vet.  So yes, it should be interesting to say the least.

And I’m still going to be in recovery from my surgery.  Which will make this all even more interesting.

But away we go! Farewell to my beautiful Colorado:

Picture taken by me in Estes Park

-Essin’ Em

Halloween just so happens to be my favorite holiday. Moreover (just to prove to you, once more, how perfect we are for one another), it is also Q’s favorite holiday.

Usually, I start planning my costume in March or April. Some years, I have multiple costumes for different events/audiences. Here is last year’s halloween post with a plethora of previous costumes, and then an HNT of my Medusa outfit from 2009.

Last night to see the midnight showing of Rocky Horror…and as always, I dressed as Magenta — here is a picture from previous shows:

However, most of our Halloween celebrations took place LAST weekend, due to our move. Because we’re leaving tomorrow morning, we figured celebrating ON Halloween wasn’t the smartest plan, nor was making really nice and expensive costumes, when we’re both broke and trying to minimize our possestions. Originally, when the move wasn’t in the plans, she was going to be Wolverine and I was going to go as Rogue…but with the move, and our new “low cost, keep it simple plan,” we went mostly with stuff we already had.  And what does that mean?

She went as Hugh Hefner, and I went as a playboy bunny.  Total Outfit Cost (both of us put together): $20 ish for the bow tie, tail, hair spray and pipe. Cheap, amusing, and I have boobies. 

Pictures to follow.

Anyways, to all you whipper snappers celebrating this weekend, happy halloween, be safe, have fun, and PLEASE post pictures of your costumes!

-Essin’ Em

A couple of weeks back, I took Q to a local TNG play party.  After our first (and at this point, only) experience going to a play party together, I was nervous as to how it might turn out.

Luckily, this party was far less fail than the last won.  In fact, one might say that it was win.

We show up, and Q is packing the delicious Mr. Man dildo underneath her boxers and cargo shorts. She’s dressed like a punky high school boy, or perhaps a nerdy college kid. I’m in my sexy teacher/professor outfit; a knee length pin strip skirt with a flare at the base, a black button down that just can’t seem to stay buttoned (with a visible red bra underneath), vintage wing tip heels, and leopard print underwear beneath it all.

I lead her back to the medical room (the most private play area in this very open space), and have her lie back on the medical exam chair as I pull her cock out of her pants, and slowly and tantalizingly begin to suck on in. As it’s the Mr. Man, her clit can feel all of the suction as I her her a blow job, still standing up in my heels.  I’m teaching her, you see, a lesson in cock sucking.

Then I ask what she’d like to learn next, as I run my knife all over her exposed skin. She asks me if I’d show her how to ride someone, and after unbuttoning my shirt, and hiking my skirt up around my waist, I climb onto the table, and fuck myself on her cock as her hips ride up, bucking into me.  You can’t quite see what’s going on with the flare of my skirt in the way, and a few viewers were surprised to see me sucking cock…but we knew what was happening, and how fucking hot it was.

At this point, I was getting pretty bloody horny, and as fun as a nice cock is, I wanted Q’s hand inside me.  We put the Fascinator throe on the table for easier clean up, and I took off the remaining clothing and shoes, and climbed up.  Now it was her turn to show me what she’d learned as she ran a knife over my breasts, stomach, down my thighs and back up to my vulva, gently scraping it against my lips.

With some lube, and a the hitachi ready to go, she started fucking me. It felt so good that I was so loud…and was told to quiet down. Sheepishly, we continued, as I tried to keep my moans inside – a tough feat with someone like Q fucking my brains out. Eventually, her whole hand slid into me, and she was fisting me, and eventually punch fucking me. Of course, I was squirting all over the place- good call on the throe!

At one point, the Hitachi pulled out of the wall, and we had to engage some by-standers to help us plus it back in. But then again, stuff like that always happens with us, so no worries.

More fisting and moans, until eventually I was flying so high it was like being on drugs, and we did a quick clean up before headed to the aftercare room for some epic cuddling.

I think we scared some of those who had never seen fisting before, intrigued some others, and were told by many how much they enjoyed the scene.

Denver may not have a lot of public queer play, but when we do it, we do it big.

I’d say it was a success!

-Essin’ Em

I know, I know. I’m not a huge fan of more “traditional” vibrators – we all know I’m a huge fan of weapons grade sex toys, like the wonderful and life-changing Hitachi Magic Wand.  However, Q is a much bigger fan of the more normally powered vibes, so I’m happy to say that I’ve been given one to review by the sex-positive Good Vibrations.

This toy, the G-Twist, is white labled for Good Vibrations, but is actually made by Fun Factory, which is one of the better vibrator companies out there. it’s 100% silicone, so you can sterilize it for sharing by wiping it down with a 10% bleach solution. Otherwise, good ol’ soap and water should do the trick for cleaning it.

G-Twist comes in a few colors – I got blue (I was hoping for black, but as long as it’s not pink, I’m not gonna argue!), and takes 2 AA batteries.  I personally prefer rechargable or plug-in toys, not only because they’re more eco friendly, but also because I hate fighting with getting the battery compartment open, figuring out which direction they go, etc, ESPECIALLY when I’m horny as hell. Moreover, I always seem to have problems with Fun Factory battery compartments, and this was no exception.

However, ones the batteries were properly installed, it was time for the fun to begin. Let me just say, Q LOVES this toy…on her clit, in her cunt, you name it.  It wasn’t quite high powered enough for me (but really, what is?), but is did feel nice. It actually packs quite a punch for only having 2 AA batteries. 

Anyways, it’s a good toy. The dial is a little frustrating to get to when you’re lubed up or fucking from an awkward angle, and I do think the toy was designed to be used by yourself – I was between Q’s legs, attempting to fuck her really hard with the this toy that happened to hit her G-spot fairly perfectly, but there really wasn’t too much of a grip, and it kept sliding out…making the pounding I was trying to give her fairly impossible. Yet she still seemed to really enjoy herself, me, and the toy, so no complaints there.

This toy is simple, but it certainly accomplishes its purposes; it vibrates nicely, it can find your G-spot quick than if you had a GPS, and it is portable (not crazy loud, nor does it require an outlet).  I personally would give it 3 stars, since it didn’t really satisfy me, but having heard the noises from Q as I fucked her with it, I’m comfortable giving it a round 4 stars for general consumption.

To get your own g-spot loving G-Twist, just click here.

-Essin’ Em

Today is Q’s birthday. I have been planning this whole weekend get away with her for like two months…thrift store shopping, hotel for the night, fondue, sex, and more.

I love this person more than words can express. I’m so fucking glad she came to my strap-on class, and that I pursued her for weeks on end, and that we both got over the “I’m not looking for a primary partner right now” issue, and that we both like each others’ cats, and that the sex is the most mind-blowing amazing sex I’ve ever had…on a regular basis, and that I love her so much that sometimes it hurts.

Happy Birthday Baby – I love you!

<3,

Me

Have you been waiting?

I know you were waiting.

I’VE been waiting.

I’ve been for a perfect, red, 36″ long spreader bar.

Yes. A spreader bar.

This one is particularly nice. Now, I tried a Spreader Bar with Snap Hooks last year. Honestly, it was pretty much a P.O.S and epic fail.  And then I wanted a real one more and even more.  So I was so excited when my sex toy collection was suddenly expanded by a 36″ spreader bar.  I keep saying 36″ because this particular bar also comes in a 24″ option as well. Additionally, it comes in the lovely shade of red that I was happy to get because it matches my collection, but also in purple and pink, for the discerning kinky perverts out there. To be honest, as much as I love the black in my black, red and animal print sex toy collection theme, it’s nice to see a little color variety in kinky toys (conversely, I’d like to see more black and red dildos/vibrators among all the purple and pink ones).

Anyways, I told Q she was in charge, and to use the spreader bar to the best of her ability on me. There was much texting back and forth about it…about me using it on her as she stood up and I ate her out, and she couldn’t bring her legs together…about her using it on me and fucking me until I couldn’t take it anymore, etc. I was so excited and was thrilled the next time I saw her, and she mentioned the spreader bar.

We put some leather cuffs on my ankles, and used fancy schmancy snap-hooks from Home Depot to attach the cuffs (and consequently my ankles) to the ends of the spreader bar. I’m so glad i got a 36″ one – 24″ would have been WAY to short for me. However, there was one problem; because the cuffs had D rings, and was attached by snap hooks, there was a lot of flexibility as to where I could move my ankles. She told me she’d been hoping for something more solid, where I couldn’t move my legs AT ALL as she licked me, sucked me and fucked me.

Gah. I even bought zip ties, hoping that would help (using them with the cuffs, as compared to on their own). Not much better.  Basically, I think I need to figure out some fancy rope ties to tie my ankles directly to the spreader bar, and just eliminate the entire cuff set out of the equation.  If anyone has some brilliant rope ideas, please share.

Anyways, I really really really like my spreader bar. I have a tendency to move a lot and close my legs, especially when things feel really really really good. This works towards preventing that. I loved that Q could hold up the bar, and move my legs (and often times me) where she wanted them in one, quick, fluid motion. I liked the cold feel of the metal. I liked how I looked with my legs spread so wide apart. Basically, the spreader bar fulfilled 95% of my fantasies about it – I just need to figure out a better way to attach my ankles to it.

4.5 stars out of 5.  Pretty damn awesome!

Want a spreader bar? In possibly one of a variety of colors? Well, what are you waiting for?

-Essin’ Em