Archive for November, 2007
Speaking of really big cocks (we were, weren’t we?) – this just shipped for me to review:
Eden says it is 5 1/4″ long, and 6 3/4″ around. Um … that means it is thicker around than it is long.
I’m not even sure it’ll fit in my harness. Do I have an O-ring big enough? Can I weild this thing, wearing it? Will I have any idea how to use it, how to fuck someone else with it? And … secretly, I want to know, can I take it?
I’m incredibly interested, and shuddering at the same time.
I guess I’ll find out.
She perches on the edge of the bed, spreading her legs, eyes on me. I take two quick steps to stand between her thighs and she pulls my boxers down past my knees. She wraps her fingers around my new cock again, and works it expertly …
After I wrote this fantasy, I wasn’t sure Eden was going to accept it, because of the queer content. So if you like it, tell those folks over at Eden, wouldja? And maybe that way they’ll ask me to write more of them.
These fantasys over on Eden are quite impressive. The erotic story includes with it a ‘basket’ of the sex toys used in the story, so you can buy all the toys and recreate the story.
What’s in mine? Why, I’m so glad you asked: a really big cock, decent harness, and sexy lingerie made primarily of pearls.
Why are you still here? Unwrap that present already.
A new avatar. I’m just so damn fond of the button-down white shirt with the library of women studies books in the background, it’s hard to retire that photo. But it is more than a few years old, and this one is brand new. Here’s the old one, just for archival’s sake …
On the V train:
Caramel skin and she smelled like vanilla. Her hat was knit, covering her head like a something poofy and french, brown ringlets poking deliberately out from under it. Her jacket was mocha coffee colored suede with white fur at the seams, it came in stylishly at the waist and flared at the bust, unbuttoned to reveal delicious curves, cleavage. I don’t usually notice cleavage. Hers was near perfect.
On the E train:
Snow white: ruby lips, raven hair, creamy skin. Stop staring, I tell myself.
At Union Square:
Roses embroidered on the backs of her fishnet stockings. Black heels, not delicate, but not clunky either, rather very solid, firm. I wanted to bite each rose from her calf. Tear it with my teeth.
Clearly something is happeneing to my libido today. I do go through these moods occasionally. I wonder where I am in my cycle, if this corresponds.
Makes me wish I had someone to call & fuck.
Closest relationship I’ve had to that is Belle – but apparently, she has a girlfriend now. I haven’t talked to her much recently, we really only saw each other a few times. Too bad, though. I thought she’d be on the market for a while longer – I should’ve played with her more while I could, I really enjoyed her. And – on top of the physical chemistry, she never put pressure on me, never needed anything from me. That’s how we both laid it out at the beginning of getting together, and I had my doubts as to whether or not that could happen, but it did.
I guess it’s good to know that I’m capable of a sex-based relationship, in theory.
This is an honorable mention Sugarbutch Star submission from Jefferson. I have to include his original submission with the story here, because he’s a wonderful writer, and it sets the scene.
You and I have been driving all day. We decide to wash off the road with a few bourbons, and stop at the next neon sign. We park well away from a long row of Harleys and head inside.
Hours later, we are feeling no pain. A very cute blonde has been flirting with us for a long time. She keeps asking us where we’re from, how we know each other, and so on. She’s fascinated by us. We’re fascinated by her bee-sting lips, her cut-off denims and her long, tan legs. She situates herself between us; you fondle her thighs as I finger her crooked teeth.
None of this sits well with her boyfriend. He watches, glowering by the jukebox at a table covered by empty long necks.
Much of what happens next is a blur.
We wind up in a local jail. You and I share a cell. Beyond the bars to one side is the blonde; beyond the bars to the other side is the boyfriend.
The only light is the moon from a single barred window.
Cross-Country Girl Adventures
Jefferson is pacing.
“Sit down,” I say. “Can’t you just calm down?” I have enough bourbon in me to keep me horizontal for days. The coil-spring mattress is the most uncomfortable thing on which my back has ever laid, and I won’t get up for anything, not even if the door to this jail cell was open.
Jefferson, too, has had bourbon. More than I have, in fact. “I can’t relax,” he says.
“You’re giving me a fucking headache,” the blonde in the next cell says, a little too loud. She’s sitting against the wall. We learned somewhere around the third drink that her name is Ella May.
“I can’t relax,” he says again, going over to the bars that separate our cell from hers. She lifts her head and sighs.
“Fine,” she says, rising and walking toward him. I hear them both moving but keep my eyes shut. “Unzip.”
He pauses. “Yeah?”
She glances back at her boyfriend, in the cell adjoining hers, passed out cold. “This offer’s gonna expire,” she says.
Jefferson unzips and meets the black bars with his bony hips, cock poking through.
“Might as well make this a good story,” she says, and licks the tip before guzzling the length of his dick down her throat.
His shoulders drop immediately and he leans against the bars, groaning. Relaxing into familiar territory. I peek through one eye and can’t see her through him, but can see her knees and bobbing elbows as she licks and sucks. He leans back into it. She makes a little mmm noise and brings her hand to her cut-off jean shorts, back pocket ripped out where her boyfriend had hold of her earlier tonight.
I can’t see her hand go inside her jeans, but by the way her elbow is moving, she has clearly taken hold of her clit and is working it. My internal butch cock awake and hard. My head pounds, but I find enough clarity to sit up.
I want to feel her cunt when she comes.
As soon as Jefferson and I entered the highway biker bar I noticed her, but it wasn’t until she pulled me onto the small space of empty floor near the pool table for a dance that I wanted to fuck her. A girl like her would usually be too straight for me – I like ‘em queer. But then she moved her hips against me, drew her long leg up mine, dipped her back low when I led it and didn’t pull away when I held her close. She responded so easily to my gentle, subtle suggestions of movement and twirl.
They say you know exactly how someone will be in bed based on how they dance. That, in my experience, tends to be true. And if it is true of Ella, she is bold, eager, receptive, subtle, and hungry.
I watch her suck Jefferson for a moment longer before I stagger over to the jail bars. I keep an eye on the passed-out boyfriend and watch the muscles in Ella’s jaw clench and move. Jefferson barely notices me, he is finally unwinding, forgetting his surroundings.
I crouch next to him. Ella watches me approach, approves with her eyes, soft, pushes her own shorts down on her hip bones to reveal a tiny patch of fine, soft light hair on her mound, downy, which seems even more blonde because of her tan skin.
She keeps his cock in her mouth. Expertly works it in and out. He wants to increase depth and speed but she isn’t letting him. One hand on his cock, she reaches for my hand and brings it in between her legs. I awkwardly sit sideways next to the bars and slide my hand inside her shorts. She isn’t wearing any panties.
Her skin is so soft, supple. She’s totally shaved except for that tiny patch, and my fingers explore her tight outer lips, all muscle, strong, and thin inner lips, so smooth and slick, luscious. Her cunt is dripping, sticky already. She likes sucking cock. She rocks a little against my fingers and I slide two inside her; she moans a little, muffled, and her eyes roll back as she gulps and sucks, one hand still twisting around Jefferson’s cock, one hand on my wrist.
My angle is awful, up underneath both of them, wrist upturned and restricted by her jean shorts. But she feels so damn good, she’s gripping my fingers with her cunt, forearm with her hand, I can’t exactly move. As I work my fingers in her, my thumb on her clit, she takes Jefferson deeper, faster, into her mouth and this gets him hotter, thrusting what little he can against the cell bars. He’s got a grip with both hands, leaning his head and torso back, hips pressing forward.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants under his breath. Ella moans into his cock, throaty. She glances at me, then up at Jefferson, back at me – a look that clearly says, he’s going to come. I bring my twi fingers to her clit and swirl. Watch her face for her reaction: she closes her eyes reluctantly, opens her mouth wide as Jefferson still pounds into it. Muffled noises in her throat like she’s swallowing. She is swallowing. Her clit swells and she rocks her pelvis against my hand.
Jefferson pops first. His panting stops and he holds his breath in, for just a second, then “uggghhh,” groans on an exhale, thrusts hard a few times, lets go of his grip and bangs his fist against the bars.
“Mmmm,” Ella licks and sucks, using the flat warm of her tongue to lap his cock with a few wide strokes, then she lets out a cry – “Ah!” – falls forward, lets go of Jefferson’s hips to bring one hand to the bars, holding herself up, cheek pressed against the gritty cell bars, gasping, her cunt contracting on my hand and she cries out.
“Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Please do it, do it harder, fuck, fuck!” her voice gets shrill and she starts whimpering as she rocks back and forth on my arm, the wrist of it feels like it’s about to snap, then she lets out a scream and I’m surprised whatever glass is nearby is not breaking, then I realize there is no glass, we’re in jail.
“What the fuck,” I hear, a grumble, low and mean, from the shadows back behind Ella. It’s the boyfriend. Awake. Witnessing.
Jefferson starts laughing, intently watching Ella’s orgasm and me, sprawled on the floor, but he’s stepped back and zipped, cleverly removing himself from incrimination. If only I was a little femmier, he’d think it was hot. It’s only because I’m so damn butch that he thinks I am a threat.
Ella lets the orgasm drain from her and gains enough movement to come to her hands and knees. “Just stop,” she scolds as she would a dog or child. “Knock it off.”
“Ella – baby – what the fuck!” he slams his palm against the bars as I scramble to my feet, attempt to steady myself. I am suddenly drunk again. I can smell Ella’s pussy on my fingers when I straighten my shirt, and notice that they’re all sticky. I want to lick them, suck them clean, just to spite him. But these bars will only separate us temporarily.
“Mr. Johnson!” A police officer calls, shoes clicking with his approach down the concrete hallway. He walks past us and continues to the far cell. “Turns out, you have a few outstanding blemishes on your record. As in, more than two, you little punk. Tricking and evading an officer. Doing 125 in a 50. Driving with a suspended license. Leaving the scene of an accident, a crime,” he’s reading out of a folder, face up against the bars. “Did you think that wouldn’t catch up with you?”
The boyfriend’s eyes get a little wild, wide, and he shrinks back from the bars, sneering.
“Mr. Jefferson! Mr. Sexsmith!” He turns to us. I don’t correct him on my gender. “You’re free to go, boys. Don’t you be getting in any more trouble. I expect I won’t hear see your faces in here again, ever.”
He unlocks the cell door. Jefferson steps through eagerly and blows a kiss to Ella.
“That was fucking hot, Ella,” I say, walking toward her briefly, holding onto the bars. “Thanks.”
She smiles and nods her head, once, a dismissive gesture. “Have fun on your cross-country girl adventures,” she says. “Tell that one to stop getting you in trouble.”
I laugh, and join Jefferson, already halfway down the hallway.
He claps me on the back. “There’s a motel just up there,” he says when we get to the door, gesturing down the parking lot that looks over some desolate road. “What say we get some rest before we hit another state. I think I can finally sleep.”
I yawn. “Yeah, me too,” I say, slinging my arm around his shoulder. “Man, what a night.”
I am currently working on a guide to holiday gifts for the butch or femme in your life. I’ve got plenty of my own ideas, but I want to open it up to comments: what would you love to receive?Specifically, here, I’m thinking of things that are kinda gendered – cuff links, ties, perfume, silver-handled dresser set. But I’m open to all suggestions!
Hmm, and while we’re on the subject, What about sex toys? What toy have you always wanted? What are the best basic toys to have in every collection?
If you’re feeling shy, email aspiringstud (at) gmail (dot) com. I’ll compile the answers, combine ‘em with my own, & repost them.
My very first sex toy review is up Eden Fantasys (whose name makes me want to get out my red English Major pen and correctly pluralize the noun), and what other toy to start with than my beloved packing cock.Apparently, though Babeland calls it Mr. Bendy, it is actually known by the manufacturer as Silky, and comes in blue and purple as well as pink (which is the only color I’ve ever seen at Babeland).
I really do love this cock – and, while I am absolutely man enough for pink, I am quite excited about my new blue one.
Actually, I feel kind of selfish about this cock. I don’t want to tell you where to buy it or how awesome it is, because it’s mine. But, in the spirit of spreading the love, I am resolving to get over that possessiveness …
From the review:
I have spent years – since I first came out and began having sex with women, since I first started honing my butch identity and wanting a cock to be part of my sex life – searching for a cock I could not only pack with, but also play with.
And? Here’s the secret: this is that cock.I have a special place in my heart for Babeland – clearly, since I’m mentioning it in my plug for my Eden review – particularly because they are built on queer politics, community, and culture. Their staff members are primarily queer and absolutely queer friendly, they know all about gender and gender expression, and I never feel out of place in that store. It was the first non-skeevy sex toy store I’d ever been in, and for that reason, I just love it. Support the dykes, yay.
But despite my love for Babeland, sometimes their product selection falls a bit short. By which I mean, sometimes they just don’t have what I need.
And that’s a place where Eden is fantastic. They have a really great selection of toys – not only cocks & harnesses, but also slappy and stingy toys, lube, condoms, books, DVDs, all sorts of things. Their queer content is not perfect, but it’s there, and they are working on building it further, which I think is fantastic.
An acquaintance of mine sent this on to me, she is going to be playing Santa at Sylvia’s Place Homeless Youth Shelter again this year, and they need donated gifts for queer youth.
If you want to be a Gay Santa, they’ll send you a “dear santa” letter from one of the youth, and then you an drop off or mail the gift with their name on it back to the shelter. if you’ve got the means, it sounds like a really fun process to be a part of! I’m excited to participate.
More information about Sylvia’s Place: We provide emergency shelter to homeless LGBTQ youth in New York City. A 2006 report from the National Gay & Lesbian Task Force estimates that a third of homeless youth identify as LGBT. In New York City, this means that something like 8,000 to 10,000 youth are without shelter every night. This has led many to refer to this as an “epidemic” of homelessness among LGBTQ youth. Find out more…
Gay Santa wrote:
Happy Holidays from Sylvia’s Place Homeless Youth Center! We are hoping you will consider being a ‘Gay Santa’ this year.
To participate, send us your postal mailing address and you will be sent a “Dear Santa” letter from a homeless young person asking for a gift. Wrapped gifts, labeled with the young person’s name, can be mailed or dropped off at the shelter: Metropolitan Community Church , 446 W 36th st, NYC NY 10018
Our goal is to make sure each of our young people receive a gift this Christmas. With your support, we know this goal will become a reality.
Many thanks and warm holiday wishes,
Kate Barnhart, Director
MCCNY/Homeless Youth Services
446 W 36th St, NYC NY 10018
Sugarbutch stands in an interesting place within online communities; I see it as touching on and fusing various subjects – activism, feminism, sex, gender, queer theory and culture, sex toys, fantasy, kink, SM, relationships, occasional buddhist philosophies, poetry, community – and while there are multiple circles for these subjects individually, I feel like I have few neighbors doing the same thing I’m doing. But even so, there are many people within these overlapping communities who have contributed, read, commented, and helped Sugarbutch over the past year and a half, and I am partcularly grateful to them today.Before I give thanks, though, my activist self HAS to mention something about the history of colonization in the Americas, and First Nations rights, and how yucky it is that we still celebrate the “discovery” of the US, the Eurocentricism of our history, the history books were written by the winners, et cetera, et cetera. On Thanksgiving, I break out my Buffy Sainte-Marie CDs (seriously, can you name any Native American recording artists?), The People’s History of the United States, and maybe Scarlet’s Walk.
Buffy Sainte-Marie, My Country Tis of Thy People You’re Dying (click the “more” part for the lyrics):
I just can’t “celebrate” Thanksgiving without some acknowledgement of the suffering upon which this country was built.
Despite the shady history of this holiday, I still very much appreciate the chance to celebrate what I am grateful for. Nothing wrong with saying thanks, gathering together, being appreciative.
So, thank you, neighbors and friends, family and lovers, for your inspiration and presence in my life, for your influence, your feedback, your friendship.
my fabulous friends here in this big bad city … the femme, who doesn’t have an online handle; birdee; and my buddy over at Post No Bills, who is throwing a great Turkey Day gathering today (that I will be heading to, assuming I finish some writing)
Jezbian, my “big sister”
Ice, still in Seattle but our friendship is only getting stronger
Matt, extraordinary poet and friend
Molly Bennett Creative
Heather Corrina and Scarleteen, for the amazing activist work
Audacia Ray and her forward-thinking porn and activism
Rachel Kramer Bussell, her amazing writing work – she is such a pillar in this writing/sex community
Dylan, for reading and commenting here practically from the beginning, and for butch bonding, and for reminding me that the butches are NOT dying out, that there are still young butches
Essin’ Em, for her prolific sex education
the folks at Feministing, because while I want to take issue with a lot of what they’re doing, they are still being quite successful at being a catalyst for young women’s feminism, and that’s fantastic
Viviane, from Viviane’s Sex Carnival, she’s the “blog mommy,” as she is coming to be known, for throwing her amazing Tea Parties and enabling me to meet much of the New York crew of sex bloggers: Jefferson, fellow bourbon lover, who will go down in history as THE New York Playboy; Tess D, from whom I have continuously learned how explorative and fun the world of fantasy can be; Avah, Calico, Madeline; Lolita, whose sexy tricks I would love to learn; Eileen & Maymay, who I am excited to get to know better …
I’m also extremely grateful to the girls who have met me with my sex and gender explorations, in bed, in coffee shops, in dark bars, in comments on this site, in my dreams, in the Sugarbutch Star contest (it’s finishing up, I swear).
Thank you, for being a part of my life; you have effected it, changed it for the better. I’m very, very grateful for this community.
* Amendment, a few links:
Four questions to ask yourself to boost your feelings of gratitude, from the Happiness Project
25 Books I’m grateful for, over on Feministing