St. Andrew's Cross in a Condo Dungeon

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Coming Out - but only so far

It's National Coming Out Day.
So I came out.
Sort of.
Part way.

A lot of my friends and "friends" already knew that I'm bi.
Some didn't but wouldn't really care one way or another.
I do have some ethnic friends who didn't know.
Attitudes in those circles aren't always so open.
But now they know.
That I'm bi.

I posted it on my Facebook page. It's a rather impassioned statement denying some myths about bisexuals and saying that I'm one. A friend shared it as her status and now I'm curious to see how long it takes to go around the world and back to us...

But I didn't tell everything.

A Famous BDSM Author has turned up in town and joined my shul. Of course, the whole list of Facebook friends knows that The Author is kinky, and no one is surprised about the sexual orientation, either. Still, I was jealous, wishing that I, too, could announce that I was kinky along with everything else.

But I didn't.
I don't.
Even though being submissive is far more for me than sex play.
It isn't play at all.
It's who I am.
How I am.
Whom I love.

So why is this so different from being bi or lesbian or whatever?
Partly because it just feels more... personal.
And partly because people would worry about me.

We've come a long way in our attitudes towards sexual orientation. But BDSM? A joke. Something to be sneered at, or to crop up on mainstream sex toy websites as pink furry handcuffs. Something really sick. Pink furry handcuffs? They might tease me. A certifiable sadist who leaves his knife in the car to protect me from himself?

What do you think?

So I made a big bold statement about bisexuals, which was in fact a really good thing to do. And it was good to be part of the stream of statements on this day - especially as I've never done it before. But I knew I was holding things back.

And I wish I didn't have to.

Lick me

I lie here feeling sick and weak.
Bored with feeling sick and weak.
Days and days in bed,
barely eating,
sleeping bare.

I'm weak but feeling restless. I kick back the blankets and let the draft caress my body. But an invading breeze is not what I need.

I need a girl to lick me.

I need a girl to bury her head between my legs, to push them apart so I know that she is in charge. How good she will make me feel is up to her.

She will make me feel very very good.
Teeth and tongue, lips and fingers,
all are conspiring to make me feel very very good.

I remember being a camp counselor the summer after my freshman year in college. I came down with a very bad summer cold, and could always be seen with a big box of Kleenex. (This was a long time ago. Back before Puffs Plus. The dark ages of facial tissues. Things were rough in those days of the Vietnam War.) One afternoon I went off to some secret empty little cabin and indulged in some very serious petting with one of the other counselors. Male. I didn't know yet... And I discovered a most wonderful thing. Sex can be almost as good as spicy food for clearing nasal passages! I think it must be the endorphins. Even without a spanking.

So I think I need some serious petting - or whatever - with someone new. Someone female. Someone not afraid of my germs. Someone who wants to lick me. And then stop. And lick me some more. And stop. And lick me and lick me and have me begging to be allowed to cum and then, of course, she will have to text the sadist, asking for permission to make me cum.

And he'll say no.
Not yet.

Some things aren't yet clear in my head. I see her being younger than me (that's easy) and pretty. Soft and sweet with pretty tits so that I will love to feel her lying on top of me, rubbing herself into me, and then we will roll over and I will desperately push myself into her and her skin will be soft and her cunt will be wet and she will pinch my left nipple with her right hand and an urgent message will run from that little stab of pain down to my pussy, there must be synapses directly connecting one to the other, and she will be on top of me and hurting my nipple and sinking her teeth into my neck...

When I started writing this, I wasn't sure if I wanted a girl to hurt me. I do want her to be in control. I do want her to lick me. I do want her to hurt me in some standard sexy ways.

I do want her to teach me.

I really am bisexual. It's not just a question of playing around sometimes with women. I am bisexual in that I am not limited by gender as to who will draw me, who will spark my desire, who will inspire my love. Bisexual is a deceptive term, really. It sounds so binary. This or that. This and that. I try to explain it to those who don't understand, who just think it's so sexy and don't really understand. It's like saying that sometimes I'm attracted to a blond. Sometimes I'm attracted to someone dark. Too often, it seems I'm attracted to the Irish... It's something inside as well as outside that draws me, and it doesn't mean that I must have one of each.

Maybe I should just say I'm unbounded.
Open to possibilities.

But it's easier to use standard terminology, I suppose. So yes, I'm bisexual, and I do find women attractive. I have dated one lesbian and one bi woman and fallen in love with one woman who is bi but rejects that part of herself... she broke my heart.

I do get my heart broken much too easily.

But the only one I had a sex life with was that last one, and what we did together was intense and passionate and exploratory and based on the amazing sex we each had with S--, who was seeing both of us but was in love with her. What a mess. But I digress.

Because the point is now. Now as in right this minute. Now as in an hour ago when I was leaving a comment on Saturday's deliberately masturbatory post, a reply to Liras' perfect little comment, and I realized "I think I need a girl to come over and lick me."

Someone sweet and delicious and commanding and experienced, who can teach me and arouse me and lick me and fuck me and teach me to please her and then I'm not sure what. Perhaps tie me to the bed but not hurt me the way the sadist does. A little erotic pain will do, but...

No one can replace my Master.
No one.

Still, a sweet young female tongue...

Surfeit

I am so tired.
I am ever so tired.

I think of the men in my life and my pussy starts pulsing and my cunt starts convulsing, and my heart softens and my panties grow soggy and the idea of summoning up the physical energy to actually be with any of them is totally impossible to entertain.

Hell, I'm flooding just from writing the last paragraph. And of course I'm not allowed to masturbate without permission as the sadist owns my orgasms...

hmmm... in addition to having permission - nay, encouragement - from the philosopher to see other people, I have permission from the sadist as well, with the footnote that he doesn't really think the permission is his to give. Still, to my mind it is, so I asked. But. If he owns my orgasms, do I have to ask to be allowed to cum when I'm with the Irishman? not that this has been an issue so far...

I do love the idea that there are these two men who've been wanting me while I've been sick and they just have to wait. Of course, I would much rather have been well and submissive than be able to enjoy this short-lived sense of power.

On top of all this... ah, fantasies... there is this woman who very occasionally turns up at my synagogue... I've had a crush on her since I first saw her... cute, smart, dynamic, artistic, feminist, progressive... she came for Purim services last night, welcomed me to sit next to her, sat close up against me with a lot of unnecessary physical contact which neither of us shied away from... it was nice to be reminded that I really am bi... although the idea of explaining my social life to her... Oy! In any case, I was very bold and added her to my Facebook friends list. For me, that's pretty brave and aggressive.

OK, now I've made myself utterly and completely horny. I sure as hell hope I'm stronger soon. My demon muse wants to pay me a lunchtime visit this week...

What does it feel like...

A male friend, a fine writer, was speaking of his curiosity. I am poorly paraphrasing, I am protecting his privacy, I am protecting my privilege of access.

What? he wonders.
What appeals?
What doesn't?
What does it feel like?

What does it feel like, he wonders, these sensations that you experience that physically I can never know?

I know these questions.
I've had them myself.
Especially when in bed with the woman I thought I was in love with.

My clitoris wanted to be a cock.
My clitoris thought it was a cock.
My clitoris wanted to fuck her.

It was very very frustrating.

As some of you may remember, we were both involved with the same man. We were both involved with S--. And it was all at a distance. I was with her, and she would be with him the following weekend, and I couldn't help thinking that he would be able to do with her, to her, what I couldn't.

He could fuck her.
He could take his thoroughly lovely cock and move it inside her.

I knew what it would feel like for her.
I knew exactly what it would feel like for her.
What would it feel like for him?

Like my friend, I'm always wanting to know what it's like for the other side. It obsesses me. I was always asking the philosopher, I was always asking blogging doms, what does it feel like?

I posted this to craigslist as well as here, both as a lure and as an honest attempt at exploration - and received a very special response.

But I want more.

What does it feel like to have a cock?
What does it feel like to be a cock?
What does it feel like to swell at the thought of me?
What does it feel like to swell when you read my words?
What does it feel like to swell at the sound of my moans in your phone?
What does it feel like to slide inside me?
What does it feel like to push inside me?
What does it feel like to cum inside me?

What does it feel like to want me?

I know what it feels like to want you.

Fortunate Future

i had just returned with a GLBT-synagogue night out – Christmas in July, at least for Jews… Chinese food and a movie. The gay guys picked the movie so of course it was the musical of “Hairspray.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sunday night 29 July 2007

my post-Chinese meal cookie yielded a very promising fortune, surrounded by smiley faces:

You will have good luck in your personal affairs.

i will take that as absolutely true.

i enjoyed the movie a lot. good music, good production numbers, nice cameo by John Waters as a flasher, didn't agree with John Travolta's decision to play Edna Turnblad straight, as a woman, so he didn't really add anything, but the rest of it was good and fun and very feel-good.

at dinner, i came out about you. very brave. but then the only woman at the table was V, who is rather gender ambiguous and has always accepted my being bi, and knows about you anyway. the guys, of course, were not at all judgmental, and my darling leather
friends were highly approving when i said you were kinky and just wanted to know when i was going to bring you around for them to pass judgment. ;-) anyway, it was a big relief, tho i still haven't broken the word to my lesbian friends, of whom one of my favorites always has a hard time remembering i'm bi. but so be it.

it seems i have a habit of blushing fiercely when i bring you up.

coming back on the train, i listened to my collection of phone messages. mmm... very, um, stirring...

the world smelled of chamomile when i exited in Silver Spring. from all the rain. there's been a drought - we needed it.

i need you.
- -
"out". . .you mean all the way? Ropes and chains and collars. . .the works?

Good!

Take off the black t-shirt.
- -
i didn't go into detail. just said you were kinky.

that was enough. especially for the leather boys.

t-shirt is off m'Lord.

thank you.

when you exert your power... i start going down...

in 5 days, in 5 days you will take me all the way.
- -
All the way down, kitten. . .

Unbutton your jeans, too. .
- -
jeans had already been exchanged for shorts, which are now zipped down.

i can't wait for you to work at taming me with your hands, with your cane, with your cock... not just with your words...

listening to your messages, where you say you own me... i have no doubt. i have no doubt that you do own me. and count the minutes until you claim me.
- -
Taming you. . . up close. . . where I can see how well you obey. . . and if you don't. . .

WHAP!

Immediate correction.

I look forward to becoming closely acquainted with every intimate corner of your body.

I can't wait until I get my first glimpse of my property. . .
- -
[whimper...]
- -
And I plan on taking full advantage of my ownership. . .

How tall are you?
- -
5' 3-3/4"

why, m'Lord?
- -
I have my reasons, kitten.

Take off your shorts.
- -
[you scare me, m'Lord.]

shorts are off, sir,
ass is bare.
cunt is revealed.

i am yours for the taking.

5 days from now you will have been here for hours, m'Lord.

suddenly...
i feel you caning me...

do you hear, m'Lord?

do you hear those little sounds you love?

my back is arching of it own accord.
my head is falling back.
and the sounds...

i feel your cruelty.
and am lost.
- -
Get the cane.
- -
[gulp]

[small voice:]
yes, sir..
- -
Once you have it. . .

Strip completely naked.

Rest the cane across your knees.
- -
[trembling...]
- -
Tell me what you are feeling.

Now.
- -
aroused

frightened

very submissive

very small

owned

wet

trembling

breathing fast... no, panting

and wanting to know the sting of teh cane. from you. to know you are unleashing your demon on my defenseless flesh.

and you, my master?

what are you feeling?
- -
I am hard, kitten. . .and I want to expend my hardness on you.

I want to take you over my knee. . .telll you exactly what i am going
to do to you. . .and then do it. . .

I want to hear you scream. . .

Put the cane in your mouth. . .
- -
yes, sir.

i am whimpering and moaning sir, and was all the time i was waiting to hear back from you.

tell me what you are telling me that you will do.

tell me what it is that will make me scream

the fear... it sends me down...
- -
Are you alone?
- -
yes.

my housemate is almost never here now.

of course, Marko is on the bed with me. he also looks after me when we are on line or on the phone, and he is obsessed with the cane.

as am i...
- -
Obsessed. . .

And you want to know what I will do to you. . .

Take the cane down tot the basement. Stand in front of the black footrest.

Raise the can over your head. . .Strike the footrest with the cane as hard as you can. . .

Get a good "WHAP!" out of it.

THAT is what I am going to do to you.

Let me know when you have done it.
- -
i have done it, master.

i have done it and am back upstairs.

when you issued the command, i walked downstairs as if in a trance. perfectly obedient.

and yes, as always, when it came time to strike, it was a struggle. so tremendously difficult. frightening, distressing.

finally, i pulled myself enough tor aise my arm.

the cane came down hard on the footstool.

this time, the actual hitting wasn't so upsetting.

but the sound... the sound of the cane whooshing through the air...

that was horrible.

horribly threatening...

you will enjoy it, i think.

and enjoy my fear...
- -
I think I will, kitten.

;-)

And now, to bed.

You will call me at 8:03 tomorrow morning.
- -
to bed?! i'm so incredibly aroused!! you are such a meanie... and you get me every time. you are deliberately exciting me, over and over, having forbidden me to even touch... i'll be so locked up tight by friday, who knows if i'll ever be able to cum again!

sadistic bastard.

sigh... you're just what i want.

you are the only one i want.

whatever you are, whoever you are, you define what i want.

you own me. so i have no choice in the matter in any case.

thank you, master.
thank you for putting me to bed.

i will call at 8:03.
and this time you won't go back to sleep, right?

we will be very productive, as i crawl, and you stride, towards consummation.

good night, m'Lord.

and dream of how you will torture me.

and of my screams...
- -
:-) :-) :-)

Good night kitten.

Bowdlerizing my life

I played music Sunday afternoon. For hours! (See, master? Aren't you pleased with me?) In a few week, I'll be heading off to what the philosopher persists in calling "Band Camp." For me, it's Live in One Room with 12 of Your Closest Friends Camp. AND get to play music for hours on an instrument that I own but rarely touch during the year. Bad kitten. Actually, more like stupid, undisciplined kitten. Nothing new there...

My good friend M plays the same obscure instrument as I do. She's the real reason I moved down to the DC area. I suppose I was in love with her for years. Not in a hugely sexual way, though I did sometimes want to touch her breasts. In the old days there was a lot more nudity at camp than now. And I do have a thing for women's breasts. Another of the many things the philosopher and I have in common.

M has a dominant streak. She likes to organize people's lives. Certainly I need that. Periodically, before camp each year, after showing no interest in playing with me since the last camp (playing MUSIC, you perverts!), she'll decide she has to get me in shape. So Sunday, I hauled myself and my 30-pound instrument into the car and drove the mile-and-a-half to her house. And oh my goodness, did we have a great time beating beautiful sounds out of those things!

Of course, it made me think kinky thoughts... of my sweet sadistic master bringing his cane down on my ass the way my hammers were coming down on the strings... of the joy he gets from my moans and cries and screams and sobs... how our music gives me those little convulsions in my womb in exactly the same way his words can. He had been working on getting me to cum on command when we took our vow of silence. We hadn't quite gotten there yet, but he would start counting down with 3 and often not even make it to 2 before I'd get this little internal earthquake and my body would have a tiny seizure. Not exactly what I would call an orgasm. Maybe a mini-orgasm?

Back to Sunday. M is telepathic. For real. Actually, in some cases we're not sure if she heard me or I heard her. But it can be kind of creepy, while funny at the same time. We did a lot of it during our work for Obama in the primaries, so I expect there will be plenty more ahead in the fall. Oddly, though, despite my fears, she has never picked up that there was anything, um... interesting about the nature of my relationship with the philosopher.

She does know about the vow of silence. So when I came over to play on Sunday, I of course wanted to tell her that my master was concerned and had called. But how to explain it? Because he called after reading about the lithium on our blog, and I sure as hell haven't told anyone in my regular group of friends about the blog.

So step in the Censor. It's like editing a movie for content and to fit the screen of your TV. The PG version of the movie of my life has no blog. So I had to say that the philosopher remembered that I would be seeing the doctor and was worried about me. Not anywhere near as dramatic as what really happened.

But you do what you have to. It could have been worse. Someone we know could have passed me driving him home from the bus station, a pink dog collar around my neck, one end of a long, dark green leash clipped onto the D-ring at my throat and the other end clutched in the hand of the innocent-looking redheaded man with the wicked mind sitting next to me in the car.

Anyone have any ideas as to how to explain THAT one?