Femme Daddy 4 Femme

Sugar, a pale, fat queer with freckles, black lipstick, and black eyeliner, reclines against the wooden headboard of a bed. Their hair is cyan and short, falling to their ears. They are wearing a black babydoll that is split down the middle and red underwear. They are gazing directly into the camera, head tilted to the left ever so slightly, and holding one tail of a black suede flogger in both hands in front of their face, biting down on the middle of the tail.If you’re looking for something sexy, have a sweet and true story snippet from my first sexual experience as a femme Daddy. (Which is pretty fucking great, y’all.)


[CW: Sexually explicit, DDLG, orgasm control.]

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“Oh, Daddy…”

She’s squirming beneath me, the pitch of her voice octaves higher than usual, her breathing ragged and her hips rotating, supple lips parted, lashes long and dark over her cheekbones, eyes rolled back beneath her eyelids. I press my hand harder into her cunt through her short shorts, applying the pressure to her vulva that I know she craves – firm, unerring rubbing, massaging the legs of her internal clitoris, sending warm satisfaction through her groin and tingles into the head of her clit as it continues to swell.

“You have to tell me when you want to cum, babygirl.”

I shift the layers of my skirt to leer over her, press the Die Cast against her clothed cunt, and lean into it, savoring the feeling of her body shuddering under mine. She immediately takes her mouth off the pillow and tries to muster the words. It’s cute, her incredible responsivity, the soft noises she makes, the way she begins to pant so easily when she’s swamped with lust. I drag the long nails of my other hand up the bare inside of her upper thigh. Eventually that sweet, small voice comes back out.

“Now, please, Daddy…”
“Okay kitten… bite the pillow then, Daddy’s going to make you cum.”

She stuffs the fabric into her mouth as I turn the Die Cast up, squeezing one of her breasts and rubbing the wand up and down her vulva. The Die Cast is already starting to numb my fingertips, holding it as close to the head as I am, but it’s worthwhile – I know it won’t be long before I get what I want from my girl. Her muscles are twitching and she begins to tremble beneath me, her quickening breath beginning to hitch in her throat. I bump the vibe up another notch.

“Oh, that’s a good girl… Cum for Daddy, babygirl.”

She lets go, squealing into the pillow, convulsing under me as I hold the head of the toy against her, watching that sweet expression on her beautiful face – her curls falling over one of her eyes and obscuring everything but the black, sharp tip of her flawless winged eyeliner. When her convulsions slow and she curls in on herself, I turn off the vibrator. We had five minutes to get that orgasm out, and I want us to be prompt about her departure so I can respect my roommates’ boundaries.

If I didn’t have to send her home, I’d keep the vibrator on against her cunt, hitch up my skirt, and ride it down into her until we were both exhausted and soaked. I’d part my outer lips and show her the slick, convulsing, pink parts of me, dripping after the languid and intensely hot making out, the feeling of her tits in my hands, the frustrated, whiny way she whimpered, “Daddy…” when I bit her earlobe. I’d let her stroke and probe, show her how I liked it, let her explore every curve and crevice I had.

And then, I’d give her my Sailor Moon pajama shirt to change into for bed and hold her afterward, my naked body against her, kissing the back of her neck and lacing my fingers through hers until we fell asleep together in a room reeking of incense, make-up, perfume, and sex.

Wet For Her Four

About an age and a half ago (December, I think?), Wet For Her contacted me to do a review of their non-phallic double-ended dildo, the Wet For Her Toy Four.

 

Images cobbled together are courtesy of Wet For Her

I was thrilled about this, because I was wildly curious about Wet For Her toys.  As someone who has dated a lesbian who really wasn’t into penises (but could at least tolerate phallic shapes), I thought it might be an interesting opportunity to switch things up.  Epiphora did a review of the Wet for Her Two, and over the summer sent me the Two in a package (because I was wildly curious about it).

But this is a review about the Four.  So anyway, Erika was nice enough to send me the Four.  The timing wasn’t fabulously convenient, initially, because I was in a monogamous relationship with the slutling.  We could have used it anally; we simply never got around to it because I was still trying to make sure he could take a regular dildo before I tried fucking him with anything double-ended or in a harness.  Do make a note that you don’t have to be in a relationship with someone with a vagina to use this.  You’ll have to be mindful of the direction you point the curved end, but it’s perfectly good for any sort of partner play, no matter what genital configuration you’re packing.

I did, however, masturbate with this toy frequently.  (After all, one wants to use the toy several times before writing a review.  And it’s delicious.)

The Four is an amazing masturbation device for those with short arms, or with wrists that get tired from thrusting with their palms on the bottom of a flat-bottomed dildo.  The connecting material between the Four’s two parts is very solid and sturdy, which is exactly the opposite of the connection that the Feeldoe has.  This means that the part of the dildo that’s meant to go in the partner wearing it makes a great handle.

When masturbating, the Four hit my g-spot pretty well.  Because the end is tapered like two fingers, it isn’t particularly wide or flat, but I don’t exclusively need that width.  Because of the sturdiness of my “handle,” it was easy to thrust with the degree of force I needed.  Now, Epiphora raises a good point about the Two that is also true for the Four: it’s not a set of fingers, so it can’t move or adjust the curve like real fingers can.  They will always be in that shape.  Unless your partner only does one thing with their fingers, then it will not be like partner play. And if you don’t like fingering, it’s just not the same as using a phallic dildo with a wider head.

The Four also comes with a bullet you can put in it.  I only tried the toy with the bullet once because of my previous bullet-optional toy follies (see: The Protouch From Hell).  I don’t feel so crazy about it.  The toy is very thick, so I’m not sure that I can say you’ll get a lot sensation from the vibrations.  And internally, most vibrations are very “meh” for me anyway.

Aside from masturbating, I did try to use the Four the way that Wet For Her intended.  When I became single, my ex/roommate and I decided to have sex again.  The Four was not the focus of our play, but we decided to try it in the middle of things, because I was very conscious of the fact that I needed to hurry up and review the thing.  (This was in February, so I was already lagging on my review.)  Since I’m the aggressive one out of the two of us, I opted to try fucking her with it, and decided I wouldn’t waste time bothering with my harness.

I carefully inserted the toy, and was immediately a little disconcerted when I stood up.  It didn’t want to be in my vagina.  By sheer force of will and vaginamancy (human sacrifice), I kept it inside myself and prepared her for the ride of her life.  Unfortunately, the ride was drastically impaired by the same thing that has ruined harness use for me every time I’ve tried it: I am five feet tall.  My partners are always at least eight inches taller than me.

Seriously, guys.  I tried bending her over the bed.  I tried using Fuck Mountain (my pile of Liberator sex furniture).  We tried it with her standing up (why did we bother with that?).  We even tried to have her climb on top, and I can’t even remember if she managed to mount me or not.  If she did, we didn’t keep it up very long.

So she said, “Well maybe I can fuck you with it.” Hell yes, I love dildos!  My body is ready!

Or not.

Height difference didn’t have time to come into play, because she put the Four in, then had trouble keeping it in.  It’s not a failure on her part by any means – she simply doesn’t bother with insertion.  Like, ever.  Only in sex with other people.  So it’s normal for her pelvic muscles to be less strong than those of someone who spends hours a week using a variety of dildos and ben-wa balls on themself (me).  It’s not like she has a reason to sit around doing kegels.  But unfortunately, that meant no double-dildo lovin’ for me.

So I haven’t really had an opportunity to play with the Four much more than that.  I’m in another monogamous relationship with a man who doesn’t have a vagina and doesn’t get much out of receiving anal.  I am often plagued by frustration with review toys because if I don’t get to try their intended use, or use them multiple times, I feel like it’s not thorough enough to form a fully-accurate review.

The Four isn’t a bad toy.  I like to masturbate with it, and I like that the partner end doesn’t flop around because of a thin connection with the penetrator’s end.  I think it’s a great masturbation device and offers a lot of potential for people who have specific ability-related needs involving their hands and sex toy use.  I do not feel the need to use the bullet, but it’s a nice thought for those who may enjoy that.  My review can’t offer much critique on the intended use for the toy, but I do know this: you need strong PC muscles.  Muscle strength is probably less crucial (but still beneficial) if you pair the Four with a harness, like the Joque (<3).  If you’ve got double-dildo experience, you and your partner will enjoy the shape of the toy, and you’re curious about the Four, I encourage exploration with it if you’ve got the money.

Ultimately, the biggest thing I learned from this experience is that you probably need to be capable of fucking someone with a dildo before you try to use the Four.

Thanks so much to the gang at Wet For Her for letting me try the Toy Four!  I owe all of you some orgasms. *Wink.*

You, Your Family, And “Coming Out” As Something

One of the most frequent discussions that I see among the sex blogging community on Twitter is, “What if my parents find out?” “Do I choose to ‘come out’ to my family and friends?”  I also see this fairly often in the kink and poly communities, where I find many people lamenting that they have a “vanilla life” and a very small “kinky (or poly) life,” and never the twain shall meet.

Yesterday, Blacksilk posted something along those lines, examining how she manages the sexy aspect of her life differently around two different family members.  This got me reflecting on a few times when I ‘came out’ to my parents about different things, and I’ve been blessed with two very accepting people who have simply opted to laugh with me along the way about most things.  I’m thankful for that every day.

I’ve always lived in a house where I was pretty sure my parents knew everything, even if they didn’t actually know everything.  For starters, Momma Sugarcunt tells Poppa Sugarcunt just about everything that I tell her, even though there was a reason I didn’t tell him.

Case in point: My dad IMed me on Facebook and asked if I was coming to a family event a few hours away, because my grandfather would like to see me.  My extended family is extremely conservative in every sense of the word, and I have always  been the black sheep because [I didn’t grow up there/share no common interests with them/dye my hair/am the most socially-liberal and thusly generally politically liberal person they know/fill in the blank].  (I also just un-friended the entirety of them on Facebook, because they have never contributed anything positive to my wall or messages, just as they have never contributed anything to my life except food, judgment, criticism, and awkward reunions where I inevitably go sit alone.  So after one of my cousins decided to argue with me about equal rights for marriage, then ignored the analysis of scripture that I handed him after he took an accusatory and dismissive tone and asked if I had read the Bible, I was done.)

Since I last saw my grandfather, I had acquired all of my current piercings: Tongue, eyebrow, nipples, and clitoral hood.  I replied and said, “I’m not sure he’ll be as happy to see me when he sees my tongue and eyebrow.”

My dad shot back, “He’ll get over it, just don’t tell him about the other ones.”

I was, momentarily, baffled.  While I told my mother about my genital piercings, I didn’t tell Dad.  Because my dad doesn’t really want to know, and I didn’t really want him to know!  There are plenty of parents who would rather not know about their child’s genital piercings.  He said my mom told him.  Thanks, Mom.  I’ve kind of come to accept that if I tell my mother something, she will tell my father at some point, regardless of what her intentions may be.

So obviously, I’ve got a pretty open relationship with my parents, and have conditioned them to be immune to shock and awe. If anything, I think my dad is probably most astonished if we go somewhere and I -don’t- embarrass him by being openly inappropriate.

For the most part, when there’s something that most people would hesitate to tell their parents, I don’t sit down with my parents and have “a talk.”  I never want to make “a thing” out of it.  I don’t really feel like I should have to explain it.  It just is.  It’s a fact about me, part of my identity.  It all comes out in passing.

If you’re hoping for stories with drama, conflict, and resolution, these are not the stories you are looking for.

How I Came Out As Queer (Sexuality):

I was pretty much positive that I was queer from around the time I was 10 or 11.  I never dated many people in high school, so I never had any girlfriends or transgender partners to bring home.  I long-distance dated two girls in middle school and high school… but it never came up because it was long distance.  Hell, I met a dude when I was 15 and held on to him until I was 20.  So my chance to act upon my sexuality didn’t really come until I became a part of my college’s GSM community and met a beautiful lesbian.  We dated, and while that relationship had some setbacks, we remained roommates until I quit school and moved out of the dorms in March.  At some point in the first month of our relationship, I was at a doctor’s office with my mother and mentioned in passing that I was dating her.  My mother raised an eyebrow, then she shrugged, and that was pretty much the end of it.  Both of my parents had already met her.  Mom inevitably told Dad because she was pretty sure he wouldn’t care.  I carried on and never spoke to him about my relationship proper, but constantly made jokes about administering cunnilingus.  (And usually didn’t realize that I’d done it until someone pointed out that I said it in front of my father.)

After my relationship with my roommate ended, the transgender woman that had been coming home with me very apparently became my sexual partner.  We both stayed with my family many times, and were openly affectionate.  We slept in the same bed in my parents’ house.  I was constantly covered in bruises from necking with her.  We chastely kissed in front of them.  I bought her panties once or twice when my mom and I went shopping together.  Most people thought we were officially an item.  (We weren’t.  She wouldn’t date me.  After we had sex a few times, she told me she loved me, and I guess that was as a friend.  First she said she had feelings for me, but was confused because “she’d never been this close to someone before.”  Then her excuse was solely that she was confused.  Then she needed to be single to pursue her identity [that was true].  Then she didn’t feel “like that” about me.  I spent a lot of time snuggling, fucking, and mothering her when I wanted to smack her.)

Then I dated some cisgender men again and my sexuality has really never come up since.

 

How I Came Out As Queer (Gender):

I didn’t.

I can’t explain it well.  My parents won’t get it because I don’t get it.

At this point, I’ve gone from being at a happy medium where I understand my feelings to a point where there are days that I can’t stand my biological sex.  Porn makes me feel… strange (and I think it’s because of my vagina), and my vagina feels wrong sometimes.  Or it makes me feel ashamed sometimes (but not all the time).  My initial desire from high school onward was that ideally I’d have both sets of genitals, fully-formed, with sensation.  We can’t always get what we want.  Now, I don’t know if I’d rather have a penis instead of a vagina.  Genitals and gender identity aren’t always interdependent on one another, but when something starts feeling wrong about my genitals on an instinctual level, especially when I think about mutilating my genitals or what it would be like if they weren’t there, it leads me to question whether I’m right with my genitals, and whether my fluid identity is really appropriate or not.

I haven’t made an effort to hide my gender identity from my parents, and I don’t really have a pronoun preference.  There has been absolutely no reason to bring it up.  I can’t solidify anything.  I don’t even know how I feel, so I can’t rightfully tell them how I feel.

 

How I Came Out As Kinky:

I’m pretty sure they figured this out from all the times I mentioned or joked about it in passing.  And then later, because I would rage about BDSM portrayed in popular culture… and correct the assumptions.

 

How I Came Out As A Sex Blogger:

My mom actually fronted me the cash to set up my first year of hosting, so I told her straightaway that I wanted to start a sex blog, and talked about affiliate programs and reviewing toys, etc. She wasn’t shocked or appalled, because that’s how my mother is – she certainly knows more about the fact that I’m sexual than my dad does, because while he’s aware, we don’t talk about it. Neither of us wants to. And that’s cool with me.  But I wasn’t going to tell him about my blogging.

About a month after I started reviewing things, I was staying with my parents in the interim between summer and fall semesters. I set my desktop up at a desk in the living room, which was pretty much the only space available to me.

I got my first review toys from Babeland and Goodvibes during this time, and I was so excited when they came that I showed my mom, then lined them up on the desk so I could take a photo.

This photo, actually:

 

I didn’t realize how close it was to 5:30 until my dad walked in the door and I heard him in the kitchen.  I had a giant dildo, a butt plug, and a vibrator sitting on his desk.  If he walked in the room at that very moment, we would have been living in a sitcom and I would have been surrounded by 15 more dildos.  (Those were upstairs in a box.) Instead of that happening, I swept the toys into the box they arrived in and hoped he wouldn’t notice when he walked in the room.  And then he walked into the room and looked at me (I think I was blushing.  I don’t blush easily), then looked at the TV, then looked back at me.

Now is the time to give you just a tiiiiny bit of background info that is pertinent to what happened next.  I do not like leaving my home.  I do not like going shopping.  We don’t even have local stores that carry anything that I want or need other than groceries.  I do like shopping on the internet, and have a wide variety of hobbies (making jewelry, knitting, collecting cephalopod items and geeky t-shirts… also sex toys) that the internet caters to pretty damn well.  So when I got my first debit card, I proceeded to use it when I had money to purchase these things.  Because of my purchases of beads (handmade focals, small bags of gorgeous beads from de-stashes on Etsy, massive quantities of things from sites for jewelers and beaders), I had a LOT of packages, but I wasn’t necessarily spending a LOT of money.  I was living with my parents until I finished getting my AA at a community college.  It got to a point where they were very displeased every time I got a package.

“Stop ordering things!”

SO.  With that background info in mind, wait for it.

Dad said, “…What’s this?”

My rectum clenched and I started acting accordingly.  “IT WAS FREE.  IT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.”

He was asking what was on television.  Not what was in the box.  “…but now that you’ve called my attention to it…”

My mother decided to come downstairs and be helpful by saying, “What’s the matter, you don’t want to show your dad your big, black dick?”

“She’s too embarrassed.”

So then I had something to prove, so I grumbled, “No I’m not!” and yanked the Rippler (the big dick that isn’t black – she misinterpreted the color.  It does come in a sleek black, though!) out of the box.  I waved it in his face and said, “LOOK, it’s harness-compatible!  That means I can fuck somebody in the ass!”

And that was the end of that.

My parents don’t read my blog.  Although my mom said, at one point, that she’d like to look at it, but that’s because she’s being encouraging and I am perfectly OK with the fact that she isn’t badgering me for the address.

Anyway, it got to the point where I didn’t even put my dildos away when my parents visited me… and still wouldn’t, if they did.

When I Came Out As Mentally Ill:

I’m truly grateful for my parents.  I really am.  They have never denounced or disowned me.  My dad even told his brother to fuck off when he was harping on my hair at a family event.  (My uncle bitched about my hair every time he saw it, so my dad was understandably as sick of hearing it as I was.)  My mother has told me that she’s proud of me for standing up for my beliefs and speaking my mind.  My sister is 15, and is growing up to be an open, honest, thinking individual.  My brother isn’t a bad kid, either.  I have the most incredible family.

The only thing I would tweak about my parents is their view on my mental health, because they don’t understand my mental illnesses.  I’ve been diagnosed with Bipolar II and a general non-specified anxiety disorder, because I just don’t quite meet the DSM criteria for Social Phobia.  If you (my dad) have never suffered from depression and think that most mental health professionals are quacks and assholes (because you worked with some of them… like my dad did), then you (Dad) don’t understand why someone sleeps 18 hours a day, avoids family and friends, and literally can’t get out of bed or leave the house sometimes.  Especially if you’ve seen that same person act “normal” (because they’re in a safe and comfortable environment, like their parents’ house), or better still, bouncy, vibrant, and vivacious (because they’re having a hypomanic day).  When that person doesn’t want to go to school every day (high school and community college), stops going to classes (despite previous enthusiasm about them), and spends most of their time in bed, it looks like laziness or a lack of priorities.

It’s easy to tell someone to “pick themselves up by their bootstraps” when you haven’t felt that way and don’t have an intimate understanding or acceptance of mental health.  It’s easy to tell someone “you’re only as depressed as you want to be!” (Mom.  After I told her my therapist was recommending medication.  After our house burned down.) if your low points aren’t so bad that suicide looks like the only option you have to “fix yourself.”

These attitudes haven’t been very good for me.  They aren’t good for my sister, who is depressed and has panic attacks when fire alarms go off.  They aren’t good for my brother, who could use some anger management and coping skills.  I started exhibiting symptoms of depression (and I knew that) in middle school.  I was also surrounded by peers who liked to fabricate mental illnesses (no, I am not misjudging them or trying to undermine them.  Factually and diagnostically, they didn’t have them) and parents who talked about the “attention-seeking stunts” of their coworkers’ children.  I had a score in the highest range of a depression inventory when I took Health my freshman year of high school.  I did my senior project on depression, and my mentor (a school counselor) said, “Have you addressed the fact that you have a lot of these symptoms?”  Teachers overlooked my writing, my attitude, my behavior, and the fact that I slept in every one of their classes, probably because I performed well academically.  I never asked to see a therapist because I wanted to be left alone, and I continually told myself that I was just being a stupid teenager.

I am my own advocate for my mental health.  My mother seems like she’s becoming more receptive to at least hearing me talk about it.  But honestly, if it’s just my mental health that my parents aren’t convinced about, then I’m not complaining.  I wouldn’t trade them.  Because for the most part, they accept who I am.  I’ve had friends whose parents have denied it, accepted it but pretended it doesn’t exist, disowned them, insulted them, and tried to convert them.  I am privileged in comparison.  I never really felt like I was “coming out” to them when I told them about any of this, because I was blessed with a family that didn’t make me feel like I had to hide it.

 

Has anyone else been this fortunate?  Have you come out to your peers and family?  How did you do it, and how well did it work out?

Asexual Awareness Week: A Brief Overview & Resources

317881_208193362586591_137192986353296_511743_2115253234_nRight on the heels of International Fisting Day comes Asexual Awareness Week!  This entire week (October 23rd through the 29th) is devoted to celebrating asexuality, raising awareness, and educating the community!

I find, in the Gender and Sexual Minority (GSM) community, that asexuality is one of the least-acknowledged and celebrated minority orientations, next to intersexuality.  In fact, the I and A in LGBTQIA+ get left off of the acronym on a fairly regular basis, which irks me to no end.  (#BloggersWhoBitchAboutSeeminglyUnimportantThingsThatAreReallyImportant)

You’ve probably got a vague understanding of the word “asexual” from lessons about asexual reproduction in biology… and then you probably also have some ridiculous assumptions, imagining all asexual people as antisexual, anti-breeder prudes who choose to die alone.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

An asexual person simply doesn’t experience sexual attraction toward other people.  Asexual people may still have sex drives, may choose to masturbate, are not inherently sex-negative at all, and may choose to engage in sex with another person, although their reasons for it may not be the same as your own.  They aren’t “broken,” and they don’t need to “find the right person.”  Telling an asexual person they haven’t found the right person is about the equivalent of telling your “gold star” lesbian friend (the “gold star” rant is reserved for another day) that she “just hasn’t found the right man.”   Asexual individuals are capable of leading perfectly happy lives and engaging in enjoyable and functional romantic relationships, though it can be difficult to navigate the issue of sexual relationships with a partner.

318673_2295631905084_1077677816_32571436_740924411_nThis is the point where I differentiate between sexuality and romanticism.  While many people just assume that your sexual orientation means that you only fall in love with the corresponding gender (or lack thereof), technically, sexual orientation is only meant to categorize sexual attraction to people.  Asexuals still may experience sexual arousal, but simply generally are not inclined to have sex with someone.  Romanticism, on the other hand, indicates your romantic attraction to certain individuals.  Aromanticism, homoromanticism, heteroromanticism, biromanticism, and panromanticism are all very real things.  One of my closest friends often uses the umbrella term of “queer” to identify himself in the community, but is, technically, a homoromantic asexual.

It is also worth noting that there are varying shades of grey among the spectrum of sexuality, with asexuality on one side, and sexuality on the other.  Some people are generally asexual, but that many not always be the rule.  Demisexuality, a term that I identify with, indicates that an individual does not experience a sexual attraction to other people until they have formed a strong emotional connection with them.  The term “grey-A” is used to indicate a variety of lifestyles between sexuality and asexuality.

I encourage you to go out and learn more about it!

Have some resources:

AVEN (The Asexuality Visibility and Education Network)

AVEN Wiki

The Asexual Awareness Week Website has a fantastic FAQ about asexuality listed under the “What Is Asexuality?” link.

Asexual Awareness Week on Facebook

Once you’ve read all these links, you should go hug your asexual friends.  They deserve the show of support, affection, and respect.

Gender Anarchy and Gender Equality

This is the fourth post in July’s Gender Celebration Carnival!  Check out the post before me, by Curvaceous Dee, and be sure to check out Jane Blow’s post that will be published on the 13th!  If you want to get in on the action, click here to find out how!

I was laying in bed with my best friend, spooning her and thinking about what to write for this prompt.  When I read Lumpesse’s announcement about the Gender Celebration Blog Carnival, I was thrilled and knew I was going to participate.  I love gender, sexuality, and sex… I just wasn’t sure what I wanted to say about them for the July carnival.  So I started thinking about our lives.

I’m female-assigned-at-birth and gender-queer.  My best friend is a male-assigned-at-birth, gender-queer trans lesbian.  I also consider her to be something similar to my “primary.”  Even though we aren’t officially in a polyamorous relationship, she tends to my non-sexual intimacy and emotional needs in exactly the way that I need her to, and in ways that I’m not entirely sure that someone else can.

When I started this post, I was just going to talk about my gender-queer identity and how it reflected in my everyday life.  It probably would have put you to sleep, or sic’d the GENDER POLICE on my ass.  I think my point can be better made by ruminating in a sort of free-form style about how we live with (and without) gender.

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[Image description: a black and white photo of two torsos from the waist to the upper thighs.  Both people in the photo are wearing women’s underwear and sport slightly noticeable bulges.  The person on the left is wearing a black thong with white polka dots and bows, and the person on the right is wearing what appears to be a pair of plain white hipster underwear.]

My birthday is in early August, but her early birthday present to me was something I was lusting after – the Sailor Soft Packer from Good Vibrations.

Both of the people in the photo above have cocks in their underwear… so which of us is the masculine one, and which is the feminine one?  Are we both men because we have cocks?

Our society tends to assign gender based on the irrelevant factor of genitalia, and we tend to judge the actions of others based on whether we perceive them as being appropriate actions for a “man” or a “woman.”  On the first day of the Gender Celebration Carnival, Lumpesse blogged about masculinity and mentioned how her father told her that dropping the f-bomb “wasn’t very ladylike.”  In our society’s view, women are emotional, incapable, soft-spoken, submissive, and meet a certain standard of appearance.  Men are protective, dominant, strong, out of touch with their emotions, and are prized for their ideas and intellect.

Do I even need to point out the flaws in those roles?  How many people do you know that actually fit them?  My father has emotions, and my mother is anything but soft-spoken.  My parents butt heads somewhat regularly because my mother is a verbal-shit-slinging, irrational, domineering figure in their household.  (I love both of my parents very much, so these words are meant to be a statement of fact rather than a verbal assault.)  Yes, my mother did fit the feminine gender role in some ways, such as her (mostly) unerring, sentimental support for the things I pursued in life: tucking away my kindergarten drawings, print-outs of my seventh grade poems about homicide, award certificates from high school, and my diploma when I got my associate’s degree.  In other ways, though, her tendency to default toward gender roles clashes with how she wants to act.  She expects my father to manage the finances because men deal with the money, then she’ll get impatient and take control of them herself, or she’ll spend with no regard for the money they may or may not have.  Despite their tendencies toward the gender roles they were socialized into, they fight because, even though they both were raised to believe that my father should be in control because he has testicles, my mother can’t abide by that.  They’re losing their minds because even though they think they should, they don’t live in accordance with our society’s gender roles. 

Neither do I.

I prefer to live in “gender anarchy,” which is a radical-sounding term that I use to state my ideas toward gender because 1) it’s a decent summary of them, and 2) the part of me that is still 13 thinks it sounds badass.

My best friend and I live together as equals.  We do what we’re good at, and we do those things when we feel like doing them.  I carry heavy things (within my range) because I’m “super-butch.”  We nurture one another based on who needs it, not based on some absurd dogma; “I have a dick, I’ll protect you.  You have a vagina, so you be supportive and understanding.”  If anything, I’m more protective of her, and she’s more understanding of me.  Sometimes she’s the little spoon, and sometimes she’s the big spoon.  We divide chores evenly.

The point of this is not to brag, “Oh, gender-queers do it better,” or to be like, “LOL MY LIFE IS AWESOME BECAUSE I’M QUEER,” (on the contrary – my life is awesome because I’m awesome).  The point of this isn’t to attempt to define “gender-queer” or masculinity or femininity, or to tell you which you should lean toward.  The point of this is to make the case for living in a state of gender equality.  Sociological research proves that happier relationships are based on equality, rather than the enforcement of gender roles… because let’s just be honest: they’re based on the assumption of superiority because of genitalia.  There is no real science to the idea that a husband should dominate the household, or that a wife should care for the children 24-7.  I can understand how things developed that way in the past, but every century brings about new change, and as far as gender roles are concerned, the time for radical change is now.  How many couples will continue to suffer because they struggle to uphold the gender ideals that they were bred into, even though they don’t always fit?

My life with my best friend, who I consider my 24-7 “partner,” is built around equality.  Our genital configuration plays no role in whether we are emotional or detached, dominant or submissive, or the things we have an interest in.  Because we don’t assign these things, we’re free to express ourselves with the fluidity that all human beings crave.  As our moods and desires fluctuate, we can pursue them on our own whims.  She has a penis, and sometimes she’s the dominant partner, supporting and nurturing me, making decisions for us, and guiding me to my destination.  But other times, more often than not, I’m the dominant partner, and she’s my baby-girl.  I protect her, guide her, and boss her around.  We can express however we please without freaking the other out – she’ll pass me my dick, and I’ll dig her tits out of a pile of clothes for her.  I can be as sexually aggressive as I please, and she can be as disinterested in sex as she feels, because she knows that I don’t expect her to “take  the man’s role” and turn a kiss into a sexual encounter.  Our roles in the relationship are fluid.  These decisions have nothing to do with either of us being dominant or submissive (because in the bedroom, we can both switch, but do seem to have leanings, and they’re exactly the opposite of the roles we assume the most in real life), and nothing to do with our genitals.

It’s the freedom to be people, independent of gender.

No dogma.  No expectations.

Gender anarchy.

How do you think being socialized into a gender role has had an effect on your life?  Would you consider living in “gender anarchy?”

Fully Functional Fundraiser

I’m still alive!  Due to a lack of sexual accommodations for a hellacious period and a combination of Minecraft and classwork, I haven’t been able to play with any of my new toys very much… but things are coming.

In the meantime, I just figured I would post to advertise about the fundraising efforts of Fully Functional.

I’ll just quote directly from the fundraiser page, for the sake of saving time:

“Fully Functional: A Zine About Fucking Trans Women”

…is a collaborative DIY (Doin’ It Yourself) zine about the sex lives of trans women. It is designed to help trans women and our lovers share information about how we have good sex and what we do when we have sex that works.

The project of Fully Functional is to create an open-ended community resource for trans women and our lovers interested in sharing information about sex and our sex lives.  Published as a digital zine and, beginning with issue #1, a print zine, “Fully Functional” is designed to be an accessible medium for communicating and sharing information with each other.  It is the first and only sex zine dedicated exclusively to the sex lives of trans women and our lovers, and most basically begins with the question “How?”, as in, “how do I have amazing, fulfilling, passionate, hot, toe-curling sex?”  Contributors are invited to discuss the ins and outs of their own sex lives, with no one answer privileged over another.  There are as many answers to the question “how do I have good sex?” as there are contributors, and with that in mind “Fully Functional” has been designed as a sort of community cookbook .  Our zine is a community resource for sharing our knowledge, discoveries, and practices with one another and our lovers.

As we are preparing to publish issue #1 of “Fully Functional” we have reached a dilemma: we are desperately in need of a fully functional computer of our own with which to write, design, create, and publish this issue and issues to come.  The goal of this fundraising campaign is to gather funds to purchase a MacBook that will be the primary computer for “Fully Functional.”

I definitely consider this zine a worthy cause, because sex can be an extremely conflicting issue for individuals undergoing transition, and it is also challenging to feel confident about being an adequate sexual partner to a trans individual, especially if your partner experiences gender dysphoria.  While there’s no substitute for honest and open communication, new ideas can go a long way in the bedroom.  It’s hard to find knowledgeable sexual material geared toward members of the trans community, so I’m definitely intrigued by what Fully Functional has to offer.  I encourage anyone  with an interest to check it out and support their efforts!

Here’s a link to the fundraiser!