Posts tagged ‘bisexuality’

Hope springs eternal

I posted another ad for a houseboy in the Miscellaneous Romance section of Craigslist.

The last one got flagged off so fast only one serious response came through before it was gone. Some trick-ass bitch on Craigslist must really hate dominant women, or thinks that bona fide bitches who do it for the sexxay don’t really exist.

[EDIT: The post was up for all of five minutes before it got flagged again]

I was corresponding nicely with the one serious inquirer, but he balked when I asked for his first and last name. It’s just protocol, yo. You’re coming to my house, after all, touching all of my intimate things. Don’t I deserve to do a quick Google and sex offender registry search on you first?

I’m sure that you are all weeping for me in the face of my desperate plight, especially you poor submissive men in search of an owner. “Really, Omnivore,” you’re probably saying. “Aren’t you just a tad greedy? After all, you’ve got that delicious Bran playing puppy with you and fucking you hello, not to mention that young new boy who likes to kneel at your feet and sort your mail.”

To which I will reply, “Yes, that’s true. And I haven’t even told you about that sweet, curvy girl with the pixie haircut and the funky sense of style with whom I’ve only been on two dates.


“But,” I will say, “I am indeed a greedy bitch, and after 20 years of dating people, I’ve decided to stop feeling ashamed of asking for what I want. Bran’s too busy with grad school to clean and it’s not really his kink anyway. And while the sexxay is awesome, he’s not a pure submissive. The new houseboy shows promise in the personal secretary department but doesn’t really know how to vaccuum a room properly and doesn’t like pain. And Ace spoiled me forever in that department; I want another submissive boy with a high threshold for pain who will sweat and stretch and scrub until the place is spotless and then take off his clothes and kneel when I order him to. I want him to look up at me with that look, that look that maybe only Ace had but which I’m hoping to see on the face of another sub, a sort of dark and hooded and completely surrendered look that says I’m yours. Use me. Hurt me. I love it. And you love it. Please.

“I’m greedy enough to want two houseboys, not just one. AND a boyfriend. AND a girlfriend.”

Yeah. That’s what I want.

Is that so wrong?

April 10, 2008 at 7:07 pm 7 comments

First orgy, worst orgy

It was right around this time of year, actually, perhaps a bit later. I was a junior in high school. We’d just finished our exams, so it was either mid-term or the end of the year. We all jumped into Rich’s car and headed north to April’s house. April, whose mother up in Maine had despaired of ever taming her wild daughter, finally threw up her hands and sent her to live down in Fairfield County with her dad. She lived in a little shack behind the main house. It had no indoor plumbing and relied on a wood stove for heat, but it did have something far more valuable to a wild 17-year-old: privacy.

The year was 1990, and Rich popped in a tape of all five radio remixes of Madonna’s Vogue. There were six of us: Rich, April, me, young Susan (a mere freshman), Hester, and April’s beau Thom. Aside from chiseled good looks, Thom had few redeeming qualities. But I don’t think she liked him for his conversation.

“I’ve got that feeling,” I said aloud as we sped north.

“Like you’re going to be bad?” said Susan. And I nodded. We were thrilled, glad to be alive, free of schoolwork, free of parents and obligations, free to be bad.

Once at April’s place, we clambered up the steps (more ladder than staircase) to the little loft above the main room. Someone produced a case of beer — the cheapest kind imaginable. There was some shotgunning of beers. And then people were passing a joint, tiny, mostly paper, and almost gone before I’d become aware of it. That was most likely the first time I saw anyone actually smoking pot.

And then someone–Thom or Rich, I’m sure–came up with the bright idea of tying up all the girls. We were all in the drama club except for Thom, whom I’d never even seen at school, and Rich was the flymaster. This meant he was adept at tying knots. He demonstrated this skill fairly well, and pretty soon we were all prettily trussed and bound on April’s rat’s nest of a bed.

When Rich first appeared on the scene at the beginning of the year, I’d developed a crush on him. Along with every other single female member of the drama club. Since then, I’d come to realize he was just a conceited ass. And yet there I was, hands bound above my head, undulating as he teased me with his hands.

“I’ve got to have more beer in me to do this,” I said. And shotgunned another beer. That turned out to be a big mistake, because pretty soon the bed and the room were spinning. “I’m going to throw up,” I said. And without further ado, I did. Right next to the bed.

Folks obviously weren’t too pleased, but I was too far gone to do much about it. I clambered downstairs without falling on my head and stumbled through the bright spring sunlight into the main house. I took a shower in her parents’ bathroom, then headed back out to the porch. Hester had quietly excused herself when the rope came out, and the two of us sat there talking and smoking cigarettes. Across the lawn, we heard the noises of our disporting friends through the open window of April’s shack.

April called to me through the open window. “I think I just had an orgasm!” she said.

Strange that she would call it out to me, with two boys and a girl right there in the bed beside her. But she did.

Later, she gave me a full-on kiss, lips, tongue, passion, and all. Hester told me she was surprised, since April had made some comments earlier in the year that expressed a clear dislike for lesbians. In vino veritas.

I made my way back up to our coltish little orgy, intending to clean up the mess I’d left. But my friends had beaten me to it. And then Rich was guiding my hand into Susan’s pants. I pulled down her fly and slid my hands into her panties, felt her wetness, probed further, intrigued and amazed at myself at the same time. “Too hard,” she said, and I pulled my hand out, too awkward and afraid (afraid of what? everything.) to try again. Susan was soft and chocolate-colored, with a fine nimbus of black hair framing her round face and green eyes. I loved her body, had always thought she was gorgeous. But she was also like my little sister. I lay with my chin on her chest and talked. Next to us, April and Thom writhed against each other.

Much later, Hester drove Susan and me back to our crappy little downtown apartments. I watch the green, green lawns slide by. The sky was grey and overcast, like my head in the aftermath of all that beer and transgressive sex.

March 27, 2008 at 5:39 pm 3 comments

Friends and lovers

I had a long talk two nights ago with R. He lives down in DC with his partner Z. The two of them are on my short list of friends whom I love with the love of a chosen family. I think R is probably one of the few people I’m still in touch with who knew me when I was a teenager. One of the formative experiences of my young life was a summer program for the gifted. I went for two years: the summer before my freshman year of high school, and the summer after. That first summer, I’d just discovered kissing boys, and proceeded to find and kiss as many boys as possible in the three weeks I was there. My RA (Residence Advisor, or, in this context, glorified babysitter) gave me the “Most Likely to Be Late for a Hall Meeting Because She’s Off with Some Guy” prize at the end of the session.

The SATs were not the only thing I was precocious about.

The second summer is when I met R. He was a teaching assistant, which meant that he actually got to develop the minds of the insufferable brats who took college-level courses, instead of having to deal with their hormonal drama. My first memory of him is giving him a hard time while he tried to drive us out of our dorm rooms and off to the afternoon program of “mandatory fun.” I was laying on the grotty carpeting in the hallway, my feet up against the opposite wall, and I think I said something smart to him as he came walking toward us.

He looked at me, and he spoke to me like a fellow human being instead of a child. I was both, of course, but when you’re 14 years old and no longer a virgin it’s vitally important that no one remind you of the fact that you’re still a child. It was that, more than anything, that motivated me to get up off that grotty carpeting.

Later, R took the time to teach me theatrical lighting, something I’d begged our stage manager back in high school to teach me all year. He was always very appropriate with me. But the skater dude I’d been trying unsuccessfully to shag all summer (they scheduled us to our eyeballs just for that purpose!) dumped me because I was spending all my spare time in a dark theater with a grad student. There was, in fact, another teaching assistant who was not as scrupulous as R. He grabbed me once during the weekly dances and made my little 14-year-old knees go weak during a slow song.

I kept in touch with both R and his unscrupulous colleague for a while using this now-obsolete technology called pen and paper. I also corresponded with classmates. But these friendships eventually went the way of all pen pals. Someone forgets to write, someone moves, a letter comes back undeliverable.

When I was in my late 20s, I got an email from R. He’d found me via a website I ran under my given name. Fifteen years later, it was like we’d never stopped being friends. At the time, of course, I was living with Angie, who kept me on a very short leash. She eyed my renewed correspondence with R with suspicion, but Angie eyed almost everything I did with suspicion. Later, I left Angie. And dated Badger. And split up with Badger. And eventually, R and I finally saw one another in person again. The first time, I was down in DC for a weekend sailing trip and we met up in Annapolis. Over dinner, he told my friends what I was like at that summer program. His description was so drastically different than my own memories of the summer, it was like he was talking about someone else. It was very flattering, though.

The next time I saw R, he came to visit me. I was rather lonely, and asked him to cuddle with me. Cuddling turned to kissing, which turned to what kissing usually turns into in my bed. Sex with R was amazing. He’s one of those rare kinds of men: sweet and kind and giving and well-hung to boot.

R and I had already corresponded about his open relationship with Z, but I still blushed and cowered when he called her afterward. My own forays into the world of polyamory had almost always ended up with heartbreak or guilt–although I’m not sure how my forays into the world of monogamy have really differed. She thanked me for making her partner feel so welcome. Later, I went down to visit them both in DC, which is where I confirmed what I’d assumed would be the case: R’s partner Z is bright, articulate, sexy, and sweet. I felt really honored when she invited me into their bed together. Threesomes are a rich treat in my experience, like caviar. They’re delicious, intense, and rather hard to come by.

Everything happened so quickly that year. I’d begun dating Kristen just a few months prior, and after that weekend in DC I came home both glowing from my time with R and Z and guilty. Kristen knew what would likely happen during my visit. But I could also sense it wasn’t what she wanted. And sure enough, she laid it out for me over dinner that night. She never told me I couldn’t do what I wanted, just that if I kept sleeping with other people she wouldn’t take me seriously. She wanted the picket fence and all. I wanted a picket fence with a gate in it. But I thought I’d try to be a good lesbian again.

Three years later, Kristen isn’t speaking to me, but R and Z stood by me through the rough months of the breakup. Last night, R told me he’s been happy to hear me talk and write so openly about my adventures in kink. We got to talking about early indicators of sexual predelictions. “You were always pretty alpha,” he said.

I’m going to see him and Z again in April, and possibly March. I don’t know if sex will be on the menu. If it is, it’s not likely to be kinky. I hope I remember how to be soft and sweet. I hope I get to cuddle with them both. They’re a very special couple of people and I’m glad to have them in my life.

February 1, 2008 at 11:55 pm 2 comments

The omnivore’s dilemma

This blog has nothing to do with food. Well, probably not. It’s about sex, raw and trembling on the page. Or the screen. It’s about my sex life in particular, which is perhaps not special or unique, except in that it is mine. And I like all kinds of sex: kinky sex, vanilla sex, sex with women, sex with men, sex with one person and sex with more. Sex with myself. Sex in the head and sex in the body. I set up this blog to talk about it because, really, it’s one of my favorite topics. And it seems to be other peoples’ too.

January 13, 2008 at 1:37 pm Leave a comment

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