Friday, October 18, 2013

Homecoming

The following story is a work of fiction based on some sexting I did with a very close friend.

It was early evening by the time her flight landed. I was waiting at the airport, just liked she'd asked. It'd only been a week, but it felt much longer. I was happy to see her when she emerged from the crush of people. I expected a warm embrace, but she brushed past me.

“I missed you,” I said, scrambling to keep up.

“I need to find a restroom,” she said. “The flight took forever.”

“It's right over here,” I said, but she walked past the ladies' room. As she approached the men's room she tucked her blonde hair into her baseball cap. Wearing a T-shirt and jeans I had to admit she could pass for a boy. Well, pass enough in a crowded restroom where no one was going to stare at you. I followed her in.

The restroom was full of men who'd just gotten off flights, all relieving themselves. And it smelled like it. I followed her down the long row of stalls when she turned and pushed me into one, shutting the door behind us. I felt nervous, what did she have planned? Would others see? The walls and door of the stall stopped an inch or two above the floor, so it'd be difficult for the men to know there were two of us in here, but not impossible.

She faced me, pulling off her cap and then her T-shirt. I stared at the cotton bra holding her small tits as she raised her arms over her head. “I didn't put on deodorant today, and I'm really stinky.” She pulled my face to her underarm and I breathed in deeply. “Lick me clean.”

I stuck my tongue out and tasted her sweat. With long, slow licks I cleaned the salt off her skin, her razor stubble tickling my tongue. Slowly, I cleaned one underarm and then the other. “You love how dirty I am, don't you.”

To my shame I had to agree. I could feel my cock straining in my pants as I lapped at her underarms. How could something so dirty make me feel so excited?

“Well you're a lucky bitch, because my feet are dirty too.” She was wearing slip-on sandals, her toes painted pink. But even standing I could see her feet were dirty. “I was walking around barefoot in the terminal. You want to lick them clean, don't you.”

I shook my head. “No, please, that's so nasty.”

“But it turns you on to be nasty.”

“Yes,” I whimpered, “but I shouldn't. They're so dirty.”

She pushed me down and I squatted in front of her. She slipped her right foot out of her sandal and lifted it to my face. “I walked barefoot on the sidewalk too. I know you want to lick off all that grime.”

“Please don't make me.”

“But you want to,” she said, rubbing her toes on my lips. “Just open your mouth and be my dirty bitch.”

I hated myself for wanting something so disgusting, but I couldn't resist. I looked up at her and opened my mouth.

She smiled down at me and pushed her foot in. “What a good little bitch you are.”

I sucked her big toe, feeling the grit on my tongue. “I walked around barefoot on the plane too,” she said. I moved my mouth down to her other toes, gently sucking each one. “I slipped them off in the ladies' room in the terminal before we took off. The floor was wet.” I licked the sides of her foot, taking the dirt into my mouth. “I took them off in the cab on the way to the airport. The floor of the cab was sticky.”

She pointed her toes straight up, presenting her sole to my mouth.“God knows what's on my feet.” I lapped at the underside of her foot, licking off the salt and grime.

She put her left foot back in her sandal and presented her right foot to me. “I wouldn't be surprised if it made you sick.” I licked. “But you love being dirty for me, don't you.” I felt a hot flash of shame spread over me as I admitted to her how much it turned me on.

When I was finished she slipped her foot back into her sandal and leaned down to cup my face in her hand. “Now I really need to piss. You'll be my toilet bitch, won't you.”

I stared at her, unable to answer.

“Lay down on the floor and open your mouth for me.”

I started to tremble. “It's really dirty.”

“It's wet and stinky, isn't it. It probably hasn't been cleaned in days. It looks like most of the guys miss the toilet when they piss.”

“I'll get wet.”

“Yes, you will. But you can decide if you want to lay down with your clothes on, or naked.”

I stared at the floor. “Why would I lay down naked?”

“So you'll have dry clothes to put on when you're done.”

“But I'll get really wet.”

“You'll get wet either way. But if you lay down naked, then your clothes won't be dripping and smelling like a sewer when you walk back through the airport.”

I swallowed hard and pulled off my shirt. “What a good toilet bitch you are.” She took my shirt and watched as I slid down my pants. “Shoes and socks too.”

“You want my feet to touch this?”

“You need to be completely naked, fully exposed. And believe me, your naked feet on this floor will be the least of your worries once you’re laying on your back down there.”

I slipped off my shoes and socks and stepped onto the floor. Then I slid off my pants and underpants. I couldn't believe I was doing this. What was wrong with me? Why would anyone willingly get naked and lay on a floor in an airport mens' room? I felt like I was outside myself, watching what I was doing as I slowly laid down on the floor.

I felt the cold, wet tile on my ass and upper back. I felt the wetness of the floor, all that stale piss, on me now. I swallowed hard, feeling dirtier than I ever had in my life. And I had done it willingly.

She hung my clothes on the hook on the back of the door, slipped off her pants and panties and hung them up as well. I stared up from the floor as she stepped over me. “Are you going to be my good little toilet bitch?”

“Yes.”

“Then get your head down on the floor too.” She pushed my head and I lowered it to the floor. My hair on the tiles now, soaking up the dirty water, my head just inches from the toilet. “You are really disgusting down there. How can you just lay there like that?”

“I don't know. I hate it.”

“But you can't resist, can you.”

“No,” I whimpered.

She squatted down, lowering herself over my face. “I really need a shower, don't I.”

I could smell her pussy and ass. “Yes.”

She reached back and spread her cheeks. “Clean my ass.”

Part of me wanted to leave. Get my clothes on, get to a shower, clean up, and forget this madness had ever happened. Instead I stuck my tongue out.

She hadn't lied about needing a shower. She tasted dark, earthy, forbidden. I lapped it all up, no longer caring. No longer able to stop. Any dignity I had was gone. I pushed my tongue into her delicious body.

She moaned softly. Outside the stall I could hear people talking, trying to catch flights, trying to get home. All of them washing their hands, trying to be clean, and here I was trying to be dirty.

She pulled away. “I can't hold it any longer, are you ready, toilet bitch?”

I could no longer speak, I simply opened my mouth.

“Don't spill a drop.”

I watched as her pussy lips quivered, parted a bit, and released her piss. At first just a couple drops but then a stream. It hit my forehead and I adjusted, trying to get it into my mouth. Trying to be her perfect toilet bitch.

My mouth quickly filled but she didn't stop. I had no choice, I closed my mouth to swallow. In that short time her piss hit my lips and cascaded down my chin, over my neck, onto the floor. “Do better bitch, you're missing.”

I opened my mouth and swallowed more. It went on for a while, her piss filling my mouth and me swallowing it, over and over. The taste of her in my mouth, in my body. And I wanted more. I wanted all that she had.

I thought I might drown but her steam finally lessened and then stopped. Just a drop or two fell now.

She slid her hand between her legs and began to rub herself. “What a good little toilet you are. You drank a lot more than I thought you would. That was pretty disgusting, wasn't it.”

“Yes,” I said, still not believing I'd actually done it.

“You did such a good job as my personal toilet bitch, I have a special treat for you.” She sucked on a couple of fingers to get them wet, then returned them to her pussy. “I met this guy on the plane. Well, he picked me up. He was very assertive, sure of himself. Not like you at all.”

She was rubbing faster now, her pussy lips swelling in excitement. “You're so insecure, and that's cute and all, but sometimes I need to be taken by a real man.” She pushed her fingers in, fucking herself. When she pulled them out they were covered in thick, white cream. “And that's what he did. Took me, right in the plane. I let him cum in me. God he came so hard. I didn't think he'd stop. Can you see all the cum he pumped into me?”

She spread herself open and I watched cum drip out. She slid a finger back into herself and pushed the cum out, letting it drip off her fingers and into my mouth. “Isn't that a nice treat for my little toilet bitch?” She pushed her fingers back inside and got more, dripping it onto my tongue.

I held the cum in my mouth, tasting it, tasting her juices mixed in with it. Then I swallowed it all.

She started rubbing herself again. “Did you pick up any girls why I was gone? Fuck anyone new?”

“No.”

“You're much too shy. I got fucked about every night.” She was rubbing faster now, her fingers a blur on her clit. I continued to swallow as more cum dripped out of her.

She started breathing faster, her body tensing. “I got fucked by my boss, of course. And then guys I met at the hotel bar. Hard to say how many different guys' cum you’re eating right now. But you love that, don't you?”

I nodded, my mouth open to catch any cum that dripped from her as her orgasm built. And then she was cumming. Her body shaking all over. Her pussy contracting, pushing out cum and juices. I kept my mouth open, trying to catch it all.

And then she was done. She stood, pulled on her panties, her pants, her shirt. I lay on the floor, naked, looking up at her. “My pathetic little toilet bitch.” She took my clothes from the hook and dropped them on the floor. She pushed them around with her foot so they soaked up the piss I'd missed, and anything else on the dirty tile.

Then she tucked her hair back under her cap and left, leaving me laying next to my wet clothes, alone on the floor of the men's room stall.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

A Polyamorous Wedding

People often ask me what kind of ceremony would be appropriate for two people who are both polyamorous. Here is the ceremony that Pinkdom, Clonetwin, and I wrote for our wedding. We stripped out all of that "forsaking all others" crap, but did manage to include a Bible verse. Feel free to modify, use, and enjoy as you see fit.

Celebrant

We are here to celebrate the joining of Citi Kittie and Pinkdom. Their marriage is a symbol of the continuation of community and the formation of their own community within the larger community of their friends and families.

Love is a friendship that has caught fire.
It is quiet understanding,
mutual confidence,
sharing and forgiving.
It is loyalty through good and bad.
It settles for less than perfection,
and makes allowances for human weakness.
Love is content with the present.
It hopes for the future and it doesn't brood over the past.
It's the day-in and day-out chronicle of irritations, problems, compromises,
small disappointments, big victories, and working toward common goals.

Reading from 1 Corinthians Chapter 13:4 -7

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels,
But have not love,
I am nothing more than a loud gong
Or a noisy cymbal.
And if I have the gift of prophecy,
And understand all mysteries,
And have all knowledge,
And a faith that can move mountains,
But have not love,
I am nothing.
Love is patient
Love is kind.
Love is never jealous, boastful, proud or rude.
Love is never selfish, resentful, or quick-tempered.
Love keeps no record of wrongs.
Love always protects.
Love always trusts.
Loves always hopes.
Love never gives up.
Love never fails.
And love never ends.
Faith, hope, and love
Abide in these three.
But the greatest of these
Is love.

Back to celebrant

Using the words of Kahlil Gilbran I charge you to:
Love one another, but make not a bond of love
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous but let each one of you be alone
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

I, Citi Kittie, take you as my partner, my constant friend, and my love, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, and to travel with you on your journey of discovery.

Here, in the presence of family and friends, I promise to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.

I, Pinkdom, take you as my partner, my constant friend, and my love, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, and to travel with you on your journey of discovery.

Here, in the presence of family and friends, I promise to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.

Exchange of the rings:

The circle has always been regarded as a symbol of eternity. Without beginning and without end it stands outside time. Your love also is eternal with no beginning or end. These rings are the reflection of their love and their respect for one another and reflects to others the vows they have already taken.

Citi Kittie says: Pinkdom with this ring, I pledge my love to you for all the days of my life.

Pinkdom says: Citi Kittie with this ring, I pledge my love to you for all the days of my life.

May your marriage bring you all the exquisite excitements a marriage should bring, and may life grant you also patience, tolerance, and understanding.
May you always need one another - not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you to know your fullness. A mountain needs a valley to be complete; the valley does not make the mountain less, but more; and the valley is more a valley because it has a mountain towering over it. So let it be with you and you.

May you need one another, but not out of weakness.
May you want one another, but not out of lack.
May you entice one another, but not compel one another.
May you embrace one another, but not out encircle one another.
May you succeed in all important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces.
May you look for things to praise, often say, "I love you!" and take no notice of small faults.
If you have quarrels that push you apart, may both of you hope to have good sense enough to take the first step back.
May you enter into the mystery which is the awareness of one another's presence - no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities.
May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy.
May you have love, and may you find it loving one another!
You may kiss each other.


May I present to you, the married couple, Citi Kittie and Pinkdom.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

A Birthday Present

The Suggestion

Recently I went on a date with a married couple. Well, date might be an exaggeration. I was a birthday gift for the husband.

Being treated like a sex object is a fetish of mine. So I was intrigued when the wife messaged me about being a gift. And by intrigued I mean turned on.

This was not the first time I've been a present (I know, you are all shocked). But it was my first time with this couple, so I figured I should do it right. A couple weeks before the date my Miss and I had lunch with the wife to negotiate the scene. My Miss wanted to make sure I was safe and didn't agree to anything too crazy. Sometimes I get excited and need someone to rein me in.

The Negotiation

The lunch was odd; sitting in a restaurant discussing things like oral sex and getting peed on. I'm pretty sure the guy behind me heard a lot; no idea what he thought. Maybe it was his best lunch ever.

The wife told me what to wear and that I should give her hubby a birthday card that listed my boundaries. The idea was that I'd be a surprise present.
At work the day of the date I had a hard time focusing. I bought a card and my hands shook as I wrote out the message. It felt so dirty.

Before leaving I realized we hadn't discussed dinner. Which made sense. I wasn't invited for dinner and conversation. I was invited to be a sex toy. I ate a breakfast bar and drove over.

The Arrival

They both met me at the door and showed me into the living room. They gave me some water and had me look over the toys they planned to use on me. I have no allergies, like latex or glycerin, so I had no concerns. But I felt a bit intimidated looking at a table full of sex toys that would be used on me.

After a couple minutes of small talk she told me to strip. Right there in the living room. No dinner, no drinks, no tour of the house. Just strip. I was there to be used.

This threw me. At parties I sneak off to change into my girl clothes. And then I feel sexy and flirty. Being told to strip out of my work clothes and be sexy about it felt weird. And humiliating. Which made it hot.

I didn't do a very good strip show; they were boy clothes after all. But I tired to put on my girl clothes in a fun way. And as I got dressed I felt myself change. I became more relaxed, more flirty, and more comfortable with my role as a sex toy. I guess the clothes really do make the (wo)man.

Per her request, I was wearing black leather ankle boots with a 3 inch heel, lace thigh highs, a garter belt, black satin panties with bows, a red satin can-can skirt, a black and white striped satin corset, black lace gloves, and kitten ears. I also put on a kitten tail. Because I'm a kitty!

I meowed at them a few times; they seemed to like it.

Part of the idea behind me being a gift was the wife getting the husband to express his top side. (I was happy to be a practice sub; I'm easy.) So throughout the evening she would tell him what to do and then he'd tell me. After I finished getting dressed she told him to inspect me. 
He ran his hands over me, checking my outfit. Then she told him to sniff me and tell her how I smelled. And once again I felt humiliated. And once again it was unexpected and exciting. I'd been driving in 100 degree heat for about an hour. Yes I had the A/C on, but still, I had no idea how I smelled or if he'd like it.

He sniffed the back of my head, the small of my back, my ass, my cock. He said he really liked how my cock smelled. Wow. I felt like a real piece of meat. Delicious!

She told him to blindfold me and then told me to undress him, with just one hand and my mouth. Being blindfolded really focuses your attention. I got his shirt off easily but struggled with his pants and boxers.

After he was undressed they pulled up my skirt, pulled down my panties, and vajazzled me. Or I guess pejazzled me. I was smooth all over, so it was easy for them. I couldn't see what they were putting on me. They kept teasing me about the different jewels and patterns. He said he was making an arrow that pointed to my girlcock. And then they were joking and laughing about how it looked on me. I had no say on what they were doing; I was just there to amuse them.

And Then The Oral Sex

With no warning she pushed me backward onto the sofa. That was a bit freaky as I didn't know there was a sofa there. Trust.

He straddled me and had me smell him. He rubbed his cock on my face and then his balls. He also shoved his fingers into my mouth and had me stick my tongue out and leave it out.

They both kept commenting on what a whore I was and how easy I was, showing up at a house where I barely know the people and letting them use me.

He had me lick and suck his balls while he put on a condom. She was down by my legs and started working my girlcock. As he slid his cock into my mouth she flicked my balls, slapped my girlcock, rubbed ice on my ass, tickled my feet. It was all I could do to stay under him.

He really liked my deep throating, even though it was a difficult angle. Eventually I had to safeword on the ball slapping as I'm not into CBT and it was quite painful. Some might say I have a low threshold for pain. I prefer to say I'm highly reactive; a little goes a long way.

This went on for quite some time, the wife working my cock and balls and hubby fucking my mouth and throat.

I didn't get hard, or even close, during all of her attention. I got hard from the humiliation when I changed in front of them. And when he sniffed me. But giving the blow job was pretty distracting. And my girlcock can be shy with new people. I didn't expect to get hard but forgot to mention it during negotiation. I hoped she wasn't insulted by my soft cock.

(Yes, I was sitting half-naked, with hubby fucking my mouth and the wife slapping and abusing my cock and balls and I was worried my lack of erection might hurt her feelings. That's just how my brain works.)
She used the situation as an opportunity to insult my girlcock. Calling it small, referring to is a clit, remarking how I couldn't get hard. This had all been negotiated, but it was still damn hot. I agreed, telling them how soft and little my girlcock was. Between gagging.

After a while hubby laid down and I got between his legs. She was spanking me and calling me names as I sucked him to orgasm. I felt a thrill as he throbbed in my mouth, knowing I'd been a good slut and gotten him off.

She asked if he wanted another but he said he was done, so they took off my blindfold and I laid back on the sofa and asked for a tissue. You know you gave a good blow job when you have to blow your nose!

And I needed some water. They also gave me some chocolate to eat and we made small talk for a few minutes. But it was clear it was time for me to go. They were done using me. Which, again, was really hot.

I put on my boy clothes, stuffed my girl clothes in a duffle, and headed out.

The Aftermath

Driving home I felt like a whore; used and sent on her way. It was such a wild, exhilarating feeling.

And my throat was sore for three days after that. A nice reminder, each time I swallowed.

Is it weird that I found that kind of date very easy? I didn't have to worry about small talk. I didn't have to think about what to do. I just had to do as I was told. Maybe it's a sign that I have intimacy issues.
Or maybe I'm just a slut.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Dysphoria to Euphoria: A Summer Camp Odyssey

My Cunning Camp Plan

This year at Kinky Sex Camp I had a plan. Over the summer I'd been exploring my gender and a lot of issues had come. So at camp I wanted to try different gender presentations and see how they felt.

Camp is amazing because you can pretty much do anything you want (as long as it's consensual). And people are very accepting of whatever you do. Or they ignore you. Either way, it's a great place to experiment.

Facing My Issues

I really enjoy being sexual with my friends. That's one of the main reasons I'm polyamorous. And I really enjoy meeting someone new, flirting with them, feeling some chemistry, and then running off and getting naughty.

So you'd think I'd be in kitty heaven at play parties and conventions. However, there is another truth about me. The less I know someone, the less comfortable I am using my penis.

I always thought this was performance anxiety, or phobias about getting a disease. And while I think those are pieces of the puzzle, I now realize that gender dysphoria is a bigger part.

In the past I've dealt with this by trying to get to know people before I play with them. And explaining that I don't involve my penis much until I have more of a relationship going.

My friends have been fine with this. Everyone has boundaries and rules and limits. And there are plenty of fun, naughty things that don't involve my penis.

But it often leaves me frustrated because I want to connect in a more sexual way. Yet, when I do involve my penis it's left me feeling bad. It's sort of hard to describe. Being unable to describe it better than "feels bad" I just avoided it.

Then I got to camp and decided to face it.

Being a Girl at Camp

Thursday night I had a play date with a guy in the Sex O Rama. He wanted to fuck me in the ass and I thought that was a yummy idea.

He suggested we use a swing, which I'd never tried. So I laid on my back as he fingered me and then fucked me with his strapon. It was, indeed, yummy.

However, laying on my back in the swing, with him standing, meant I was staring down at my own body. Which meant I was staring at my own cock.

And that felt really weird, which was unexpected. Because, honestly, I see a lot of my cock. But I was dressed like a cute girl, getting fucked by a hot guy, and here I was, with a penis!

In the last couple of years I've done enough reading to know the name for this feeling, gender dysphoria. The feeling that my body's genital configuration wasn't matching up with the gender configuration that feels right in my brain.

Laying there in the swing, I didn't freak out. I mean, it's camp! Every couple of hours I expect to experience something that causes me to feel weird or strange or some other, unexpected emotion.

So after acknowledging my feelings, I stared at my partner, I stared at the ceiling, I closed my eyes. I took my focus off my cock (which was just lying there not doing anything) and focused on the strapon in my ass (which was doing quite a bit).

Later I asked him to take me outside, bend me over the railing, and fuck me. He was happy to oblige. And sure enough, I enjoyed that position much more because I couldn't see my cock. (The strangers walking by staring, or ignoring us, only added to the fun.)

After the fucking, we talked and I told him about my feelings. Being trans person himself he suggested it was dysphoria, which confirmed and affirmed my feelings.

Time to explore this further.

Being a Boy At Camp

Friday evening I presented as a boy. There were several events that seemed like good opportunities for this. One was cruising in the woods, which was specificily for male-identified people, or people presenting as male, or in male head-space.

My Mistress was presenting as a boy as well. So off we headed, into the woods. My Mistress with her strapon, me with my factory-issued cock.

It wasn't the best experience for us. I couldn't see anyone or much of what was going on because it was so dark. I have nothing against anonymous sex, but not seeing the person, or seeing what you are doing? I guess I'm a lot more visual than I thought.

And I was feeling pretty unsure about the whole presenting-as-a-boy thing. Which was unexpected, since I have a lot of experience presenting as a boy. But it made me feel off my game, or strange, or out of sorts. 

And did I mention the part about not being able to see anyone? It wasn't working for my Mistress either, so we headed back to main camp to see what other trouble a couple of boys could get up to.

We made our way to the Times Square Cinema event. It was set up to approximate the grindhouses of Manhattan back when you went to watch porn, and grope each other.

I sat next to a dirty lady and we groped each other. And she fed me Junior Mints. Being that it was a dirty movie theater, I unzipped my pants. She commented that it was cute, and then molested me. I liked the comment, "cute", but also sensed it's not what most men would want to hear.

All in all, my night of being a boy resulted in not much play. I'm not sure being a boy is really for me.

I was ready to continue experimenting.

Making My Strapon My Own

My plan for Saturday was to present as a girl with a strapon. I was invited to a non-bio cock gang bang, a mythical creature orgy, and I'd be a "working" in the brothel as a whore (no actual money is involved).

Part of me wanted to involve my penis in some of the action, but this was research, for science! (or self-discovery), so I tucked my penis away in my panties (pointing it backward between my legs, giving me a smooth profile).

I had to cancel on the gang bang because my Mistress had a migraine and needed me to help her. But by the evening she was feeling better so I headed to the orgy, harness on and strapon ready. Using my strapon felt, amazing. I had people sucking on it and then fucked a girl. I could feel her opening on my shaft, could feel her wetness dripping on me, could feel her squeezing on it as I fucked her.

And I could feel pleasure from it that had nothing to do with my penis. (She was tucked away and soft the whole time.) Call it my psychic cock, my astral cock, energy orgasms, whatever, it was amazing. Like a girl, I was riding the orgasm wave up and down as it flowed from her pussy down my strapon and into my body. 

I left the orgy feeling energized and excited, and wanting to fuck everyone with my strapon.

At the brothel I laid out two dildos on the bed, like a merchant showing her wares. I had no idea what people would think, but the reaction was great. During my two-hour shift I fucked two women, one a friend, the other a stranger.

And it felt great!

And I felt great about myself!

No "bad" feelings. No dysphoria, just wild elation. And more orgasms.

The experience of being a girl with a strapon left me feeling liberated, energized, euphoric. It was like suddenly, after years of misfires, everything clicked into place and instead of stumbling in the dark I was flying.

After Camp

I feel like I've had a major break through and I'm further along the road of self discovery, which is great. But it's also a bit scary because I don't where my journey may be going.

For years I've been fine with identifying as GenderQueer, but I"m feeling a lot more transgendered, transgirl, than I did before. And I'm not sure what to do with that.

The journey continues.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

My Second Time as a Girl

Second Verse Same as the First-What to Wear

I had another date and presented as a girl. This time it was with a girl who was presenting as a girl.

In telling people about it, everyone asked what I’d wear. I found it a bit annoying. As if that was the defining characteristic of being a girl. And it wasn’t a fetish event; it was just a date. But somehow saying, “jeans and a T shirt” didn't feel like the right answer. I was going out to present as a girl! Do girls go out wearing just jeans and a T shirt?

Apparently not, based on the suggestions I received. OK, so many of the suggestions were from men on the site where I cam. I can’t really count those. Except that those men represent a certain heteronormative expectation of what a girl should be. (Or they are just a bunch of freaks.)

For example, one guy asked if I’d be wearing pantyhose. The date was on August 20, in Washington DC. It was 101 degrees in the shade. I don’t think any woman in the District was wearing pantyhose that day. So no, I would not be wearing pantyhose.

I bought a new pink tank top that was mesh in the back, in a floral pattern. With a new pink bra with white polka dots. And jeans.

Jeans? Really? On a day when you could smoke fish on the side walk? So I went through my skirts. Many of them aren’t street legal; they don’t cover my butt.

But before the date I started noticing skirt lengths a lot more. Women’s skirts are really short. Like, really short. Good lord. So I went back through my skirts and decided that many of them were acceptable.

But still I resisted the idea. As if wearing a skirt was the final step in presenting as a girl, but wearing jeans meant I could still claim a bit of my boyness. As if I might be pulled over by the gender police and I needed plausible denialability. “Officer, what do you mean I’m trying to present as a girl? I’m wearing jeans!”

Which I realized was ridiculous. If I was presenting as a girl, I was crossing that line whether I was wearing jeans or a skirt.

In the end I was just like everyone else. What would I wear? How short would my skirt be? How revealing my top? Apparently that’s what defines a girl; how much of her body she reveals.

I wore a skirt. Black, just about an inch above the knee. And pink high tops. (And no pantyhose.)

I wore make up, this time with eye shadow and some better concealer. I felt a bit better about my appearance. Did I pass “better”? I don’t know. I felt a bit better about it.

Stepping Back Outside

Once again I was terrified the moment I stepped outside. Like I’d entered an alien landscape and had to get to my car as fast as possible. But as soon as I was out of my neighborhood I relaxed.

A friend told me that most people don’t really care what other people wear; most people just want to be left alone. And another said that most people only notice things right in their face.

And sure enough, on the drive over no one even looked at me. I hit several stop lights as the lead car, with large numbers of people crossing the street. (Summer in DC brings lots of tourists.) But none of them even looked at my car. They were all consumed with their own lives.

I parked at my date’s house and stepped out of the car. No one on the street noticed me. It was completely uneventful. My date and I sat in her kitchen catching up. When one of her roommates came home my date leaned in and asked how I wanted to be introduced.

Yikes. I gave her my girl name and that was that. Her roommate smiled and said hi to me as a girl.

It felt really nice to meet someone as a girl. Or have them meet me as a girl. Like they were seeing the real me. Or a more authentic version of me. Or my presentation was more authentic.

When I meet people, especially girls, I spend a lot of time and energy to let them know I’m not like other guys. I have always felt it very important to get that across. It was nice to let my presentation speak for itself this one time.

And when I’ve spent time with guys, especially extremely heteronormative guys, it always makes me uncomfortable. Because it seems like there is always a moment when they look around the room and realize there are only “guys” in the room, so they can suddenly start saying their “guy bullshit” or start acting all “guy”. And it’s OK because everyone there is in on it, because we are all “guys”.

And I’m never sure exactly how to respond. I’d prefer them to know that I’m not one of them. Often, I’d prefer to just leave.

Getting Undressed

Anyway, that was about it for my girlness that day. We went up to her room and had sexynaughtyfuntimes. Which was wonderful. My wig didn’t last very long and my make up came off fairly quickly.

I didn’t feel like I had switched back to a boy. I just felt like I wasn’t wearing a wig or make up anymore.

After that we went out to dinner. I wore girl jeans and a boy T shirt. Was I a boy again? Was I still a girl?

I’ve heard some trans people say they have a male persona and a female persona. I’ve always maintained that I’m just me. But the last couple weeks I’ve been feeling more split. Like maybe I do have a male persona and a female persona and I want to be that female persona more. Not that I want to present as a girl more, but I want to inhabit that persona more.

Which smacked up against my older conception of myself. Was I changing? Was I wrong and now right? Or was something else going on?

Something Else May Be Going On

As I thought about it more I kept going back to meeting the roommate and her seeing me as a girl (or a transgirl at least). And it wasn’t that I was a different person (or persona) than if I had been wearing jeans and a T shirt. It was that she was seeing me as a different person.

People treat men and women differently. We have a different set of expectations, assumptions, preconceived notions. We even have different titles and colors.We all know that a man can say something and it means one thing and when a woman can say the same thing it can mean something different. We are all aware of these double standards.

So when I present as a girl, the set of assumptions people bring to me are different. And I have to react to them and play off them in a different manner than I would if I were presenting as a boy.

So it’s not that my personality is different when I present as a girl, it’s that I have to adjust my behavior as well as what I say and how I say it to effectively communicate my meaning.

I make it sound like I was off giving speeches as a girl. I think all I said to her was, “yes,” and maybe, “uh huh,” and possibly, “oh.”

But I was aware of those differences, that set of assumptions, and maybe feeling a bit paralyzed by them. But they feel like a better set of assumptions than the set of assumptions used for guys.

I’m still not sure I was meant to be a girl. Or want to present as one more often. Maybe I want to be something more in-between. The main thing is, I want to be me. And I’ve always found that a challenge in our society. But I don’t plan on moving, so I guess I need to figure this out.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

My First Time as a Girl

My First Date

I started dating when I was 13. But I’ve always presented as a boy. The other night I went on a date and presented as a girl.

The plan was to meet at her house, change, and then go to a restaurant. She’d be presenting as a boy.

It’d been planned for weeks, and the closer it got the more nervous I became. Several times I thought of canceling, but I pushed myself to go through with it.

I was especially nervous about my razor stubble showing. I’d bought some concealer and decided to try it out before I left my house. It took a while, but I was able to blend it in so it looked pretty natural. It covered most of the evidence that I could grow a beard, but above my upper lip betrayed “the truth” about what was between my legs.

After that, I tried on my outfit and showed off to my Mistress and my Miss. I wanted to drive over as a boy, but my partners convinced me to go over as a girl. Wow. I hadn’t planned on that. Alone, in the car, as a girl. But it made sense. So that’s what I did.

What I Wore

I have lots of slutty, fetish clothes. But “normal” girl clothes, not so much. And it was a casual date, I didn’t want to overdress. So I wore a fuchsia tank top, a pink bra (you could see the straps because it didn’t follow the contours of the tank), tight girl jeans, and pink Chuck high tops.

I also wore a light brown wig (thank you again Fetlife.com; I won the wig in their Christmas giveaway), dangly earrings, and a couple rings.

Before I left my Mistress and Miss gave me some advice. I felt like I was 13 and going on my first date all over again. They couched me on my voice (voice training in 5 minutes?) and I practiced a bit. My Mistress said, “Just don’t say much. It’s easy to be a girl; don’t talk and smile a lot.”

Then my Miss said, “Remember, even if he buys you dinner, it’s your body, you get to decide what happens to it.” I joked, “Not on this date; I think I have to put out.”

All advice received, I psyched myself up and . . . panicked several times before I made it out the front door. There was a neighbor sitting in her car in her driveway. Just, sitting there. What was she doing? Why didn’t she just drive off? Finally, she did, and I took a deep breath and went outside for the first time as a girl.

Driving Over as a Girl

I drove through Washington DC during rush hour, so, a lot of traffic. I stared straight ahead and tried to focus on driving. And of course there was cop right behind me. I had visions of being pulled over and having to talk to the cop. Or having to change a tire in my wig and makeup. Or hitting a car in front of me and having to exchange insurance information.

The reality was a lot more boring. Just a lot of stop and go traffic. Lots of construction. Lots of merging.

But even with all the merging the drive was fairly easy. I seemed to luck out several times; people kept letting me into their lane. Usually I have to fight my way into a merge and I get cut off a lot.

The third time it happened it struck me. The other drivers were seeing me as a girl and being nice to me. From the distance of one car to another I was passing just fine (I dubbed it “car passing”).

I’d anticipated a lot of reactions; violence, mumbled insults, jeers, people (waitresses, cashiers) ignoring me. People being extra nice was not a reaction I had considered.

What She Wore

She dressed in a casual shirt and jeans. She had a buzz cut and used makeup to draw in a mustache and beard line under her chin.We were quite a sight, I’m sure. (Yes there are pictures. No, you can’t see them.)

She, being the boy for the night, drove us to the restaurant. I felt a lot more relaxed being in the car with someone. We chatted about the usual first date stuff; her job, my family, TV shows we liked, shark week. I realized I was doing it; I was living like it was shark week!

She’d picked a restaurant she’d never been to. It was an Italian place just off the highway. Walking up to the door she asked if we should have a cover story, like that we were actors. I thought, now you ask this? I couldn’t really think straight; I just wanted to get inside so I simply smiled.

As we made our way through the parking lot I was worrying about my walk. Was I walking like a boy? Did I need to walk more like a girl? What did that even mean? If I was doing this to be like the real me, should I really be worrying about my mannerisms? Shouldn't I just be me? These questions that are still on my mind.

Dining as a Girl


The smokers outside the bar stared and then looked away. We went in the entrance for the restaurant and stopped just inside the door. It was as if we hadn’t thought about what to do after we got inside. It really was like being 13 all over again and not knowing how to get the hostess’ attention. Finally I suggested we go up to the hostess station.

The hostess didn’t even blink, just smiled and sat us. I sat with my back to the wall; I wanted to to see anything that might be coming at me. Of course, that meant everyone could see my face. I knew my body was passing just fine, it’s my face I was worried about.

The waitress smiled and made some bad jokes. I sensed she had a little banter she'd relied on for years. After she took our drink order I had a chance to size up our fellow diners. How shall I put this? They all looked like they’d had some hard living. And probably had a lot more hard living ahead of them.

And then a family (?) came in. It was five women, so I guessed a mom and her kids. They ranged in age from very young to mid-teens, and then the mom. One of the girls had bangs that stuck straight out and were dyed bright pink. She wore a sleeveless hoodie and bandeau top, with jeans that barely covered her crotch.

Another girl wore a belly shirt, her rather large belly hanging down over her pants. She had blue hair. I thought wow, we picked the right place! We fit right in.

The girl with the pink hair kept staring at me. I thought she was trying to tell if I was a boy. Later, my Mistress said it was probably because I was wearing a wig. “And you have to remember,” she said, “pretty girls get stared at.”

I didn’t do any staring. I just focused on my meal. And kept smiling. The rest of the meal was uneventful. We ate, chatted, got the check, and left. Just like a normal date.

After dinner we went back to her place and I sucked her strap on and she fucked my ass while her boyfriend sat in the next room working on his computer. Just like a normal first date, right?

Later, as we basked in the afterglow of my ass-fucking, my date mentioned she identifies as a gay male. Suddenly I had an overwhelming desire to be her gay boyfriend. I suggested we go out again with her presenting as male and me presenting as her twink boyfriend.

Driving Home as a Boy

I stuffed my wig and bra in my purse for the drive home. I’m sure my makeup was gone by then too. Ahem.

I realized I’d felt more like a girl in the beginning of the evening, but by the end I felt more like a gay boy. I think I was reacting to her male energy. Or maybe it was being naked and getting fucked in the ass. Hard to say.

At the same time, I was really wishing I had a vagina for her to fuck as well. I wish I could have rolled over and had her slide her strapon into my wet pussy. I wanted to stuff my panties into my purse on the way home because they were too wet from my excitement. I wanted to feel the lube sliding done my things.

And with a factory-issued vagina I wouldn’t have to worry about passing as a girl. I’d just “be” a girl.

Or is it really that easy, even for people assigned girl at birth?

I know I wasn’t really happy with how I looked. I wanted to pass better; to have no trace of my maleness showing. I have a big nose and angular face, but there are ways makeup can deal with that.

For years I’ve fantasized about being a woman and it was usually some cute girl I’d seen, or some movie star I wanted to be. This was about being the girl I am; not some idealized version of a girl I’ll never be.

And there are girls with big noses, and angular faces, and even Adam’s apples that stick out a bit “too” much. And girls with mustaches. Presenting in a conventionally cute and sexy way can be a challenge for many girls.

Waking Up as  a (?)

Going out as a girl was a huge high. It was amazing and scary and I told myself I’d never do it again. But by the next afternoon I wanted to go back out as a girl. I wanted everyone to see me that way.

My Mistress and I went shopping and I was excited to get some normal (not fetish) girl clothes so I could go out more often. But at the store I felt overwhelmed by the endless racks and wanted to hide again. It seemed like all the women in the store knew what they were doing except me.

After a while my Mistress helped me go through a rack of shirts, rejecting every single one as inappropriate, ugly, wrong for my body type, etc. And then I thought of my Miss, who hates shopping for clothes because it can be so impossible for a girl to find things that look good and fit right.

And I realized, maybe I’m a lot closer to being a girl than I realized.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Throat Fucking

I seem to be getting dirtier and dirtier. I recently realized I really like sex when it gets messy. Very messy. Like, the kind of messy you get from throat fucking.

A couple weeks back I was at a play party, for the first time in months. Unfortunately, there wasn't much play going on.

It was a going away party for one of the honorary members of our triad. He's moving out to the west coast in a couple weeks. He was a real integral member of the local BDSM community. He will be sorely missed.

He rented a BDSM club for the party so we had the run of the place. The first time I'd been there was a year earlier when he rented it for his birthday. At that party he had had several party games, one of which was a contest to see who could deep throat the deepest.

I love taking things deep in my throat, and kind of get off on the gag reflex. So I thought I'd be a contender. But he used a night club and really, that's way to fat for me, and most of us.

I lost to a girl who could take over 10 inches. Which is quite impressive.

Later, another girl was using a dildo on her own throat, to see how deep she could take it. She was using a double-ended dildo and asked if I wanted to try it. Of course I said yes. She started fucking my face with the dildo. First just to the back of my mouth, but then deeper. I started gagging a lot, and shaking all over from it. Pretty soon I had to time my breathing to her thrusts.

We were sitting on a spanking bench in the middle of the club and soon everyone was watching. I didn't notice because I was staring at the ceiling, my mouth wide open, her dildo deep in me. She was calling me names and telling me to take it even deeper for her. I was gagging and groaning and begging for more.

Each time she pulled the dildo out more of my own spit dripped on my chin. After a while spit was dripping off me. She scooped it up and slapped my face with it, rubbing it on my cheeks. She called me a dirty girl as she rubbed it on my neck. I was still shaking and trembling, not quite believing what was happening. I knew I liked to gag, but I'd never produced so much spit, never shaken so much, never wanted so much more.

Once more she plunged the dildo down my throat and once more I gagged and choked. Then I felt a bit of my stomach come up. Wow. That was really disgusting and dirty and kind of hot. When she pulled the dildo out again I whispered, "I want to puke for you." Her eyes lit up and she rammed her hand to the back of my throat.

Her fingers rubbed around at the base of my tongue. I was jerking and straining, gagging very time her fingers moved in me. The feeling was overwhelming; it was all I could think of, all I was aware of. The world was her fingers and my throat.

Though a part of me was thinking, "Am I really doing this? Am I really opening my mouth in a room full of people so a girl can push her fingers into my throat? Am I really begging to puke for her? What does that even mean, to puke 'for her'? Is that something she wants me to beg for? And why would I even want such a thing? How disgusting am I?"

She kept this up for a while, but I never came close to puking again. I guess I'm just too good at gagging.

Eventually she stopped and I noticed all the people, sitting in a circle around us. Humiliating and hot! We went into the bathroom to clean up, where she told me how much she enjoyed it, but she wouldn't kiss me because my face was so messy and dirty.

I still find it kind of disgusting and disturbing, but I'm also watching a lot of spitting videos now. It's too much of a turn on to avoid.