Posts tagged ‘arousal template’

100 sexxay things about Omnivore

Inspired by Wendy Blackheart at Heart Full of Black, I give you 100 things about me, the sex list (with some love and truth and beauty thrown in for good measure).

  1. I took my own virginity.
  2. No, really. With a small, pink, very ladylike bottle of roll-on deodorant. I broke my hymen, and that hurt a bit, and then I pushed the bottle in farther and it felt good. And then I stopped. Because I was afraid.
  3. This was after an aborted attempt to “give” my virginity to a boy in the back seat of a car.
  4. While he was pulling down my pants, I asked him if he had a condom. “No,” he said, rising up to kiss me, “but you don’t want a piece of plastic in you the first time, do you?”
  5. He couldn’t penetrate my little 13-year-old cunt.
  6. There was no foreplay, which probably didn’t help.
  7. We broke up soon afterward.
  8. I was 14 years old and a freshman in high school the first time I had sexual intercourse.
  9. I was 19 years old before I had sex without a condom.
  10. Twice I went to the same anonymous HIV-testing clinic with a man so we could fuck without a condom.
  11. I think it’s kind of romantic to go get STD screenings together.
  12. I paid attention during sex ed. Back then, they actually told you about the various forms of birth control and how to use them.
  13. According to the current abstinence-only curricula taught in public schools across the country, I am a piece of scotch tape that has been stuck to so many arms that it can no longer “bond” properly.
  14. I’d rather be a slut than a whore.
  15. I reclaimed the word “dyke” early on.
  16. I didn’t reclaim the word “slut” until I was over 30.
  17. I didn’t reclaim the word “bitch” until this year.
  18. I fell in love with a little red-haired girl when I was in the first grade.
  19. I fell in love with a little brown-haired boy when I was in the second grade.
  20. I told my fourth-grade teacher that I loved my best friend so much that if I could I would marry her. Her response shamed me deep into the closet for a decade.
  21. When I was a toddler, I remember discovering the interesting folds of my vagina while sitting in the living room watching TV. “That’s a private place to touch,” said my mother. “You should only touch that when you’re in the bath or in bed alone at night.”
  22. I didn’t have a real orgasm until I was in college.
  23. The boy who gave it to me was a black boy with a moustache. We were never really dating.
  24. He did it by going down on me with enthusiasm, and by doing it longer than anyone had done it before.
  25. The first time I ejaculated was with a small, hard plastic vibrator. I was about 19 years old.
  26. I had to throw away that futon less than a year later because it started to smell really funky.
  27. My boyfriend said “Are you sure it’s not pee?” the first time I came on his face.
  28. Later, I asked my girlfriend what it tasted like and she replied, “your hot, salty cum.”
  29. The first woman I fell in love with was a summer exchange student from a local community college.
  30. She gave me a tiny hickey, and when my mother asked me who had given it to me, I told her.
  31. My mother’s initial response was “Ew”.
  32. Later, my mother told me she loved me no matter who I was or who I was with. She bought me combat boots and a toolbox.
  33. It took me ten more years to realize I didn’t have to be butch to be a dyke.
  34. I didn’t come to terms with my bisexuality until five years after I came out of the closet.
  35. I used to call myself a traitor to my own kind.
  36. I am very, very good at eating pussy.
  37. I am very, very good at sucking cock.
  38. I can deep throat, but only if I’m really into the guy.
  39. Finger-fucking gives me carpal tunnel syndrome.
  40. I like 69ing, but I’d rather be on top.
  41. My favorite way to come is on my back, with intense stimulation on my clit.
  42. After I turned 30, I started having vaginal orgasms regularly and repeatedly.
  43. When I come during PIV sex, my cunt has been known to clench so hard it pushes my lover’s cock right out.
  44. I have been known to ejaculate from PIV sex.
  45. I have been known to ejaculate from a spanking.
  46. I think cybersex is cheating.
  47. I don’t think I’m really polyamorous, but I like to pretend when I’m single.
  48. I once spent seven years in a lesbian marriage (the old-school, illegal kind) that suffered from serious Lesbian Bed Death.
  49. I have cheated on more than one partner.
  50. The part of cheating I hate the most (in myself and in others) is the dishonesty.
  51. I like to have sex at least three times a week.
  52. I can go for extended periods of time without any kind of sexual contact, without missing it.
  53. Twice after long-term relationships I’ve used Craigslist to find and fuck a good assortment of lonely, horny men.
  54. Once I got an email from the girlfriend of a man I’d slept with once. It turned out that he had lied to me about being single. I apologized to her and confirmed that he and I had slept together.
  55. I have never had sex with a transgendered person.
  56. I find butch women very attractive, I’ve had sex with many “gay” men, but men in drag do nothing for me.
  57. I see transgendered people as my siblings in gender rebellion.
  58. I’ve fucked women with my “psychic cock” and made them come.
  59. I’ve come while fucking women with my psychic cock.
  60. All of my genderfuck is behavioral. On the outside, I’m very clearly a girl.
  61. I’ve taken people to task for using the word “queer” as a pejorative.
  62. I love the word “queer” because it includes all sorts of sexual and gender minorities.
  63. I have had lovers of many different races and nationalities.
  64. I lost count of the number of lovers I’ve been with sometime in my early 20s.
  65. I used to feel deeply ashamed for having so many sex partners.
  66. I have been deeply in love somewhere between four and six times in my life.
  67. I have never consistently enjoyed anal sex as much as I have with Bran.
  68. I didn’t come to terms with my BDSM tendencies until January 2008.
  69. The first time I heard about fisting was when Susie Bright came to speak at my college in the early 90s.
  70. Less than a month later, my tall, rangy boyfriend with the really large hands managed to fit all five fingers inside me.
  71. Cunnilingus is my favorite thing in the whole world.
  72. Sexual intercourse is my favorite thing in the whole world.
  73. Rubbing my face in a woman’s wet, juicy pussy is my favorite thing in the whole world.
  74. Group sex is my favorite thing in the whole world.
  75. The first time I made out with more than one boy was when I was 15 years old.
  76. My first threesome was with two men, as a freshman in college.
  77. FFM is my favorite threesome combination.
  78. Bran and I have fantasized about bringing a submissive woman to bed with us.
  79. I fall in love very easily.
  80. I’ve often confused lust for love.
  81. I’ve had sex in the back of a car on Highway One in Northern California, on the beach outside of Santa Cruz, in a hotel room with lots of other people having sex around me, on the kitchen floor, on a golf course, while driving, and probably lots of other places I can’t remember.
  82. I find double-penetration (one in the cock, one in the pussy) fascinating.
  83. I have never been fucked in the ass and the pussy at the same time by two actual men with actual penii.
  84. I have experienced double penetration twice with a man and a handy dildo, and each time it was AWESOME.
  85. Once, when I was walking by some neighbors, I heard them repeating something I’d shouted rather loudly the night before.
  86. The thing I’d shouted was, “Oh, baby, fuck me in the ASS!”
  87. The windows had been open.
  88. I was embarassed.
  89. I’ve let a butch woman get away with emotional and physical abuse I would never have tolerated from a man.
  90. I attended a support group at a local women’s shelter to get the moral support I needed to get out of that relationship.
  91. I thought I was different than all the other women in the room because I was gay and they were straight, but our stories ended up being exactly the same.
  92. On two separate occasions I have violently pushed my female lovers away from me.
  93. I used to think that men were made of iron, that I could say all sorts of mean things to them and they wouldn’t feel it.
  94. The only time I’ve ever hit a man was during a scene.
  95. I love to wrestle and win.
  96. I love to wrestle and lose.
  97. I love to dominate my lovers.
  98. With Ace, I discovered exactly how sexy it is to hurt someone.
  99. It’s only sexy if they’re into it too.
  100. I like to say I love power exchange more than sadomasochism, but sometimes I wonder if that’s true.

September 16, 2008 at 9:10 pm 9 comments

Sum total of my kink experiences to date, or why you should never hire me as a prodom

Age 3: I am the Queen of the Boys in preschool. We play Star Wars. I am Princess Leia, of course. They lock me in the tricycle shed and then duel with their lightsabers. Luke Skywalker defeats Darth Vader, but forgets that I’m still locked in the tricycle shed. I get myself out.

Age 7: I smother Jeffie, my second-grade boyfriend, with kisses. He never stops me.

Age 14: People ask me if I have a nickname. I tell them they should call me Dominique, because I like the name. Someone jokes that I should be Mistress Dominique, mimes the sound of a whip cracking. I laugh along with the rest of them.

Age 15: I’m at an arts camp. I’m making out with my boyfriend in his dorm room and he tells me that he likes… I think the word he uses is “dominance.” I’m freaked out almost immediately. It’s not whips and chains or anything, he tells me. I just like to be told what to do in bed. I run away as soon as possible. We never talk about it. Years later, I realize he knew me better than I knew myself.

Age 19: I’m in my sophomore year at a college that is very sexually open. My boyfriend and I experiment with bondage, with anal sex. I don’t enjoy either very much. We split up in April.

That summer, I realize I like girls and get my heart broken. A few months later, I meet an older man who seduces me with cooking and a foot rub. He is a wonderful lover, considerate, sweet, experienced, communicative. He loves to go down on me. Once in passing, he mentions that he and someone else used to tie their friend to the radiator in San Francisco. I’m intrigued but don’t ask further. He spanks me a bit, and I like it. When I like something, I tend to be vocal about it. Once his roommates tease me because they could hear the sound through the vents. I’m embarrassed.

Age 21: April and I are the Big Dykes on Campus. At the annual “gay” dance, a BDSM student group from a neighboring college creates a dungeon in a side room. They cover three walls with black plastic sheets and set up a sort of whipping post with ropes that dangle from the wall. They don’t actually tie people into the ropes — people just hold them while they stand belly up to the wall. They have informational packets about safety and ways to save money on floggers, whips, etc. I’m wearing a long, form-fitting dress that zips up the back. The group members very gently guide me to the ropes, unzip my dress, expose my shoulders and back. A lovely woman in a leather miniskirt whips me with a crop. She checks with me over and over again, rubbing in the marks with her hands. Before she uses the flogger, she warns me against the dangers of wrapping, especially to the sides of a woman’s breasts. People are watching. Afterward, I’m not prepared for the rush, but the group members are. I step away from the wall, feel dizzy, they guide me gently to a chair, offer me water. A beautiful woman with coffee-colored skin comes up to me as I sit there in the post-whipping rush. “Did that feel good?” she asks me. “You have no idea,” I answer.

I do some reading. A few months later, I start telling a friend of mine to shut up, over and over again, while we’re hanging out with other people. He calls me later and tells me that he got turned on when I did that. “I know,” I say. I don’t know how I know, but I know. I tell him I’d always been curious about being a dominatrix. Dominatrixing, in my mind, is something you get paid for. He’s also particularly unattractive, and I am living with April–we have a quasi-open relationship, one that’s never really negotiated or processed. He runs a soup kitchen, so we work out an arrangement.

Every week or so, he brings us a bag of groceries, washes our dishes (we are complete slobs and let them pile up to the ceiling), and cooks us dinner. Afterward, I put on my best business suit and sexiest shoes, make him strip to his underwear, kneel him on the living room floor, and beat him with the various implements he brings me. I especially like the riding crop. I spank him, call him names, pull his hair, put my feet up on him, read him dirty stories. Once, I make him lick my shoes. He does it so eagerly, and the feel of his tongue on the suede, so close to my feet, arouses me. I can’t deal with the idea that this ugly little man might make me feel anything but contempt and a rush of power. I never let him lick my shoes again.

During these sessions I first experience top drop — the complete exhaustion that can happen when I direct all of my energies into a beating. I don’t know what to do with this either. Topping is a lonely, exhausting business. April is jealous.

Once during lovemaking, April says “you’re treating me like a common whore!” I apologize immediately. “No,” she says. “You’re treating me like a common whore!” I slap her face, too hard, and she recoils. I apologize immediately, cringing at my ineptitude. I kiss her, make love to her, then loop my belt around her neck and make her walk on her hands and knees around the kitchen.

Eventually, April leaves me for a man even less attractive than my sub. My sub is the one who helps me pack up the U-Haul. I move to another state, and he visits me there. He buys me an electric wok as a housewarming gift. I tell him it’s a terrible gift, and I can tell that this hurts his feelings. I never give him a proper goodbye. I look back on the scene with April with regret.

Age 24: I have a brief, violent affair with Pura. At one point while she’s fucking me with a strap-on, I ask her to treat me like a bitch. She slaps me across the face so hard it jars me. Another time, she’s fucking me with her hands and I tell her it’s hurting me. “Take it for me,” she says. And I do. Pura has been to jail twice for assault; I call the police once when she punches me in the nose.

Age 28: I spend some time at a place in Arizona that specializes in childhood trauma recovery. They draw up a treatment plan for me. In it, they say I have a sexual disorder, NOS (Not Otherwise Specified), because I have “experimented with sado-masochism.” I protest, but not enough to have it removed from the chart.

Age 29: Badger uses a collection of silk neckties his mother sent him to tie me to the posts of his cheap, aluminum bed. I almost always escape, usually while he’s fucking me, because I want to touch him. Once, he takes my face in his hands and kisses my eyes, my cheeks, everywhere except my mouth until I am begging, begging him to kiss me on the mouth. He refuses. It is one of the hottest experiences I’ve ever had.

Age 31: Kristen and I (just friends) go for a walk in the woods. She won’t stop bleating about all the disastrous dates she’s been on in the past few months. I wish she would shut up so I can hear the sound of a stream, so I can hear the quiet of the woods. In a high, scrubby place, I look at her and say, “This is a magical spot. We have to tell each other a secret here.” She tells me that she put herself through school as a professional dominatrix. That I can’t ever tell anyone else about it. I’m incredibly curious. I tell her about my dishwashing sub.

I’m self-employed at the time, struggling financially, and learning about Kristen’s former avocation makes me consider seriously going pro. I have no idea what I’m doing. I post to Craigslist with a sort of Victorian theme. I meet two potential clients at restaurants but never go through with it. I realize something important: I never want to do sex work. I enjoy sex too much; getting paid for it would be like getting a job at my favorite restaurant. Plus, I don’t like the idea of being financially dependent on anyone, especially not the kind of man that visits prostitutes.

Six months later, Kristen and I become lovers. I can tell that she’s reluctant to experiment with kink–working as a dominatrix has ruined it for her. I’m so very relieved when she agrees to do some bondage. She says I’m what she’s always been looking for: a femme top. And I realize that’s what I am. I like to be the one doing. It’s hard sometimes for me to allow someone to touch me. The power, the control, I can’t always give it up. It was like this with April sometimes, too. I can make love to her, revel in the sounds and the smells and the taste of her orgasm, but I can’t always submit to her caresses. I can’t–it’s too much for me. I need to be in control. I can’t always let myself go. She complains about this, about the gradual reduction in our sex life. She complains about a lot of things. I realize she’s not happy unless she’s complaining.

Age 33: Kristen and I split up in January. I resolve to stay celibate for a year, but then springtime comes. I post an ad (vanilla, W4M) to the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist and am immediately overwhelmed by responses. I go on a lot of first dates and am rudely re-introduced to the horrors of dating men (especially the kind of man who trolls the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist). Dating is a rough sport, but I’m a tough girl. My friends and I laugh about the man who texted me to tell me that he wanted to fuck me in the ass.

Eventually, I meet a nice man who tells me, upon examination of my photograph, that any man should be happy to spank me. I meet him at a coffee shop, take him home. When he kisses me, he sounds like a man enjoying a very good meal. In the aftermath, I ask him to tell me a story, and he tells me about performing with Women of Sodom as their slave. I’m thrilled.

The next time he comes over, I tie him to the bed with scarves, break out the riding crop that has been sitting in the back of my closet since R and Z mailed it to me from DC. I flick his erect penis with my fingernail and he gasps. I put him in a ball gag. I use my nails and my teeth on him. At one point, I say to him in wonder, “you like it when I hurt you.” It’s as though I’ve discovered something that’s been missing my whole life, something I didn’t even know I should be looking for. I fuck him in the ass with my hands, just as I used to with Kristen. Once, he makes me come by rubbing his chin against my shoulder. He’s less than dependable, prone to disappearing for weeks at a time then phoning me out of the blue. I don’t really mind.

Around the same time, I am bellyaching to a good friend that I can’t afford to pay a maid. I hate cleaning the house–it seems like such a waste of time! He half-jokingly suggests that I advertise on Craigslist for a houseboy. I remember my dishwashing sub. I receive at least ten serious inquiries to my post, along with a number of emails from men who think I should come over, wash their dishes, and give them blow jobs. At least five people tell me that I am an unnatural pervert. The ad gets flagged fairly quickly, although Craigslist is full of advertisements from men looking for women who like to be spanked and humiliated.

I meet a man who likes to dress as a sissy maid. He tells me that he’s looking for the whole package, a relationship both BDSM and vanilla. I’m not interested in a relationship with him, only in service. He comes a couple of times to clean, I talk sternly to him, order him around, beat him once with the crop when he doesn’t do something fast enough. But I find the cross-dressing unsettling and am exhausted with supervising him. He meets someone at a kink event and stops coming.

The second houseboy candidate I meet turns out to be one of the potential clients I met when I was considering going pro. I don’t find him attractive, but he is very eager to please and very good at housework. I beat him with the crop, spank him with my hands, make him soap my back once when I am in the tub. I bind his arms and legs, drop candle wax on his back. Once, when I’m rubbing lotion into his poor, abused shoulders, I find myself admiring his powerful muscles. He faithfully expresses his gratitude at being able to serve me and once, when I don’t email him in a timely manner, begs me not to discard him. Over the Christmas season, I stop hearing from him and send him a plaintive email in return.

Just after Christmas, Ace contacts me via OKCupid. We have similar politics, similar interests. He’s fun to chat with and to talk to. I am attracted to him. It’s clear from some hints in his profile that he is submissive. He’s not really ready for anything approaching a relationship, and I’m not sure if I am or not. The first time we kiss, I scratch his neck with my nails, bite him, and from the noises he makes I can tell he likes it. It’s hot for me because it’s hot for him. He tells me about BDSM dating sites, points me to the good porn. We talk about Bitchy Jones’s diary. We talk about what we’d like to do, what we haven’t done, how we can do things better. Sex with him is like exploring a magical garden, always with new paths to walk down and discover.

I talk about my adventures in kink with friends. Some of them are freaked out, many of them don’t know the first thing about it. The important ones assure me that there’s nothing wrong me, I’m not sick, I don’t need therapy. The next time I meet with my houseboy, I drop the roles, talk to him like one human being to another. “I’ve been ashamed of my kink,” I tell him.

“That’s surprising to hear, since it comes so naturally to you,” he replies.

It does. And I have so much left to learn.

February 5, 2008 at 5:22 pm 8 comments


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