Reunited With My Ass (And Yes, It Totes Feels So Good)

My blog breaks never last as long as I think they’re going to, pals. There are always more adventures to celebrate and I can’t wait to share them with you.

I took down the posts about it, but SG and I are on the outs again, and I think in the long run, that’s the more loving thing. Even though they never asked me to, I really, really, REALLY wanted to be a good girl for the Steampunks, and that was making it hard for me to care for myself and go forward the way I need to, and it was hurting them, too. I hope they’re forgiving me over there.

My ass is sad about SG—after all, he was its first non-me friend, and I thought that that phase of the project might have to be shelved for a little while, but yesterday while I was getting some journaling done, I felt the tingle return, that naughty spark of well-being that means it’s time for some personal time.

I decided to make a morning of it and got all cleaned up—I can’t believe I ever felt embarrassed or afraid about enemas, they’re so easy and pleasant, a loving little thing to do for myself, a slightly more intimate version of painting my nails or getting a haircut. For some reason, they make me feel cozy and cared for.

I kind of associated the Little Metal Thing with SG, but the pleasantness of having it in there trumped any regrets. Every part of me, body and soul, woke up. I felt warm, special, and safe.

The other day, I was listening to this Poly Weekly episode in which Marcia Baczynski reminds us that we don’t have to push ourselves into risky things, especially into types of play that are triggersome. She was talking more about opening up relationships than about sex itself, but I think it applies. She encouraged listeners to find smaller, slower, less goal-driven ways to experiment, things that don’t stress us out, so that we can give ourselves the space to feel the emotions that come up, so that we can have more compassion for ourselves.

I say all of that to say this: I had such a lovely moment with myself yesterday. After I took out the Little Metal Thing and started playing with the Too Big Butt Plug (excellent for wriggling around on, you may remember) I felt my heart speed up a little bit, in a scared way. I backed off from the little bit of hurt that was happening, took a few moments, and breathed with my hand on my heart until it calmed down. This is what it feels like to adventure in a way that is kind to myself (and others!) and I am so, so proud.

For my body adventures, no more struggle. Struggle isn’t the same as work, which of course I love. It’s fighting the tide, trying to make myself do things because I feel like I should, trying to make myself fit when I don’t, and it’s been the source of all the worst things. As I let go of the things that make me miserable and let myself be carried forward, I feel so much more in touch with my better self, more able to just sit back and let the tide of awesome wash over me.

A Strange and Lovely Day, Part One: State of My Ass

In the month or so since I chose Steampunk Guy to be my first ass-guy, I’ve been gradually getting myself ready. He doesn’t have very much time, so I’m doing the gentle parts on my own. This appeals to my sense of independence but also makes me feel (like the Steampunks almost always make me feel) like he’s rooting for me and there are many treats to look forward to.

So, every Saturday afternoon, Sweetie makes herself scarce and I climb into bed naked with a library book until the stress of the week leaves my body enough and I settle all the way back into my own skin. Once my mind starts to wander, I put the book away, feel the warms sheets on me and let myself daydream—about whatever I’m hoping will happen at the night’s party, about past adventures, about the end goal of being covered and filled up by him, crying grateful tears.

Then I’ll start to feel myself up for a while, pulling the blankets down for the feeling of showing off my breasts, loving them wholeheartedly just as I’ve done since they first began to grow. If only all the parts had been so consistently and emphatically celebrated.

Then I’ll let my fingers wander to my ass. For a while I was shy and only touched it with toys, but I’m getting less so. There’s still the psychological barrier of the ick factor—probably more handwashing than the average self-adventure. Should get around to ordering some pretty pink gloves. Also there are some other steps I need to learn, but mostly I just want to teach myself away from the shame.

Anyway, I don’t appreciate that the stress of my Friday is directly expressed inside my asshole. The harder my week has been, the trickier it is to enter, and the more pain there is once inside. I try to massage it away, but still. I must be getting my life slightly more in order though, because on this particular Saturday, everything was open and easy.

Once I’m all soft and ready, it’s time for toys. As you may know, the only butt plug I had up until then is far too big for its intended purpose (I learned that this is a common mistake. And, I think, an optimistic one.) but excellent for wiggling around on. By now, my hoo-ha was opened up and emphatically wet, like a library book that’s been left out in a rainstorm. Every fold was swollen, alert, and perfectly slick.

I usually have the Big Purple Thing out, for sucking or for using in front, but this time, I tried an experiment: I lubed it up and crouched down onto it. Whereas the butt plug, which is about the same width, kept refusing to go all the way in, the BPT went all the way in on the second try, easy and natural as if I’d been doing it my whole life. (I’m realizing it’s not the best tool for this purpose, since it doesn’t have a base, so I guess it’s back to the toy store I go.)

Nonetheless, vibrating and filled up with the BPT, I felt washed with a sense of perspective and realized that absolutely NONE of this, really, is a very big deal. I can do it just like anybody.

I went as long as I could without touching my clit—I didn’t want all of the sensations to culminate just yet. I lay back and thrust against the BPT, squeezing my nipples and moaning my head off.

As soon as I got off and washed up, I texted Steampunk Guy (still on the other side of the country) a high five and told him I’d be ready for him when he gets home. He asked some follow up questions and told me I probably wasn’t ready just yet, gave me some more tasks which I happily agreed to. It was one of my favorite conversations with him. I chose him partly for his roughness, for the catharsis, but these texts felt gentle, insightful and humane, like we really are in this particular project together. Some of my pals make fun of me for waiting for him, but it turns out I knew what I was doing. We may not have known each other long, but we’ve been through a lot of paragraphs:

“It helps not to push yourself too hard or try to prove something.”

Who, me? It surprised me that my I-have-to-catch-up-to-the-other-girls urgency was gone and had been replaced, at least in that afterglow moment, with something like faith.

I had a snack and read some more, daydreamed and texted, almost forgot that it was time to get ready to go to Intro to Anal class and then to Cute Master and Pretty Slave’s clothing optional party. I was running so late that I’d missed the window for taking the bus and parking is from the devil, so I had to ask Sweetie for a ride. My life is just a little strange right now.

Next: A pretty new toy and some literal fireworks.

Self Adventure: I Heart My New Toy!!

On Saturday when I went to drop off the ropes, our meeting place happened to be right by my favorite sex toy shop. I’d just gotten my job back and my birthday’s coming, so I decided it was the perfect day to buy my first butt plug.

I get a gold star because I did such a good job of asking the salesgirl questions about which materials and lubes were the best. She steered me towards silicone and of course I chose the lavender one. I looked at the little size, I looked at the big size, and with hope (and honesty) in my heart I chose the big one. It sure doesn’t fit in there but I imagine I’ll grow into it.

Once I had what I needed, I couldn’t wait to get home. My bus took forever to show up and I was tingly and smushy for the whole ride.

Sometimes I like to get fancy for myself so when I got home I put on a purple lace top and lay down on the bed. I lubed my new toy and placed it under my ass, eased it in and felt a rush of urgency and joy. I pushed down on it as hard as I could, rocking back and forth onto it and rubbing my nipples through the lace. I did that for a long time, happy moans and wiggly butt.

When I got around to touching my pussy, it was wetter and more swollen than I’d ever made it on my own before. The harder ass-thrusts brought about eensy little squirty feelings up front—I definitely am capable. I told myself not to be embarrassed to just go ahead and let it happen when it’s time. I may have actually said it aloud.

I was so excited that I was giving all of this amazingness to myself—it was an enthusiasm that felt a lot like new love.  I got out the original Big Purple Thing, turned it on, ran in over my nipples and showed it inside, the two toys ratcheting up the sensation exponentially. At that moment I had a realization that I’m embarrassed it took me so long to get to—I turned off the Big Purple Thing and put it in my mouth. I licked it, sucked it, shoved it down my throat. I turned it back on and ran it over the part of my cheek that always wants to get slapped. I ran in over my pussy and then sucked it some more.

My entire body was thrumming and thrilled. I sat up and pushed harder into the too-big butt plug, fucking it hard and feeling my pussy open further and further, wetter and wetter. I alternated sucking off the Big Purple Thing with  putting my hand over my mouth until I was in a frenzy, then I pushed the Big Purple Thing up my hoo-ha and fucked myself hard until I came. (Not in the fancy new way yet, but still.) I couldn’t believe I’d done all that for myself! I was so proud.

Whenever my ass comes into play, though, I get a little fear-hangover from it, a little triggering. It usually lasts for about half a day. I sometimes wonder if maybe when the bad thing happened in high school they might’ve done things to my ass while I was passed out, but I think it’s more likely that it’s just garden-variety shame. There are so many layers of it that still need peeling away.

I took the rest of the night to myself, wrapped up in a pretty sheet and watched sitcoms. I am so excited for my next self-date, and the next. And the next!