Naked in the Rain and Beatific

“What else can I do for you,” the sky said,

and added, “now that I have taken off all

my clothes?” (Hafiz)

Our second trip to the clothing-optional beach started out kind of rocky—there was a chilly wind that kept trying to turn our books’ pages for us, Sweetie felt like the current was too strong for her and I kept trying to convince her to come in with me. We had a strangely love-affirming moment when she noticed a scrap of toilet paper on my bare bum and had to cover me up with a towel to get it off.  We kept laughing and saying “oh, intimacy,” which is what we say when we are having to do something a little gross for each other. That’s love.

(Just as an aside, I remember David Sedaris writing about seeing TP on someone’s butt at a nudist colony. He wrote about vulnerability and so on, I think, said something like “This is the essence of nudism.” and that strikes me now as obnoxious—really, THAT’S the defining moment? Not the standing around triumphantly or embracing our sweeties or getting swept together in the waves? Only I would be bobbing around in the ocean having an imaginary argument with David Sedaris.)

Anyway, Sweetie has weak, hurty legs, and wanted nothing more than to be left on shore. Once I figured out that I didn’t have to drag her into the rough surf with me, that I was free to fight and float and be pummeled by the waves to my heart’s content (oh, ocean, my original top…) we both relaxed and started to have fun. This can be a metaphor for our entire relationship—we are happiest during the times when we’re both free to be ourselves, whether we’re snuggled up watching back-episodes of Design Star or separate but happily connected. When I relax and let her be herself, sometimes I get exactly what I want, and so does she. Until then, it had been a cloudy day, but the sun was happy to punctuate my epiphany by peeking through the clouds momentarily—it was beautiful. The green water I was floating in was lit up and shimmering, the patch of blue sky contrasting with the swath of dark grey sky on the horizon—raindrops started to fall on the water, and somewhat inexplicably, I got out.

We decided to take our stuff up to the car, have lunch there, and see if the weather cleared. As we started to pack up our towels and books and picnic stuff, I settled into the feeling of rain on my bare skin. I kept getting distracted from what I was doing to face the sky, hold my arms out a little, and smile up into the rain. I love being naked in the rain, and if we hadn’t been averse to our nice picnic rolls getting all soggy, I would have happily stood there all day.

I decided not to put on my dress until we got close to the “attention—nude sunbathers” sign. I saw other people making the same decision as well, carrying their clothes until the last possible moment. I don’t know what I looked like carrying a heavy load of beach stuff with my boobs and hoo-ha all on display, but I know I felt great. Sweet, perfect, laughing joy bubbled up. I asked if we could put the stuff down and stood there in the rain smiling some more---my body loves me at times like this, and I am in total NRE with it, too. I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling and feeling ridiculous and silly and beautiful and free. Sweetie’s face lit up too, though her clothed experience must have felt a bit soggier. She loves seeing me so happy. Later she told me I looked beatific and that’s exactly how I felt.

The weather cleared up after our car-picnic, and I got to swim hard for the rest of the day while Sweetie napped and shell-gazed. I even was brave enough to chat with people—the current seemed to want us to be sociable, swooshing us all into a clump—it was fun to have folks to play with me. I came home EXPLODING with sexy, vital energy, my muscles hot and skin flushed, ready to ravish myself, Sweetie, and anybody else who might get in the way. I’m so full of…something, and very grateful to be alive.

Your Friday Happy: Who Are Your Sexual Archetypes?

The other day I was listening to this Sex Nerd Sandra episode thinking about who's in my inner cast of characters, besides Joan Holloway and Sally Draper. (Can one of them be Sex Nerd Sandra?)

And to celebrate the archetype who's clearly in charge this week:

Huzzah! A Good Date

Sometimes, I’ll hit on someone on OK Cupid just because they remind me of my ex-boyfriend-from-the-techno-years/current pal Pagan Boy. This was one of those. The other thing that made me attracted to him was that in response to the “Did you have a goth phase?” question, he said “It’s wasn’t a phase.” I got a feeling in my belly that he’d be fun to hug, just from his emails, and boy was I right. He looked sweet and game in his picture, with big soulful hazel eyes and fluffy eyelashes. How could I resist?

Getting ready for our date, I debated with myself about whether a spiked collar was first-date appropriate. I went for it, just to have the excuse to wear it. Also I can proudly say I was leading with my boobs—there they were right in front of me…He found me a bar that serves mojitos, which isn’t always easy because not every bar stocks fresh mint. It was a good mojito, it felt like a reward for a whole bunch of things. We fell into Moonlighting-level banter right away, is there anything more fun? Sometimes I turn into this really brassy, candid version of myself and just yammer a whole bunch about my various adventures—he looked happier and happier as we went along. He looked into my eyes a lot while we talked—boy are those pretty eyes.

We decided to take a walk to the river, joking as we went about the really intense snuggling and hand-holding we both enjoy from time to time. I revealed my quest for my inner Bettie Page, and he told me he has a tattoo of her on his leg—I’m sure that isn’t uncommon among guys who also have Black Flag tattoos, but I like the coincidence and I’ll consider it a good sign. I could feel my inner Bettie while I was next to this guy, that’s for sure.

He kissed me by the water, as little waves lapped up around the bottom of the walkway, in full view of the swan boats and tourists. He pulled my hair a little, because I’d told him I like that, and I’m sure later I can convince him to pull it harder.

We talked on and on and on about sex, I’m sure we might get to other topics some other time. If this were considered an assessment, I think I’ve made a lot of progress since Bill said to me “You keep telling me what you don’t like, tell me what you do like!” When I feel comfortable with someone, I just keep talking, and we went over likes and dislikes in great detail. I feel confident that he’s up to the challenge of LOTS of bare-handed spanking, and he assures me it wouldn’t have occurred to him to make me ask permission before I come. I even told him about the love affair I’ve been having with my ass, though I didn’t go into detail. (Oh, yeah, I should write that soon, too.)

He reminds me of the good parts of Bill; he’s strong, soft in places, swaggery, about the same height as me, with reaaaaaaaaly nice arms and good hands. But unlike Bill, he’s got his own house (I liked the way he said it, “My house.”) a cute car, a good job, a basement full of records from when he was a DJ in the Nineties.

There was a kiss in the parking garage elevator that made me want to press the Emergency Stop button like they would in the movies. In the car, he said I was evil for making him so turned on and I said “No, I’m a good girl.” And he said “You’re a very good girl.” and put his hand on the top and kissed me some more. Swoontown.

When he dropped me off, he said “Tell (Sweetie) good things about me. Tell her I was respectful and not gropey.” When I got inside, Sweetie (Whose pre-date advice to me was “Don’t flee.”) was on the couch, glowing with love and support. We watched an episode of Queer as Folk and went to bed. I love her even more when my face is all stingy from beard-burn.

This morning I have that what-if-he-forgets-to-make-more-plans-with me feeling. I’m happy and daydreamy, even if I should be studying.

Maybe Not A Fetish Ball Kind of Girl, But There Were Highlights (Part Two)

I’ll do a list of highlights and a list of lowlights, fun stuff first:

1. Sweetie looked so cute all dressed up in a tie, suspenders, and a fedora—I definitely want to encourage her to be draggy more often.

2. I loved getting a chance to show off Sweetie’s rope art. It took a while to get me into the corset and harness, but I loved standing near the entranceway in my pretty tiara, sparkly black dress, leggings, and heels, with my arms up, her hands pulling and adjusting the rope this way and that, with my friend Switchpoet and lots of strangers watching nearby. She finished with a heart at the back of the harness, in pink and purple ropes as you’ve seen; I really am the Hello Kitty of rope bottoming.

3. Even though I was mostly a failure at it, it was fun to get to lead Switchpoet around on a leash. He was a really good sport about how ineffectual I was. When we first came up with the idea of me quasi-topping him, it kinda captured my imagination, but I just couldn’t make it convincing. Still, it was fun covering him in glitter and commanding him to go get drinks for me and Sweetie. It’s funny how I can be the bossiest person in everyday life, but I just drop the ball if I try to take a dominant role for fun…

4. Remember the couple I had a good date with, back when I was trying for unicorn practice? Painter and Ro-gan? They came to the ball and we got to catch up. They said they even would’ve set me on fire, had such a thing not been disallowed. They watched me play with Sweetie, which made an awesome thing more awesome. Painter was all dressed up as a doll, with big sproingy hair (She makes spring wigs herself!) and silver eyelashes. They took Ro-gan’s pants at the door because he wasn’t dressed kinky enough, so he had to walk around in just his Star Wars underwear, T-shirt, and Doctor Who scarf. I got to hear a little bit about their adventures at kink camp, but it was really too loud to talk.

4. Speaking of Dr. Who, while I didn’t get to realize my dream of getting tied up in a TARDIS, Sweetie and I did get to make out in one—what a nice place for aftercare! I didn’t mind the little dude in steampunk glasses who kept peering in the windows at us.

5. The kneeling bench we chose had shackles at the bottom of its front legs, so I couldn’t lift my head all the way up while Sweetie was spanking me. If I wanted to tell her something, I had to kind of just wait for her head to come down to me. (Did I mention it was really, really loud in there—couldn’t even hear myself getting spanked!) It made her feel unintentionally rougher than she really is, and that was exciting.

Plus, there was a beautiful suspension going on right next to me, the woman just looked so blissed out and happy as she got ropes tied to her middle, her ankles, her wrists-she looked so well cared for. She had these gorgeous long Amazon legs and pretty pinup heels. I always said I didn’t want to do suspension, but surprise, I do!

As an added bonus, tada!--Painter wants to learn suspension and says I can be her practice bunny. (Yes, I’m having a conversation with myself about calling myself a bunny. I think I’m okay with it…)

6. Added to my list of things to try: fire flogging. The guy doing it got shut down before I could try it, but not before it gave me an I-want-to-go-to-there.

But now for the bad stuff:

1. I hate the aspects of kink life that feel like high school. The girls at the door were mean to me. I was coming from another event so I just walked in in a regular pretty dress, and you should have seen the judgmental stares. They didn’t believe me that Switchpoet was right behind me getting my suitcase of goodies searched. I felt vindicated after I was dressed and roped up and the ticket-taker guy said “Okay, you win.” My rope-enhanced cleavage has that effect on people.

2. Maybe it was because the music made communication impossible, but there was something empty about the (crowded) ballroom. From the fashion show (With the cheesy announcer saying “If you think they’re hot, let them know...”) To the silvery alien girls in the same tutus and silver bustiers, to the fact that I couldn’t hear myself or my fellow players, I just felt disconnected from myself, from Sweetie, from the room. The spiritual aspect of things was missing. It really helps me to appreciate the intimacy and authenticity I’ve felt before at smaller parties.

But heck, I got to dress up, get spanked, and make out in a TARDIS, so I’d call it a win, even if it wasn’t the most edifying one.

Maybe Not A Fetish-Ball Kind of Girl, But There Were Highlights (Part One)

I haven't had time to write any thing coherent about Saturday night yet, but I just wanted to share some of the rope work that Sweetie came up with. Just picture these over a pretty sparkly back dress..or not!

Getting Ready for Our First Ball

Well, Sweetie just tried out this fantastic harness:

And now we are going to see if we can fine her some suspenders to go with her drag outfit. Also, just as a bonus, one of my friends offered to have me lead him around on a leash tonight. Why is my life so awesome?

Unsurprisingly, I Love the Clothing-Optional Beach, Part Three

We did get to bob around in the water with the poly meetup group, though they eventually got pulled away by the current. I don’t always know quite what to say, but I was glad to float and smile with them. I asked The Lady of the House if the beach is always this queer-friendly, and she explained that we were currently in the gay section, (the other side was the family section) so yeah. I oohed and aaaaaaaahed about getting to hug Sweetie in the water. did I really wait all this time to feel this way? What’s the MATTER with me?

The whole day was such a joy, and my worries about nipple-sunburn never materialized, staved off by lots of spray. (Big big thanks to the reader pal who suggested spray-on sunscreen how can I ever thank you?)

When we weren’t swimming, I lay on the blanket delighting in being exposed or sat up and people watched. It was similar to my first BDSM event because it gave me a chance to revel in the abundant variations of the human body. Sometimes we can get trapped in a simple schema of what a body should look like, a cookie-cutter frame built from TV and dumb fashion magazines, but the real diversity of bodies is so wonderful to behold. Every single person there, clothed or not, looked flushed, sun-kissed, relaxed. I am so grateful that people were generous enough to share their bodies with my happy eyeballs.

And then, of course, there’s being seen. After a while it dawned on me that I was surrounded by penises, that there were hundreds of men there, gay, straight, bi, poly, pan, omni, everything, and they could all look at me if they wanted to. YAY!  The point of this beach isn’t to get turned on, I don’t think (Guys, can you tell me how you avoid it? If I had a thingie it would have been sticking straight up for seven hours. I would have had to consult a physician.) but I got turned on. I struck a pose and when I noticed a guy looking, I’d meet his gaze and soak it up. I can’t believe I felt so free and safe. What a gift.

Of course I had to have some personal time in the car on the way home.

The next day, I cried a lot. I cried happy tears over how beautiful and generous everyone was, I cried sad tears for how long we’d waited to try it, for the sensations we’d missed until then. I cried lucky tears for feeling so accepted, and I cried wistful heartbroken tears for not getting to share the place with the Mayor of Kittentown. Sweetie held and patted me and told me I’m good. She assured me that we could go back soon and of course we’ve got it on the calendar.

As much of a revelation as it was to be there with Sweetie, I really want to find the right guy to go with, too. Well, I don’t want to find a new one, I want to go with MKT, but since that’s not possible, I put up a personal on the beach’s FetLife group under the heading of “Seeking a Nice Naked Guy.” Lo and behold, plenty of dudes would be glad to go with me. Their naked selves are more intimidating on the screen than they are in person (Maybe it’s the screen’s proximity to my face?) but once I take a few days to get over being overwhelmed by their responses, I look forward to making some new friends.

Love Kittens

Thanks to the loyal reader/pal who sent me this!

New Heart Goal

So I think I would like to learn to recognize when I have deep feelings for a guy at the time that it's happening, as opposed to fighting against it until it comes out way after the fact. That would give me a better shot at actually expressing it in a fruitful way, and also cut down on  the number of after-the-fact-letters I end up writing. Maybe.

Rejection is Not an Assessment or a Humiliation…Right?

As a poet, I should be better-prepared to be rejected. Over the years, I have received hundreds of rejection slips for hundreds of poems, manuscripts, etc, and only very rarely did I feel that they had any bearing on the quality of my work. If only I could have that same confidence about myself!

Though it’s been mostly a very happy week over here, I’ve been laying awake with very jealous, hurty feelings about the Mayor of Kittentown. It’s isn’t so much that he belongs to her now; it’s that he officially no longer belongs to me. I’m bothered by the difference between being able to belong to multiple people and only belonging to one—instead of just having a different heart, I worry that I might have a deficient one. I think childlike thoughts like “How could he just throw me away?” in spite of the fact that I broke up with him about two and a half times. I knew we weren’t going to fall in love, I always encouraged him to keep looking (which looks, in retrospect, like its own kind of cruelty…) but the loss of our physical friendship is hitting me hard, it’s breaking my heart, making me feel a little bit dismantled.

Rejection bogs me down. For whatever reason, his rejection seems to negate everything good that he made me believe about myself: that I could trust a man, that I could have a happy bisexual life, that I’m can be beautiful and sexy to men. Somehow it feels like he took those things away just by not wanting me anymore, that I need him (and Bill, and Fireguy) just to have those hot feeling back, but I understand intellectually that that’s just not true.

These men so far, things have gone so wrong with them that I feel as if I have failed a series of entrance exams, that I failed to qualify for their gender. Losing each of them has been so exquisitely painful that it’s hard to feel connected to the good things that have happened, to all the real progress that I’ve made.

I tend to mistake rejection for facts: Bill said he couldn’t have a serious relationship with a poly woman, so I felt unlovable. Fireguy didn’t like being written about, so I thought the project itself made me unlovable. MKT’s simpler (?) idea of love makes me feel like I’m too hopelessly, messily complicated for men.

And I AM complicated, but that doesn’t mean that there won’t be a guy who’ll love me for it—I believe those are called, uh,  polyamorous guys—who’ll be willing to share his life with me. Two of the men in the previous paragraph identified as monogamous, and the other was a heartbroken mess, so I don’t think I can make any generalizations about them, other than 1. Duh, date poly guys and 2. Don’t be a rebound redhead.

I would love to have back all of the good physical lessons I got from them, to not have the hot self-discoveries cancelled out by the fact that they’re gone. Not too long ago, in a Poly Weekly episode about minimizing scene drama, either Minx or her guest said something like “Just because someone disagrees with you doesn’t make you less awesome.” I would LIKE to think that just because someone doesn’t want to fuck me and/or fall in love with me doesn’t make me any less lovable and/or hot.” No one can turn back time and take away those experiences—no one can take any of it away.

Of course this goes back to the heart of this project—learning to approve of myself so that I don’t have to wear myself down trying to gain approval from others, except in fun ways, of course. I started this quest for my inner Bettie Page because I wanted her confidence, the way the looks boldly into the camera, the way she returns the gaze. She is not going to shrink timidly into nothingness when the lens turns away from her, and neither am I.

Dear Divine Whatever,

Please help me to collect and feel whatever good they’ve all given me so far, to take it in as fuel to bravely move forward, believing in every glance and touch and step, having faith in whatever radiates out of me at my proudest, most joyful moments.

(To which I can imagine the Divine Whatever saying: “Good girl. So pretty.”)

Unsurprisingly, I Love the Clothing-Optional Beach, Part Two

As we set off down the path to the beach, “hugging the dunes,” as the directions had instructed us, I noticed kids heading down to their beach with their families. I was weirded out for a second.

“Wait, what, there’s kids? At the nude beach?”

Sweetie, bless her heart, said “So?”

“So…they’ll never learn to be ashamed of their bodies? They won’t end up having to learn to love themselves at 37? I hate them.”

We laughed and that was the end of being weirded out.

I found Sweetie a perfect peach-colored shell as soon as our feet hit the sand. The dunes were roped off to protect piping plover nests as well as a few other endangered species. As we got to the end of the path, We saw a sign that said “Attention: Beyond this point you may encounter nude sunbathers.” We looked around for the spot where the poly meetup was happening, but no one had set up yet. Plus we were in wifie mode, so we made our own space down closer to the water.

It had rained on the way in, we weren’t sure if the clouds would lift, but as we settled into our blanket, the sun started to peek through and the air warmed up. As we were slathering on sunscreen, I felt momentarily hesitant to take my top off, but then I figured it made no sense having to sunscreen twice. I wiggled out of my pink flowery bathing suit top and there I was. Unfortunately, it was that time of the month and I didn’t feel right about showing off a string-tail, so my bottoms would have to stay on this time. (Except, because I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, in the water…)

Sweetie is not a showoff like me, but she likes showing me off. She seemed very happy to be looking up at naked sunny me and spraying SPF 70 on my nipples every so often. As we sat reading our books, I saw some members of the poly contingency stroll past us to the water. They were beautiful, but I wasn’t ready to say hi just yet. This was a day that I felt every inch of my half-introversion. I watched them walk into the water and get such big smiles on their faces. As with all lovey-dovey people who are comfortable with themselves, I admired them and wasn’t sure I could aspire to belong with them. A guy I’d snuggled with at my first snuggle party was there, as was the Lady of the House from the Cuddle Party back in June. Later, I’d get up the courage to go over and say hello, but just seeing them was a joy for now.

Sweetie and I got into the water a little ways down the beach from them. The waves were little more than swells, but the current pulled strongly to the (I think) north. The water was cool and smoothly, clearly green. As we eased our way in, a friendly man came to encourage us: “You’ve just got to take the plunge, just dive in, after that you’ll feel fabulous.”

He was so nice but as he stood there encouraging us, I was inching away. I knew that my nipples would get really hard from the chilly water and I wasn’t quite ready for a stranger to see that up close, first thing in the morning. He was in his fifties, bald, with a big cheery grin, and his penis was cute and shrunken from the water, bigger than an outie belly button, but just as pink and charming. Oh penises, how I’ve missed you, my new friends.

Once the man swam off, I propelled myself into Sweetie’s arms. This feeling was a complete revelation, something I didn’t know I was longing for. Ever since I was a kid, I’d watch couples in the surf and hope that I could someday find a love to hold me in the waves. It was such a gift, to hold her and be held in the water and not worry that we might be disturbing someone, that we might be disturbed by some homophobic comment. It was deeply gratifying.

I slipped away from her (not too far, though the current pulled me) and pulled off my bathing suit bottoms. The cool water moving up between the lips of my vagina was difficult to describe to her—she couldn’t understand how it was any different from being in the water with a bathing suit on. It was a cool, fresh, opening up, like the other day with the thigh ropes but more refreshing. As the water filled up that little space, I felt delighted and loved, elemental, at home. I picked up my feet, put my arms out, and floated on the swells, eyes closed, boobs and hoo-ha to the sky. I felt reborn, perfect, like every real worry was just a silly memory. I felt the way that I was born to be.

Next: Happy to be around so many penises.

(Again, sorry...) Song of the Week: The Soundtrack of Falling in Love With Myself

This morning I was walking to work listening to this song for the jillionth time, and it made me realize I kinda have a crush on my new self sometimes.

Dear kinky/poly/nakedy self, before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.

I'll put the original and the Roots version, just because.

Unsurprisingly, I Love the Clothing-Optional Beach! Part One

Last Saturday was one of my top three favorite adventures so far (along with public fireplay and Sweetie’s knack for ropes.) I love the feeling that I get sometimes that this was what I was made to do. I’ve liked all the time I’ve spent at regular beaches, having a nice time but sometimes feeling self-conscious, not getting to show Sweetie the (mostly-chaste) affection that straight couples always feel free to show in the ocean. I honestly didn’t know how much I was missing.

But before I get into the Edenic delightfulness of the day, I have to confess a few sad things about it:

At the moment, Sweetie and I are unsure of the future of our relationship. For all the progress we’ve made, we still argue badly and cause each other a great deal of pain. She worries a lot that I’m not really hers, that all of our co-adventures and connections don’t mean anything, that everything wonderful between us can be taken away, and that causes her to lash out sometimes, which scares me, which leads to stupid marathon fights. For all of my work this year, I still feel ashamed of liking men and wanting to submit to them, and I often feel like she is judging me  about them. I spend a lot of time feeling lonely, and so does she. We’re isolated and it’s not good. We’re together for the time being, being as kind and loving as we know how, but we don’t know if we can make it. One way or another, I would like an end, or even a reduction, of the sadness and tension between us.

The other sad thing is that the clothing-optional beach made me really, really miss the Mayor of Kittentown. Though he wasn’t there that day, he frequents the same beach and I’d always thought we’d go there together, I always thought that would be our adventure.  The feeling of my body being warm and bare and loved and accepted reminded me of what it sometimes felt like to be next to him. I feel like a failure for not figuring out a way to be with him, for not being enough to convince him to be more flexible about monogamy. When he told me he’s going there next weekend with Monogamous Girl, I felt the first deep, dark stabs of jealousy that I’ve ever felt about him—I guess it’s good that I don’t usually feel jealousy about someone until he is totally lost to me.

I wish that I could have shared a day at the beach with him, could have felt his bare body there, happy next to mine. I’m sure that I can find another naked guy, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling regretful. It has, however, spurred me into action—it’s time to somehow find a way to start dating/playing with guys again. I can’t keep looking back.

That being said, let’s start the story of our happy beach day. Sweetie and I got up early, ate our customary strawberry waffles in front of a Gilmore Girls episode, and were packed up and on the road by 6:30. I drove the first leg, bleary-eyed and shuffling through folk songs. I didn’t know what to expect from the day, just knew I needed a wide horizon and a change of scenery.  Sweetie worked on the same page of crossword puzzles that she has been working on all summer, an activity that makes me bubble up with love for her.

As we neared the beach, it really was like driving into an Eden. It felt magical as we turned down deep green and sandy beach roads, spotting egrets, cat birds, butterflies. The place felt redemptive—I doubted whether I could deserve something as beautiful as this, yet here it was. Despite warnings that the parking lot fills up quickly, we found a space and parked.

My body felt the relief of the place well before we were in the nude sunbathing area. As soon as I changed into my bathing suit, I felt myself become soft and sweet, free. My thighs, my shoulders, my feet felt loved. I felt Sweetie’s body relax as well. Free of the shame and tension inside us and between us, we could spend the day being our best/real selves, what a relief. We followed the happy crowd down to the beach.

Next: Self-Conscious for about Ten Seconds.

Go Fuck Yourself, "Awkward." You too, Entertainment Weekly

So I was sitting down for an afternoon study break with my trusty EW when I came across this page, and it makes me just livid. Do I deserve to be informed that some dumb MTV show is calling me creepy? Sometimes I just want to unsubscribe from everything, but maybe I'll start with EW.

Song of the Week/What's On the Kitten Calendar

This weekend, Sweetie and I are taking our first trip to a clothing-optional beach. I have a lot of anxiety about it, both about sunburn and about nakedness. There are a whole lot of different sex-positive meetups going on there this weekend, so it'll be pretty crowded. Sweetie is usually the shy one, but I wonder if I'll be the one to want to bolt for a more clothed location. I am curious to feel the ocean on my naked body, though--hopefully I'll have good things to report.

And the weekend after, we're going to our first ball, which also makes me nervous. It's a space-themed play party and I'm interested to see what outfits everyone comes up with. Plus, I think it's a good excuse to wear a tiara, like I need an excuse... We can't quite figure out what Sweetie should wear, she's not a very costumey person--suggestions?

Here's the corset she's learning for me for the occasion. Wish us luck!

Sweetie and the Transcendent Thigh-Ropes!

Sweetie and I have embraced the pretty pink ropes and made them part of our regular sex routine. (No, the phrase “regular sex routine” doesn’t bother me; it just means we’ve so far avoided my biggest three-word fear: “lesbian bed death.”) I’m always delighted to stand in front of her, trying to distract her while she cooks up various arrangements of ropes. Lately, she’s taken to doing this naked, so all the better.

I had a dream Saturday night that she was concentrating the ropes on my thighs, so that’s what I asked her to do. Yesterday, after we went swimming and ate lunch in front of some Buffy episodes (I think Willow’s coming out episode makes her extra hot…) we got showered up and ready for ropes. She put the now-usual halter on me, with rope firmly on either side of my nipples for easy-fun pinching. Then she wove the ropes around each of my thighs, making a little decorative handle in front of each.

My thighs aren’t a part that I usually think about or concentrate on, except maybe during half-assed yoga, so they were soooo happy to have some attention. As I fell dreamily into bed and into Sweetie’s arms, I went a little more subby than I usually do with her. At home, usually the ropes make me fiery, switchy, animalistic, but this time, I was floating in a cloud. I became a cloud. 

As she played with me on top, rubbing and pinching my nipples between the ropes I while I pinched hers, (This is always the point at which I remember, jeez, we have to get this lady some nipple clamps. I’ll take recommendations!)  I pulled the thigh-handles back and forth, up and out. It made me wish that the phrase “opening up like a flower” weren’t corny and overused. The tug of the ropes on my inner thigh felt warm, vital, life-affirming. It gave me a deep sense of well-being, a pleasant yoga-like sensation. It also pulled me open wider. It’s hot as heck here so the fan was blowing on us, blowing onto my wetter and wetter and more and more yielding openings. It was a new kind of bliss.

And then she took hold of the handles, pulled me up towards her, up and down, up and down, a little bit like a swinging feeling, and then a total calm washed over and into me. It was like I was a parachute that had just opened and was floating down through the air gently, or I was a very happy jellyfish buoyed by a warm and loving sea. I was dissolved into happiness, closer to oneness with the universe than church or most other things have ever gotten me. (Note to self: keep not going to church. But that’s another post.)

Afterwards, when we were both relaxing with our books (beach book for me, Star Wars for her) and bowls of cereal, we talked about how cool it is that you can have this same body your whole life and still it keeps offering up surprises. I never would have guessed that my thighs could give me more than they already had. The best thing about this journey so far is the ways that my body has given me new gifts (If I’m ever brave enough, see the upcoming post entitled “Jeez, I Really Love My Butt.”) and has given Sweetie and me new ways to be close to each other. The word that keeps popping into my head is “miracle.”

Sex Nerd Sandra: Awesome Interview About Bisexuality

One of my favorite podcast episodes ever! This Sex Nerd Sandra episode from a while back, wherein she interviews Regina Reinhardt, PhD of the American Institute of Bisexuality, made me feel recognized and understood in a way that I never have before. Plus, now that bi men have been officially proven by science to exist, can my hot bi bear be far behind?

Here's where you can subscribe: http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/sex-nerd-sandra/id455065811

Your Friday Happy: Buffy and Bondage

A few weeks ago, we decided to shut off the cable to save money. I'm happy to say that I haven't seen a commercial in weeks. We've been rewatching Buffy, and since I discovered BDSM, it's a new and even better watching experience. I might even be able to stand season six, except probably for that one episode.

If you have some spare time, I really recommend Googling "Buffy tied up." There's also a lot of good rope work on season four with Spike, I wish I could've found more pictures. Gotta start making my own screen shots, I guess.

37 Is A Fine Age at Which to Blossom (Against TNG Ageism)

“TNG is about having a comfortable place for younger folk in the lifestyle. There are a bunch of regional groups, but nothing for people from different places to get together to talk to each other and trade advice.

Please be aged 35 or younger. I won't stop you if you are not, but I will be peeved if anyone uses this as a place to troll for younger folk.”--From the TNG Global group on Fet Life

This week, I’ve been having somewhat of an age panic. Earlier this week, I was feeling like putting some mingling on the calendar, and the only thing I could make it to this weekend was the local TNG (the next generation) munch. Just like the global group above and most cities’ TNG groups, our local group has an age ceiling of 35. If you’re over 35, you have to get a younger friend to “chaperone” you to their munches.

I got interested in TNG events because I’d like a dom who doesn’t have, like, two decades of experience on me, but one the other hand, this “chaperone” business seems humiliating, and not in a good way. I also resent the implication that 35 is the age at which one automatically starts “trolling” for younger people to play with—predators and victims come in all ages and experience levels, and putting an arbitrary age limit on interaction just creates more possibility for alienation and miscommunication.

The age-35 cutoff for TNG groups stigmatizes age (even, I think, adulthood)  in a way that mirrors mainstream consumer culture. For a community of people who are so creative in their physical expression, I hate when kinky folks sure seem to exemplify and even exaggerate the limits which mainstream society places on us.

Its true that some cities’ communities may skew a bit old, so I can see the appeal of being able to get together with pals one’s own age. After all, I go bonkers over guys who are 37, they’re the dreamiest and hard to find in an available state. As I learned with Firguy, playing with someone who has so much more experience can create a scary power imbalance.

However, I would not want to restrict myself to only 37-year-old partners—I’d miss out on so much! A large part of what I’m learning here are the best practices for a sexed-up adulthood, so it’s very helpful for me to spend time with couples of all ages and categories.

Society so often sends us the message that sexuality is only to be explored by the young. I’m told in a million ways a day by pop culture that my age makes me less worthy of affection and love. (Think Barney’s constant ageist cracks of How I Met Your Mother.) Even though I’m a good sport with a lot to offer, I often worry that I took too long to blossom and now I’m just an undervalued resource. Everyone has stuff that might limit their dating capacity: size, disability, even just having really specific tastes. It seems really creepy to add arbitrary age limits on top of that!

Dear TNG, it isn’t my fault that this particular phase of my sexual awakening came at 37 instead of 20. I was doing worthy things with those years, making art, travelling, writing poetry, making friends. I’m so proud of everything those years meant to me, even if it meant that my kinky side didn’t emerge until later.

My perspective isn’t any les valuable because I’m 37, nor is my ass any less hot. I’m trying to keep reminding myself that age-fears are just that, fears, and I shouldn’t let them hold me back from my adventures. I don’t feel right about needing a chaperone to attend a public event, so for now, I won’t do it. I’ve learned by now not to dabble in things that offend my childlike sense of justice. If something’s not fair, it’s just not fair.