I’m Monoromantic, But Still a Slut :-)

I feel as though Gabe and I have entered into another stage of things for us. First, there was a calf-ripping uphill climb of work to do, as we started and built our framework from scratch. Then, there was a long pleasant plateau. Gabe continued dating a sweetheart, and he and I bonded more and got settled in and decided what to do with our furniture.

Now is chapter 3… discovering where our desires and boundaries are around sexual activity with others, together. It involves more work again, and more proximity to old triggers… but it’s much more laid back, less panic-ridden than the previous work. It’s also interwoven with a lot more fun, more of a sense of security, and we stand on a previously built foundation of shared understanding and trust.

We’re exploring a variety of situations… from relational to anonymous, from voyeurism to hands-on threesomes. We have lots of conversations about trying on and guessing and wondering and hypothetical situations; though one can never fully know until a situation arises, these exploratory conversations are important.

I enjoy the idea of sharing specific details here, but one of the things stopping me is that I find it much more difficult to translate these experiences into words. There’s so many new levels of input coming in! I’m progressing on using all my new senses, though, and I know Gabe has some things he’s writing. We’ll probably manage something posted on it soon. I know you’ll be hearing more about the Jasmine Club in NOLA. We visited Friday night, and had a truly fabulous time.

It Always Hurts To Call Out A Hero

Betty Dodson has gotten a lot of respect in these quarters. That’s why reading this from her this morning has me rather upset and disappointed. (Emphases mine)

What do American men have in common with Middle Eastern and Tribal African men? All three societies routinely perform circumcision on boys while the rest of the world does not. In the United States, we circumcise babies within the first few days or week. Muslims do it to young boys who are between 12 and 15 while African boys are between 6 to 10 years of age. In all three instances circumcision is performed without anesthesia! Perhaps Muslims circumcise boys late to insure they will become angry young men willing to sacrifice their life for Allah. In Africa it’s a rite of passage into manhood, a warrior who now can kill animals and other men. The fact that the AMA does not support circumcision citing there is no health benefit, I suspect it’s the same for Americans: circumcision prepares our young men to go to war. After all, War Inc. has been America’s number one industry ever since 1914 following WWI.

Later in the same article she writes:

It’s no wonder men hate women consciously or subconsciously. Look at what mothers have allowed a doctor to do to them. First Baby feels pleasure with soft touches that get him partially erect. It feels good until the Doc applies a cold hard metal clamp. The searing pain that follows lasts twenty minutes or more like a sustained torture. May I suggest we consider the similarities between American men and their Islamic brothers or a primitive African tribe?

I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m bitter over having part of my dick cut off. That is a decidedly not cool thing to do to a kid (or anyone against their will). It is barbaric and it should be stopped. This is not the way to stop it. Dr. Dodson here equates “Middle Eastern” and “Muslim,” then goes on to paint all Muslim men as Islamist suicide bombers. She refers to Africans as “primitive.” Both of these are then compared and contrasted to Americans. “We don’t want to be like those people” she seems to be suggesting.

Dr. Dodson has certainly done some amazing things. This kind of sloppiness, xenophobia, classism and racism is not among them.

Sexy underthings for boy-type bodies

So Elizabeth assures me there’s such a thing as sexy underwear for guys. I’m open, but skeptical. So I go looking at sites that sell such things, and what I find are gym queen models and stuffed shorts. How the FUCK am I supposed to be able to gauge how things will look on my somewhat pudgy, unstuffed body when that’s all I’ve got to go on? It just further convinces me that I can’t possibly look good in any kind of underwear, so I quit.

So what do you think? What looks good on a boy? I can pretty much understand boxer briefs. They look fairly nice, and not ridiculous, and they show off my thighs, which are pretty nice. Oh, yeah, and they’re what I generally wear anyway because OMG comfy. And I can kinda understand boxers too. Anything else, though, just looks like gym/club queen wear, or something out of a bad 80s porn.

Celebrate “Obscenity”

Dr. Marty Klein writes:

On the anniversary of our Bill of Rights, we need to ask: exactly why does the category of “obscene materials” exist? And why does the government give itself this exemption? And why, oh why, oh why do Americans support this?

How can an object be “obscene?” The whole idea sounds medieval. Ancient. Neanderthal. It recalls a time of tree gods, of voodoo amulets, of leeches and bleeding, of idols believed to have real power, of special words, numbers, and even chords that could summon the Devil. That’s what obscenity laws are about: a puny attempt to protect oneself from the Devil.

Sexual rights are not trivial. The right to say words or share pictures of adults that other adults don’t like shouldn’t be merely tolerated—it should be celebrated.

Mindful of monarchy and tyranny, the Founders created many ingenuous barriers to future rulers stealing our rights. They needn’t have worried. Americans have spent the last 217 years pleading to have their rights limited. Sexual rights are, apparently, just too burdensome. We’d rather have the illusion of safety and conformity instead.

Our neighbors’ sexuality, of course, provides neither.

Paper Publishing

I want to do a zine. The desire to self-publish has been with me for as long as I can remember. In 5th grade my friend Chris and I decided we were going to write a magazine about Greek mythology. We started on one issue, but no one wanted to subscribe to it, so we quit. I’ve only done two zines in my adult life, but they didn’t amount to much. The first was just a collection of news about various injustices that I’d give away at shows. The second was a collection of erotica I’d written, but I hardly sent any out, just one to a friend I’d met on LJ.

And the desire continues, so now I’d like your help in putting one together. I’m asking you to contribute to my effort by writing about your earliest remembered sexual fantasy and sending it to me for publication. It can be as short or as long as you’d like. It can be explicit or full of youthful innocence. It can be whatever you want it to be, just tell me about your early sexual self explorations.

If you want to participate (and you are at least 18 years old, which you’d damn well better be if you’re reading this site), send your writings to gabe at pornocracy dot org or comment with them here. If I get enough to fill a few pages, I’ll put together a half-size zine.


Scarlet Lotus has posted a fantastic piece at The Femmeinist Fucktoy entitled Kinky vs. Queer vs. Straight Sex

So what’s the big difference between queer sex and straight sex? Aside from the usual definition of the sex of the partners (but that also brings into question is it the sex or the gender that matters?) it’s subtle, and may have a lot to do with intention. Can queer hetero sex include missionary sex? I say of course! The wonderful thing about the orbit(/label) queer is that it is very open to interpretation.

Most often the participants of queer sex are queer people, but that brings into the question of what makes someone a queer person. I’d argue that anyone outside of the norm of society is queer in some way, although not everyone would see it that same way. Queer is an important label for same-sex/gender-loving people to embrace, definitely, but I also think queer moves beyond that label as well.

If we define queer as what it’s not, meaning not normal, just about everyone would be able to be labeled queer. I’m not sure if I’ve ever met a normal person in my life, society perpetuates this idea of normalcy, but that doesn’t mean it exists anywhere, and usually those who think they are normal would not be considered normal by others, so where does that leave us?

Seriously, just go read the whole thing.

I ended up leaving a rather long response to the post, and I think it bears reposting here with some modifications.

Despite my rather interesting relationship to gender, and my kinks, I’ve never been comfortable claiming the word “queer” for myself. I’ve always been too worried that if I identified with it I’d be appropriating, or at least stepping on the toes of those who have claimed that word before. After all, I’m sexually attracted to women nearly exclusively. Even with the pink hair I pretty much look like a dude. I’d worry that by declaring myself queer I’d be cheapening the shit other people have had to deal with. My shit’s something else, and I don’t want to feel like I’m claiming something that’s not mine. And, well, I don’t want to say I’m queer then have to explain to people that, no, I mean something different by that. I understand “queer” as an invitation to dialogue, but it’s not something I think would work for me.

At the same time, however, I want a banner under which gender and sexual outsiders can gather, and “queer” seems poised to be that. I identify with what I’ve learned of queer theory and gender theory. I rally behind anti-assimilationist queers and Gay Shame and Bash Back (if only in my mind). I want to see more people for whom sexuality is deliberately a central part of life, and that seems to be a common thread in the type of queer with which I identify. It’s deliberate. It recognizes that there’s something broken in our culture, and wants to stand apart from it. That’s the queer I’m looking for. It’s not sponsored by Anheuser-Busch. It’s not the nice professional gay couple in the suburbs who are “just like you.” It’s not any sort of veneer of the normalcy of which Scarlet Lotus wrote. But I feel like I don’t have the right to make those distinctions, because I don’t feel like the word belongs to me.

But we just bought my partner her first cock, and we’re looking forward to getting to know it better. I’ve complained elsewhere about the association between pegging and Femdom, and we don’t plan to fall into the prescribed roles of power exchange between penetrator and penetrated. We’re deliberately challenging both the norms of sex and the norms of non-normal sex. That feels pretty damn queer.

She asks “Is anything you do really only kinky the first time, because after you do it that desensitizes you to it, making you think less of the kink factor of it and more of the enjoyment of it?” I don’t think that kinky sex gets less kinky. I think it can for those who don’t feel that kink is an integral part of their sexuality (like those who use blindfolds and handcuffs as “spice” or who just think it’s fun to be “naughty”), but I find that going deeper and deeper into my sexuality doesn’t mean I get more kinky, but that my kinks go deeper, and I’m more infused by them.

I don’t know how much of my sex is queer or kinky. I think kink is present even in my most vanilla looking sex in the subtleties of power exchange, the slight uses of pain.

I do wonder about the flipside, can sex between people of the same gender or sex be (relatively) non-queer? If it lacks deliberateness. If it seeks to approximate normalcy. If it’s driven by fears of sex. I can’t answer that, but it’s something to wonder about.

Finding connections

I wonder if others would find it odd that my attitudes toward sex work often relate to my experiences as a janitor. I’ve drawn parallels before between people saying that prostitutes sell their bodies and the wear and tear on my own body doing manual labor. Mine was my back, not my dick, but so what. Earlier today I was talking with the woman that cleans the building where I work. We’ve had big events in here the last couple of days, one of which brought the campus bigwigs over to our humble facility. Because of these, she’s been busting her ass not only getting the place clean, but dealing with authority figures constantly sticking their noses in to tell her what hasn’t been done right. I told her that the college where I worked that we weren’t even supposed to be seen if there was something like a board meeting going on. Oh, we had to have the place spotless for the bigwigs, but god forbid they have to actually see the poor people who wipe their asses for them.

So then this afternoon, with this still on my mind, Ren writes this:

Prop K did not making trafficking legal. Prop K did not make the sexual abuse, rape, or exploitation of minors legal. Those things are and would have remained illegal. Prop K would not have ended sex worker outreach or exit programs. Yet those were the arguments you used to shoot down Prop K. You worried about your precious neighborhoods, which apparently mean more to you than the lives of sex workers and prostituted people. You used the lives and stories of the very people you then threw to the lions to make your case and defeat something that would have meant so much to all of us, even those of us who live in places where things like Prop K are just a fanciful dream.

Your exit programs and assistance- for those who even want such things- includes arrests, jail time and criminal records, which are so helpful when trying to find a legitimate job. Your concern includes relegating these people to the shadows, after all, if you don’t see them in your little neighborhoods they don’t exist, right? Your vote has insured these people do not have the same rights and protections that you do; they do not have the same status as human beings as you do.

Yeah, my experiences didn’t involve the same level of danger or of dehumanization. But I know all about being told you don’t matter. I know about being forced into invisibility until someone wants something from you. Why does this matter so much to me? Because if those experiences affected me so much without the threat of attack, or rape and murder, then how much more so can they affect those who San Francisco just threw under a bus in the name of property values?

Sasha Grey

I’ve only recently become familiar with porn star Sasha Grey, at least as far as I knew (I actually saw her on Tyra Banks’ show some time ago). Someone posted a photo of her on a message board I frequent and I had to look her up. I found her series of video diaries on YouTube and found myself intrigued. Then today, thanks to Violet Blue I found a series of videos of her being interviewed while being photographed by Richard Kern. Now I find myself a bit smitten.

Videos behind the fold.
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Drive By Posting

Oh dear. We’ve been bad sex bloggers. Between hurricanes and head colds, new class schedules and nasty flashbacks, we have been worn out and not our usual postfiend selves.

This is the perfect time for a game called “I could tell you about…”. That’s where I tell you what I could tell you, if I had the opportunity to tell you. I could tell you about the time my libido was low, and Gabe was a sweetheart, and I had a sexual epiphany. I could tell you about several new positions we’ve tried. I could tell you about the stars in our bedroom. I could tell you about Gabe’s pink hair (actually, I’ll probably show you that soon). I could tell you about the table I’m going to get. I could tell you about Tacit’s awesome interactive sex map… oh wait, I think I just did. I could tell you about the awesome Halloween that’s coming. I could tell you about NaNoWriMo. I could tell you about some amazing sex… from light and airy to dark and thick, from sweet to savory, from lazy to feral, from laid-back to acrobatic. Two lives create some wild and precious moments.

So this is a short hi to check in with y’all… how are you? How are things going? We’ve got photos and video that we still haven’t shared, and we’ve got more to make. Oh, and there’s certainly a Naked Blog Boy Roundup to be had. We’ll have more to post soon. We promise.

Hugs and kisses.

Musings, Mixings, Meaning

I’m so glad he trusts me with this. As he tells me the new story of finally caressing his first love, and as I take in his written description of it, I feel so much. A deep joy that has grown in me each time I find it again. A confusion that dwindles each time. Fears. What if she’s better than me at this, or that? What if it feels better to him when they’re together? I’m thrilled when he has a meaningful experience, and I also wonder with nervousness and awe how it will change the meanings that live and breathe between us.

When I have questions, I ask. “What does Us feel like now with new Kylah gloriousness in you?” He says we’re still us, and he describes the us that endures. And it makes sense. The And. That’s what I’m beginning to know, bit by bit. His love for me, And his love for others. The And isn’t in me. I don’t love that way… but if I look in him, and pay attention, it becomes clearer and clearer.

Later in the evening, a sultry song comes from his computer speakers. He collects me in his arms and dances with me. I am in heaven. I move my hips with his, and run my hand across his hair and cheek. Something clicks into place in me, and fears fall away. This is who we are, this is our uniqueness. My hand on his skin, the way my hips move against his. The me I bring when we touch, when we dance or fuck… nobody else is my body. This is the substance of me and him and us. The dance of our four arms, or of their two tongues… it’s all welcome here, welcome to slosh and mix together. Unique. Bound by care we have for each other. Bound by the reaches of his heart.

My tentative certainty in trusting him when he reaches out for others… it’s the same determined nervousness that he brings into trusting me to be here, to take all this in, to speak up when I need him and love all these treasures he pours in my lap.