If I talk about my date you're going to think I'm lying, or making it up. It was that fantastic. I wasn't dreaming. It really happened.
It's the kind of date you see in movies - fun, full of laughter and warm fuzzies, a wholly unnecessary sappy love song playlist not-so-discreetly playing in the background at the restaurant - when the table seems to shrink and it all feels very intimate.
And then the setting moves and I love being in the car with Prince because we sing and we talk and we're so close and I can't help but touch, constantly, compulsively, because touching is so rare across the distances and in public places and in not-friendly-to-gay areas and the car feels safe and warm and comfortable and I want to touch and be touched.
But then it has to be a movie because I've never seen the sun set over the ocean like that, never seen someone smile at me with heaven in the eyes, and I feel so amazed, bewildered, content, and I don't even want to run off for sex because I just want to stand here, forever, drinking in the sunlight with our arms brushing, laughing at the little girls next to us and all their questions and comments.
I could have sat forever and watched as the city flickered to life at our feet, almost as the Egyptian Pharaohs must have done thousands of years ago from their golden thrones and their city blazed to life in the darkness. I felt like royalty from my stone seat, hand in hand, the world laid out before us, the stars shining overhead, the moon casting a silver blessing over us, so bright, so clear.
And it's laughter, laughter, between all the other moments and places and quiet and feelings, there's this laughter. When Prince laughs it's the most wonderful sound in all the world - the sound I want to hear every moment of every day. I want to be the cause, I want to hear when others inspire it. I want Prince to laugh all day long and I want to be there for every moment and open myself up and fill myself with golden laughter, because just maybe there is real magic and this laughter is it.
Maybe I'm just an idiot :)
I don't have a five year plan and I don't know what I'm doing or where this is going. But I know I never want to hang up. I hate going to work and sleeping alone, and I get really nervous and pack two weeks of clothes for a three day trip. I know that I'm flawed, so flawed, and I want nothing more than to be better - than to be the best - than to be deserving of everything Prince is.
Showing posts with label sexy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexy. Show all posts
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 15, 2013
Dating
This may possibly make you want to throw up, because I'm going to be that girl right now.
If I was exceptionally quiet here, it's because I was on a date. A lovely date. A very lovely date with the person whom I've been crushing on.
Real life gets in the way and you can't stay on a date 24/7, but I'd like to. All day at work yesterday, I was reminded by the small piece of folded paper in my pocket, by the picture on my phone, by the taste of cherry cough drops and chapstick - all tangible evidence that I wasn't dreaming.
It's the smile, the eyes, the hair, the skin, the tattoos, the way the waitress comes up to the table and I blush because I'm pretty sure she can see what we're thinking when we stare at each other like that over our water glasses. It's those stares. It's the collar tugs and the hands in my hair and the sweet, amused glint in the eyes when I just can't stop myself from feeling all that soft skin.
It's the door opening, the effects of two beers, the laughter when I'm awkward and silly, the sleepy smiles, the hot hand on my back through my jacket, the singing and the dancing. It's the protector and protected, it's the talking and the not needing to, it's how everything feels like we've done it already - the easy rhythms and moments that should feel so uncomfortable but don't.
It's in the way I didn't feel self conscious once, about my body or my hair or my makeup. It's in the way I felt proud, in the way I never wanted to let go, in the way I wanted to hold hands and show off the amazing person I was with. It's in the quiet way I wanted to go unnoticed, in our little bubble, invisible and free to make out without my hatred for PDA getting in the way (looking back on it you'd have no idea I hate PDA.) It's in the way we say things and then look to see if we got the reaction we wanted, and if we didn't, we try to fix it. It's in the way we listen.
If I go quiet here, it's because I'm finally speaking out loud.
If I was exceptionally quiet here, it's because I was on a date. A lovely date. A very lovely date with the person whom I've been crushing on.
Real life gets in the way and you can't stay on a date 24/7, but I'd like to. All day at work yesterday, I was reminded by the small piece of folded paper in my pocket, by the picture on my phone, by the taste of cherry cough drops and chapstick - all tangible evidence that I wasn't dreaming.
It's the smile, the eyes, the hair, the skin, the tattoos, the way the waitress comes up to the table and I blush because I'm pretty sure she can see what we're thinking when we stare at each other like that over our water glasses. It's those stares. It's the collar tugs and the hands in my hair and the sweet, amused glint in the eyes when I just can't stop myself from feeling all that soft skin.
It's the door opening, the effects of two beers, the laughter when I'm awkward and silly, the sleepy smiles, the hot hand on my back through my jacket, the singing and the dancing. It's the protector and protected, it's the talking and the not needing to, it's how everything feels like we've done it already - the easy rhythms and moments that should feel so uncomfortable but don't.
It's in the way I didn't feel self conscious once, about my body or my hair or my makeup. It's in the way I felt proud, in the way I never wanted to let go, in the way I wanted to hold hands and show off the amazing person I was with. It's in the quiet way I wanted to go unnoticed, in our little bubble, invisible and free to make out without my hatred for PDA getting in the way (looking back on it you'd have no idea I hate PDA.) It's in the way we say things and then look to see if we got the reaction we wanted, and if we didn't, we try to fix it. It's in the way we listen.
If I go quiet here, it's because I'm finally speaking out loud.
Jan 9, 2013
Crushing
I've never run across this problem before. This problem where I'm talking to someone who knows I blog, who reads my blog, who understands what and who I'm writing about.
Does this take away from my "safe space?" Will this cause me to censor myself? I'm not sure. I've always tried to keep this as a space where I can take off the filter about everything I want or need to write about. I'm still sort of feeling this out and how it's going to work for my blog and the things I write on here. Usually it's all personal, personal, sex, personal and now I need to be considerate. And that's okay :) I'd like to be considerate.
I'm crushing and I'm crushing hard, and I don't think it's something you guys have actively seen me go through. You see the beginnings, perhaps, the flirtations and the putting myself out there, and then of course you've been privy to the aftermath. But this, here, this in-between, this something new but something familiar coiling inside of me is not something you've borne witness to.
I can't sleep. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop checking my phone or hovering my finger over the "call" button even though I know I'll eventually tap the lock button and put it away. There's a nervous feeling fluttering inside me and I feel like an idiot but I also really enjoy it. I am now I'm exactly like all those girls I make fun of. The irony is not lost on me.
Is it always like this?
Does this take away from my "safe space?" Will this cause me to censor myself? I'm not sure. I've always tried to keep this as a space where I can take off the filter about everything I want or need to write about. I'm still sort of feeling this out and how it's going to work for my blog and the things I write on here. Usually it's all personal, personal, sex, personal and now I need to be considerate. And that's okay :) I'd like to be considerate.
I'm crushing and I'm crushing hard, and I don't think it's something you guys have actively seen me go through. You see the beginnings, perhaps, the flirtations and the putting myself out there, and then of course you've been privy to the aftermath. But this, here, this in-between, this something new but something familiar coiling inside of me is not something you've borne witness to.
I can't sleep. I can't stop smiling. I can't stop checking my phone or hovering my finger over the "call" button even though I know I'll eventually tap the lock button and put it away. There's a nervous feeling fluttering inside me and I feel like an idiot but I also really enjoy it. I am now I'm exactly like all those girls I make fun of. The irony is not lost on me.
Is it always like this?
Dec 27, 2012
Orgasms/Twitter
For an account which started out so anonymously, you all know much about me. We've talked about this before, and recently. I spoke how I wanted to take some of that "anonymous" feeling back - feeling more bold, daring, fun.
I must admit, Twitter got the better of me tonight - has gotten the better of me over the last week or so - has had me posting like all those years ago when I was truly anonymous. And here we're going to get back to what I was posting about so long ago: Sex/Orgasms. Since I've come back to this blog, a few months ago, I've avoided the overtly sexual topics which I used to thrive on in the past.
For whatever reason, this week was bad. I mean constantly aching, edge of your seat, hair's breadth away from climaxing, bad. All week. I couldn't make it go away. I'd have an orgasm and the feeling would come back five minutes later. It was heaven the first day, hell the rest. It was distracting, it drove me crazy. My dreams were erotic, my every thought somehow twisted and turned because my body was so close. A hand on my hip could make me whimper, a look could make me tremble.
This week's stories on Rainbow Sprinkles were all driven by this week's dreams -by my constant state of whatever-it-was and you can tell. Well, not with Maroon just yet, but you wait and see ;) Finally, by some Christmas miracle, I was able to have a shaking, wrenching orgasm in the early morning hours and it eased. It was just my normal always-ready-for-sex and not the extremely-sensitive-going-crazy sensations. The peace lasted a few hours, and then I was back to watching porn Christmas afternoon and talking about my bedroom preferences on Twitter.
My sex drive has been higher than normal the past few days and Twitter took full advantage of that tonight. What started off as playful banter eased into sexual banter, actual productive sexual conversation (which I love!), flirting, and outrageous behavior on my part.
Am I embarrassed with my behavior? A little. I have to remind myself that twitter is not private and these people who feel like friends are actually virtual strangers (the term "catfished" comes to mind) but I also enjoy giving people the benefit of the doubt and they all seem very lesbian to me. Am I turned on? Yes. Because, let's be honest, I don't have a girlfriend right now, and talking about sex is beautiful and glorious and something I desperately need.
I'm not ashamed to talk about what I like or what I need. I'm not ashamed to talk about how I like to be touched or what turns me on. And hopefully you can find comfort, confidence, glory enough in your sexual self that you aren't ashamed either.
I must admit, Twitter got the better of me tonight - has gotten the better of me over the last week or so - has had me posting like all those years ago when I was truly anonymous. And here we're going to get back to what I was posting about so long ago: Sex/Orgasms. Since I've come back to this blog, a few months ago, I've avoided the overtly sexual topics which I used to thrive on in the past.
For whatever reason, this week was bad. I mean constantly aching, edge of your seat, hair's breadth away from climaxing, bad. All week. I couldn't make it go away. I'd have an orgasm and the feeling would come back five minutes later. It was heaven the first day, hell the rest. It was distracting, it drove me crazy. My dreams were erotic, my every thought somehow twisted and turned because my body was so close. A hand on my hip could make me whimper, a look could make me tremble.
This week's stories on Rainbow Sprinkles were all driven by this week's dreams -by my constant state of whatever-it-was and you can tell. Well, not with Maroon just yet, but you wait and see ;) Finally, by some Christmas miracle, I was able to have a shaking, wrenching orgasm in the early morning hours and it eased. It was just my normal always-ready-for-sex and not the extremely-sensitive-going-crazy sensations. The peace lasted a few hours, and then I was back to watching porn Christmas afternoon and talking about my bedroom preferences on Twitter.
My sex drive has been higher than normal the past few days and Twitter took full advantage of that tonight. What started off as playful banter eased into sexual banter, actual productive sexual conversation (which I love!), flirting, and outrageous behavior on my part.
Am I embarrassed with my behavior? A little. I have to remind myself that twitter is not private and these people who feel like friends are actually virtual strangers (the term "catfished" comes to mind) but I also enjoy giving people the benefit of the doubt and they all seem very lesbian to me. Am I turned on? Yes. Because, let's be honest, I don't have a girlfriend right now, and talking about sex is beautiful and glorious and something I desperately need.
I'm not ashamed to talk about what I like or what I need. I'm not ashamed to talk about how I like to be touched or what turns me on. And hopefully you can find comfort, confidence, glory enough in your sexual self that you aren't ashamed either.
Dec 4, 2012
Heat
Heat- part of my first:girl series is up today at wordpress. I suggest you take the time to read the juicy story today or nab the password from me like it's going under restriction, because, um, it is.
Happy Reading! It's delicious.
http://tabbyqt.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/heat/
Excerpt:
She had a beer in her hand and her grin was a little too open. She smelled like smoke and I leaned my head against her leg to breathe it in. She must have been out on the patio, smoking and talking. Her fingers tangled in my long hair as she fingered the strands.
My buzz kicked in double time. She was more intoxicating than any alcohol in the world. She could make me forget my manners, my inhibitions, my own name. I let my fingers idly create patterns across her jeans. She was still wearing her jacket, I noticed. A heavy corduroy button up, far too hot for the sweltering room. I sat up to ask her about it and wavered. Maybe I’d had more to drink than I thought.
Her fingers left my hair and I tried not to pout. “Gwen,” I started, intending to ask about the jacket, but she looked at me. She looked me right in the eyes and I was pulled back to our moment under the stars. Her face was flushed, her eyes were shining, and there was some deep longing in the lines of her face, in the pigments of her freckles, that begged me to ask her. I couldn’t hear the noise of the party anymore. Couldn’t hear the talking or the glass bottles, could only hear her breathing and the rush of blood through my ears, like the waves of the ocean.
“Kiss me,” I breathed, and she swallowed tightly but didn’t look away. She let out a slow breath and tried to grin.
“You sure you want that?” She swirled her beer bottle. I moved even closer to her, her leg cradling my breast, her side pressed against my front, my shoulder. She had several inches on me this way, but I didn’t care. I wanted to reach out and touch her but my training with horses had me scared I’d spook her.
“I’m sure,” I nodded, our mouths only an inch apart. I was drowning in her gaze. She looked lost, bewildered, wanting, waiting, calculating- so many things. I rested my hand on her thigh and she finally brought her hand up to wrap around my throat, her thumb lifting my chin, and she kissed me.
There was something bubbling in my chest, a feeling that was so much like becoming whole. She fit exactly into all these locks and voids and jagged pieces inside me that I hadn’t realized were damaged and missing. My hand fisted onto the hem of her jacket and I pushed closer to her.
Her lips were soft and pliant against mine, sweet and gentle under the taste of beer and clove cigarettes. Her body was on fire everywhere that it touched mine, and I was burning against her. The brush of her denim jeans was rough through my shirt and I gripped her jacket tighter.
Someone called, laughed, there was a whistle, and Gwen pulled away. I saw the reflections of people staring at us in the mirror, people who had wanted to know what our relationship was but had never gotten a clear answer. People who’d heard me stumble when asked if I was a lesbian and preferred to think of me as straight, or more of a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy. I didn’t care about them now. I didn’t care about anything but her. I leaned into her again but she pulled back, smiling uneasily.
“A little eager, are we?” she laughed, and glanced at our audience. They had the decency to look away and try to make small talk amongst themselves now that we’d acknowledged them. She always did this, always tried to make light while she put up her guards. I didn’t want that. I wanted to feel her lips against mine. I wasn’t asking her to consent to a XXX floor show, it was just a kiss.
I ran my fingers through her short hair and stroked the shell of her ear. “Please,” I begged. “Please don’t do this now. Just kiss me again. That’s all I want. Nothing more.”
Happy Reading! It's delicious.
http://tabbyqt.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/heat/
Excerpt:
She had a beer in her hand and her grin was a little too open. She smelled like smoke and I leaned my head against her leg to breathe it in. She must have been out on the patio, smoking and talking. Her fingers tangled in my long hair as she fingered the strands.
My buzz kicked in double time. She was more intoxicating than any alcohol in the world. She could make me forget my manners, my inhibitions, my own name. I let my fingers idly create patterns across her jeans. She was still wearing her jacket, I noticed. A heavy corduroy button up, far too hot for the sweltering room. I sat up to ask her about it and wavered. Maybe I’d had more to drink than I thought.
Her fingers left my hair and I tried not to pout. “Gwen,” I started, intending to ask about the jacket, but she looked at me. She looked me right in the eyes and I was pulled back to our moment under the stars. Her face was flushed, her eyes were shining, and there was some deep longing in the lines of her face, in the pigments of her freckles, that begged me to ask her. I couldn’t hear the noise of the party anymore. Couldn’t hear the talking or the glass bottles, could only hear her breathing and the rush of blood through my ears, like the waves of the ocean.
“Kiss me,” I breathed, and she swallowed tightly but didn’t look away. She let out a slow breath and tried to grin.
“You sure you want that?” She swirled her beer bottle. I moved even closer to her, her leg cradling my breast, her side pressed against my front, my shoulder. She had several inches on me this way, but I didn’t care. I wanted to reach out and touch her but my training with horses had me scared I’d spook her.
“I’m sure,” I nodded, our mouths only an inch apart. I was drowning in her gaze. She looked lost, bewildered, wanting, waiting, calculating- so many things. I rested my hand on her thigh and she finally brought her hand up to wrap around my throat, her thumb lifting my chin, and she kissed me.
There was something bubbling in my chest, a feeling that was so much like becoming whole. She fit exactly into all these locks and voids and jagged pieces inside me that I hadn’t realized were damaged and missing. My hand fisted onto the hem of her jacket and I pushed closer to her.
Her lips were soft and pliant against mine, sweet and gentle under the taste of beer and clove cigarettes. Her body was on fire everywhere that it touched mine, and I was burning against her. The brush of her denim jeans was rough through my shirt and I gripped her jacket tighter.
Someone called, laughed, there was a whistle, and Gwen pulled away. I saw the reflections of people staring at us in the mirror, people who had wanted to know what our relationship was but had never gotten a clear answer. People who’d heard me stumble when asked if I was a lesbian and preferred to think of me as straight, or more of a “don’t ask don’t tell” policy. I didn’t care about them now. I didn’t care about anything but her. I leaned into her again but she pulled back, smiling uneasily.
“A little eager, are we?” she laughed, and glanced at our audience. They had the decency to look away and try to make small talk amongst themselves now that we’d acknowledged them. She always did this, always tried to make light while she put up her guards. I didn’t want that. I wanted to feel her lips against mine. I wasn’t asking her to consent to a XXX floor show, it was just a kiss.
I ran my fingers through her short hair and stroked the shell of her ear. “Please,” I begged. “Please don’t do this now. Just kiss me again. That’s all I want. Nothing more.”
Oct 29, 2012
Steam
This is playing in my head on repeat. I can only imagine what dreams it will bring.
Update: Dreams get so slutty sometimes. It's not exactly rare for me to have sexy dreams, but it's not common. So, last night I knew, I could just feel it before I slipped off that my state of mind was in that place. You know the place I'm talking about - the place where you ache to touch and be touched, to breathe against skin and feel wrapped in heat.
So the dream came as no surprise, but the setting shocked the hell out of me. Remember in Day 2 when I mentioned I've been having marrying/being married dreams? This was one of those. It feels strangely private even though I don't really know this girl and it didn't even happen in real life.
We were in our apartment, it was definitely our apartment, it felt warm, comfortable, lived in, and she was getting ready to leave. She looked wonderful, jeans and boots, and I felt uncomfortable next to her in my too glam for me dress.
"Hey," I stopped her from leaving with a hand on her arm. God, she was warm, so warm, and my legs were freezing. I wanted to curl into her. "It's your bachlorette party and I want you to have fun and everything," I smiled, stroking the soft skin below her neck, "but if you sleep with someone else the night before our wedding I will kick your ass, got it?"
She grinned and leaned in for a kiss. I let her take me, desperate, fearful, joyous, triumphant, wanting. "You got it," she promised, and reached for the door. I pushed her back and she let me, surprised. I took her mouth and felt her moan rumble through my chest. I reached for her hand and led her fingers up my bare leg to my waist and she pushed harder against me. I popped open the button on her jeans and she pulled away, breathless, "What are you doing?"
I knew we both had to leave, but I couldn't stop now. I slipped to the floor and touched my lips to the skin of her hip, took a few breaths to make sure either of us could stop this if we wanted to - if we were really worried about time or other people. I could feel her shake against me as the warm air passed over her flesh. "Reminding you just what you're coming home to," my lips curved against her skin, and when our eyes met it was electric.
Update: Dreams get so slutty sometimes. It's not exactly rare for me to have sexy dreams, but it's not common. So, last night I knew, I could just feel it before I slipped off that my state of mind was in that place. You know the place I'm talking about - the place where you ache to touch and be touched, to breathe against skin and feel wrapped in heat.
So the dream came as no surprise, but the setting shocked the hell out of me. Remember in Day 2 when I mentioned I've been having marrying/being married dreams? This was one of those. It feels strangely private even though I don't really know this girl and it didn't even happen in real life.
We were in our apartment, it was definitely our apartment, it felt warm, comfortable, lived in, and she was getting ready to leave. She looked wonderful, jeans and boots, and I felt uncomfortable next to her in my too glam for me dress.
"Hey," I stopped her from leaving with a hand on her arm. God, she was warm, so warm, and my legs were freezing. I wanted to curl into her. "It's your bachlorette party and I want you to have fun and everything," I smiled, stroking the soft skin below her neck, "but if you sleep with someone else the night before our wedding I will kick your ass, got it?"
She grinned and leaned in for a kiss. I let her take me, desperate, fearful, joyous, triumphant, wanting. "You got it," she promised, and reached for the door. I pushed her back and she let me, surprised. I took her mouth and felt her moan rumble through my chest. I reached for her hand and led her fingers up my bare leg to my waist and she pushed harder against me. I popped open the button on her jeans and she pulled away, breathless, "What are you doing?"
I knew we both had to leave, but I couldn't stop now. I slipped to the floor and touched my lips to the skin of her hip, took a few breaths to make sure either of us could stop this if we wanted to - if we were really worried about time or other people. I could feel her shake against me as the warm air passed over her flesh. "Reminding you just what you're coming home to," my lips curved against her skin, and when our eyes met it was electric.
Oct 18, 2012
Rise of the Redhead
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| Marilyn Monroe courtesy of Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images |
The redhead.
Dyed redheads are super popular too, but the natural redhead remains the most coveted of all. Why the sudden fascination? Why are women scrambling to buy red dye from a box or a salon? Is it a feeling of empowerment and bold sexuality that accompanies the color? Or is it something else?
Few people who are not naturally red or strawberry blonde can pull off the switch to a red color. I dyed my hair a nice, vibrant mahogany-ish color once when I was 12. With my Mediterranean/Native American tanned complexion (though I am not Mediterranean and not very Native American) it looked FABULOUS on me. Just kidding, it looked awful. I won't ever do it again, I promise.
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| Karen Gillan, a stunningly lovely natural ginger |
Both of my grandmothers had red hair and my mother has lovely jade green eyes (but brown hair) and I always feel like I missed out on the DNA lotto. My sisters managed to snag her eyes but my brothers and I were left out. I've cherished her green eyes for years, but no amount of wishing has ever lightened my eyes or made them magically turn green.
I do wonder if our sudden fascination has anything to do with the Harry Potter culture-the red hair and green eyes that were so special and cherished in the storyline that wound its way through a generation of new, young readers. These readers have grown up and started what seems to be an "invasion" of British-isms. These are a generation of people who enjoy British television, books, music, talk radio, colloquialisms, and fashion. If we idolize the minds and words of those across the pond, why not their looks?
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| My ultimate badass crush- Michelle Rodriguez |
In the meantime I'm lucky in that I'm a gay lady and enjoy looking at pretty girls who are special and unique.
  | ||
| Aishwarya Rai- one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Jamie Chung- current TV love who is heating it up on ABC's Once Upon A Time |
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| Kerry Washington is lighting up DC with her gorgeous face in Scandal and just try to tell me you're not in love with Grace Park, a smokin' hot lady you might recognize from Hawaii Five-O |
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| ABC's Nashville LadyCrush- Connie Britton Along with my favorite smiling girl TaySwift |
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| I will stand under your Umbrella. |
Dec 22, 2009
Homework/Discovery
I decided to write a separate post for this, because whilst the other one is somewhat whiny, this is about discovery, and the need to separate those two topics is bred deep within me.
Sinclair posted about the homework which she gives to Kristen, which in turn sparked Alphafemme's different kind of homework (which I think is truly brilliant).
I decided to jump on the bandwagon and discover what I feel most comfortable with about my sexuality. I feel like the only way I will ever grow and discover what I like is to push myself. This week's topics were femininity and self appreciation. I was walking around my room undressing to put on pajamas, when I caught a glimpse of myself in my full length mirror. The light on my nightstand was on, and it cast shadows across my body that hypnotized me and stopped me where I stood.
I've never been very proud of my body, never loved it for what it is, but just then I was enamored. I was caught up in the curve of my hips, the slope of my breasts, the shape of my tummy, the length of my legs, the strength of my calves. For the first time I felt how soft my skin was, felt the thickness of my hair, the silkiness of my neck, the satin feel of my shoulder blades.
I realized how perfectly my ass is shaped, how my ankles invite the brush of a finger, how the dimples in the small of my back invoke happiness and sweet memories, how the curve of my back begs to be cupped, how my spine is slightly crooked and juts out from my skin like a message in braille, showing the reader a map of my body. I noticed my jawline, the softness of my figure, the way my nipples respond to touch and how hard my stomach muscles are underneath all the cushion.
For the first time, I drank myself in in the half light, excited by what I saw, delighted in who I was and what I looked like.
This sparked in me the need to take care of myself. The need to pamper myself and rejoice in the beauty of my own body. It was enough to bring out the coconut butter that I used to adore, enough to make sure I used lotion under my makeup and put on an extra coat of mascara. From this spark and the aforementioned posts about homework, I decided to assign some for myself.
I wanted to be high femme for a week. I spent half an hour curling my hair every day. I bought new lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, and used them religiously. I wore earrings again, and a necklace that spoke to me with simple elegance and quiet beauty. I wore high heels and dresses, and everything matched. I brought coats out of hiding and coordinated them with my outfits. I wore underwear that made me feel sexy, and I didn't wear bras, which also made me feel sexy.
While it did take up more time in my morning routine, I rather enjoy the feeling of primping for myself. Of feeling sexy for myself.
While I won't go into detail for fear of revealing way more that you wanted to know, I finally had an orgasm. Talk about being excited about the prospect of sex all over again. Now that I know that I can at least give myself one, the possibilities of sex are now even more appealing than they used to be. It may not become a common occurrence, but to know that at least I can, at least I won't go my whole life without one, it's kind of a relief. I don't expect it to happen again anytime soon but...here's to hoping, yeah?
I feel like maybe I need to push myself to the butch extreme to figure out what I like about each and find a happy balance, but I'm enjoying the femme side so much that I don't want to let it go yet, even though I know I don't want to keep it up forever.
What are other ways I can push myself in this area? What do you consider as feminine qualities that I should experience?
Sinclair posted about the homework which she gives to Kristen, which in turn sparked Alphafemme's different kind of homework (which I think is truly brilliant).
I decided to jump on the bandwagon and discover what I feel most comfortable with about my sexuality. I feel like the only way I will ever grow and discover what I like is to push myself. This week's topics were femininity and self appreciation. I was walking around my room undressing to put on pajamas, when I caught a glimpse of myself in my full length mirror. The light on my nightstand was on, and it cast shadows across my body that hypnotized me and stopped me where I stood.
I've never been very proud of my body, never loved it for what it is, but just then I was enamored. I was caught up in the curve of my hips, the slope of my breasts, the shape of my tummy, the length of my legs, the strength of my calves. For the first time I felt how soft my skin was, felt the thickness of my hair, the silkiness of my neck, the satin feel of my shoulder blades.
I realized how perfectly my ass is shaped, how my ankles invite the brush of a finger, how the dimples in the small of my back invoke happiness and sweet memories, how the curve of my back begs to be cupped, how my spine is slightly crooked and juts out from my skin like a message in braille, showing the reader a map of my body. I noticed my jawline, the softness of my figure, the way my nipples respond to touch and how hard my stomach muscles are underneath all the cushion.
For the first time, I drank myself in in the half light, excited by what I saw, delighted in who I was and what I looked like.
This sparked in me the need to take care of myself. The need to pamper myself and rejoice in the beauty of my own body. It was enough to bring out the coconut butter that I used to adore, enough to make sure I used lotion under my makeup and put on an extra coat of mascara. From this spark and the aforementioned posts about homework, I decided to assign some for myself.
I wanted to be high femme for a week. I spent half an hour curling my hair every day. I bought new lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, and used them religiously. I wore earrings again, and a necklace that spoke to me with simple elegance and quiet beauty. I wore high heels and dresses, and everything matched. I brought coats out of hiding and coordinated them with my outfits. I wore underwear that made me feel sexy, and I didn't wear bras, which also made me feel sexy.
While it did take up more time in my morning routine, I rather enjoy the feeling of primping for myself. Of feeling sexy for myself.
While I won't go into detail for fear of revealing way more that you wanted to know, I finally had an orgasm. Talk about being excited about the prospect of sex all over again. Now that I know that I can at least give myself one, the possibilities of sex are now even more appealing than they used to be. It may not become a common occurrence, but to know that at least I can, at least I won't go my whole life without one, it's kind of a relief. I don't expect it to happen again anytime soon but...here's to hoping, yeah?
I feel like maybe I need to push myself to the butch extreme to figure out what I like about each and find a happy balance, but I'm enjoying the femme side so much that I don't want to let it go yet, even though I know I don't want to keep it up forever.
What are other ways I can push myself in this area? What do you consider as feminine qualities that I should experience?
Nov 30, 2009
Lost my Identity
The Butch/Femme dichotomy. The perfect relationship. The give and take between two fierce personalities, two extreme forms of beauty.
Why don’t I fit in?
When I realized what was going on with me, I read Mr. Sexsmith’s blog, and it made so much sense. I understood the struggle of power, the need to find my own identity, the love of topping, the admiration of femmes. But I’m not butch. I feel like a gentleman sometimes; I love to pay for dinner, open doors, pull out chairs for the beautiful woman who has my eye. However, if I am with a more emotionally masculine or dominant woman, I love to play to her longings, let her pull out my chair for me or tuck a stray hair into place. I love to catch her eye from under my lashes and make her feel powerful.
On the superficial scale of butch and femme, I believe I don’t look good enough to go out of the house without mascara, even if I don’t put anything else on. However, I also hate dresses, wear heels only when necessary, and I don't like lipstick.
I want to fit into this beautiful power play. I want to be a part of this gender society where your partner helps your identity along and the power exchange is intense. Where you feel butch because of the way her body melts in your hands and her fingers flex against your back as you enter her. Where you feel feminine because of the way she protects you, the way she envelopes you and makes it safe to be fragile.
I think it would help if I had sex. With somebody. Anybody. I always thought that when people figure out they are gay they experiment, they have relationships, they have sex, they figure out what they want in the sexual aspect of the relationship. Top, bottom, dom, sub, switch, whatever.
It seems all I do is fall hard for women who don’t want me for one reason or another. I’m a floundering baby dyke in a world where no one believes I’m gay because I’ve never had sex or a relationship. How does a girl who has never had a relationship with a man know that they are straight? Because of who they fall in love with, right?
I’m gay. I’m just a fish out of water. I am an inexperienced 13 year old surrounded by women who have gone through hell and heartbreak.
I am so out of my league here.
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