I’m in Salt Lake City for the long weekend, so hopefully I’ll have some time to catch up on writing and these questions. Thanks for asking them! Some of them are very complex and I want to give them good thought. 

5. Mm asks: How does one (or more appropriately two) keep passion from waning in a long term monogamous relationship? It’s been done, but how?

Oh man – I won’t pretend to be the authority on this one. I have had two major long-term relationships, one for five years, one for four years, the latter of which was one of those LBD (lesbian bed death) situations. So I seem to be alright at sustaining some sort of time – though ultimately, all my relationships have ended, so I’m not sure I’ve got the secrets here.That said, I do think I have some ideas about what it is that I can and will do to sustain passion in a long-term relationship the next time I get the chance to practice.

1. Talk about sex. Talk talk talk. It’s fun! It’s sexy, it’s intimate. Let go of inhibitions and let your partner into your dirty dirty mind. Make lists of things you’d like to do. Make lists of things you’ve never done and probably would never do. Fill out sex surveys – like  the purity test, or a BDSM checklist – together.  Fill out the fill-in-the-blank questions, you may be surprised at the answers. Make a list of things you’ve done and didn’t like but might be willing to try again. Maybe this is just my compulsive list-making, but it’s useful information, and it forms a common vocabulary for you two to both discuss your wants, desires, fetishes, interests. 

2. Do sexy stuff together. Watch porn, or, if you don’t like porn (though I gotta say, dyke porn is getting better and better and better, you’re missing out if you haven’t tried out some of the recent stuff), read erotica aloud to each other. Go to sex toy shops together. Share your fantasies. Plan some elaborate fantasy scene. Explore!

3. Figure out what turns you on, and don’t be afraid to own that. Look for someone with complimentary turn-ons, or discuss your newly discovered turn-ons with your partner. It amazes me how few people really know what deeply “does it” for them, or, even moreso, who are in relationships with people they can tell about this stuff. (Oh, you should see the email I get sometimes about this.)

4. If things are working, we’ll both be growing, individually as well as together. In theory, our values will be so tightly aligned that the interests and pursuits that we meander through will keep each other interested, rather than putting distance or difficulties between us. But, that said, don’t assume the relationship will be between the same people in two, five, ten years. One of my favorite novels of all time, The Sparrow, has a quote in it that goes like this: “I’ve been married five times over the last fifty years to five different people, all of whom were named George.” We should grow and change. We just gotta give each other the freedom to grow, and recognize that that means, potentially, that we may grow apart. 

5. Ultimately, I think, it’s all about sexual openness. The people I’ve seen who have been able to sustain things long-term have been deeply open. Experiment! Try something you’ve never done, then try it again - just because you tried it once and didn’t like it doesn’t mean you’ll never like it. See which edges you can push. Take a class, take a workshop. Open up, let go.

All this advice is sounding very cliché. I don’t like giving general advice as a rule … wish I had some more specific answers for you here. Other readers? Tips for sustaining a long-term passionate relationship? Hell, if you are IN a long-term, passionate relationship, how do you do it? What makes it work?

6. Dosia asks: What would you say is the best way for a girl to approach a hot butch in a bar/at a dyke march/behind the counter in a cafe/in class? How do we make those connections — not just for sex, but for friendship? Hell, it doesn’t have to be specific to butch/femme dynamics, how does it work, this meeting other queer women?

If there’s only one piece of advice to give about starting – and maintaining – conversations with strangers, dykes or butches or femmes or friends or potential hotties or whoever – it’s this: find common ground and elevate the discussion.

My mom told me that once upon a time about my (former) hostile work environment. And I tell ya, it fucken worked.

Find common ground: that is, when you hit upon a topic with which you are both familiar, attempt to deepen it. When you discover you both like art, go inside of that – elevate the discussion. Ask another question: “what kind of art do you like?” “Have you been to that exhibit at the Met?” “Do you paint?” “What kind of medium do you use?” “What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever done?” “What do you wish you could do?” “What made you get into that?” …see what I mean? Once you hit a common topic of interest, deepen the discussion by asking as many questions as you can about the different aspects of it. It’s hard when you don’t know anything about the topic – it’s hard for me to bullshit sports, for example – but when I actually know something about it, I can ask intelligent questions that, who knows, may even compliment my own understanding of the topic.

That said: there are a few good books I’d recommend here. The Art of Conversation and, cheesy as it may sound, The Game, a memoir about pickup artistry.

Certainly there’s not just one way, and the trick is to find your own way, the way that works for you with your unique set of interests and talents. My way and your way are probably different. I know, that’s a lousy answer, but unfortunately it’s also true – what makes you interesting, what do you love to talk about? I am often talking to girls about their gender presentation at bars, and I quickly discover in that conversation which girls share a similar vocabulary for gender that I do (major turn-on), and which are performing some sort of femininity out of some sort of compulsory default (major turn-off).

Lesbians travel in packs, especially to bars, dyke marches, cafes, so it’s really difficult to actually a) gain one’s attention, b) keep one’s attention, and c) have an actual conversation of connection. That’s where the find common ground comes in, but I definitely understand that it’s hard to actually say something, hard to “break the ice,” to make contact.

I mean, I think this is hard for everybody, but particularly difficult because of the ways that lesbians stay huddled with their friends when out at social events, in public. Why do we do that? Maybe it’s a predator-pray kind of instinct, where it used to be so much more dangerous for us to be out on the town, and we remember that, as a community. There is safety in numbers, after all.From the specifically butch perspective, these are some things that would make me seriously take notice:

• Ask me to light your cigarette (even better if you then say “I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you,” because for one, I’m an ex-smoker, and for two, smoking, as romantic as it is (sigh), will severely damage your body and that is, ultimately, a turn-off. I should add that to the list.)

• Compliment me on my gender (no, I’m serious!) – “hey, I noticed your gender from across the room.” “hey, you look like a old-school butch / faggy butch / dapper dandy / prettyboi – do you have a particular word for what it is you do?” “Your gender is quite noticeable.  You got a gender philosophy?” 

• Offer to buy me a drink. It’s an easy excuse to get somebody talking. Say, “I wouldn’t want to presume to insult your possible dominant or chivalrous abilities, but can I buy you a drink?” Boy howdy, that’d definitely get my attention. (I’d say: “No. But you can allow me the pleasure of buying you one.” And then you’d giggle, and we’d talk and flirt until I eventually took you back to your place and fucked you in the foyer. Hey wait, how’d this become a sex story?)

These are things that would absolutely appeal to me, not sure how butches-as-a-whole would really respond. But that’s all I can speak to, really, is my own experience – other butches (and any folks who don’t identify as butch): what would get your attention? Don’t be afraid to be a little bold. Lesbians rarely are, but it’s my experience that we respond extremely well to boldness.Also, after you get to talking, it’s okay not to have a plan. And it’s also okay to let your nervousness come through as charming. “Uh, that was my one idea for a conversation. Now I’m drawing a blank ‘cause you’re kinda cute.  Got any topics for discussion?”

7. Cyn asks: …

(see the first batch of answers)

8. Duck asks: Could you explain how the remaking of femininity has been “successful?”

Still working on this one ….

9. Miss Avarice asks: Have we yet figured out the subtle differences between straight girls and femmes at first glance? Does it really come down to a hunch in the end? Also, has writing SB changed you?

The only way I can say that I know the femmes from the straight girls is that, sometimes, I “just know.” And hell, I’m not even right all the time! I err on the side of caution, though, assuming someone is straight until proven otherwise – although “proven otherwise” is a broader and broader category, often as broad as “she’s talking to me, must mean she’s queer (in some form).” So yeah, it comes down to a hunch - it’s more than just a hunch though, it’s an energy. It’s gaydar, it’s a sixth sense that I can’t put my finger on. I wish I knew! I’m working on some writings on “gender energy,” we’ll see how those go.

Writing Sugarbutch has absolutely changed me. I was just looking back at where I was two years ago, and while I knew I was butch, I was so much less articulate and able to claim it in ways that I do now. Sugarbutch has been key and essential to my own personal development of gender identity. It’s plateauing a little bit, in the last year or so, but I still have some realms to explore (the “sex” part and the “relationship” part, namely). One big way Sugarbutch has measurably changed me, especially in terms of gender identity, is that I – as Sinclair – exclusively go by male pronouns. I write “Mr. Sinclair Sexsmith,” and in the few interviews I’ve had, I’ve asked to be called by the set of he/him/his. I don’t go by male pronouns in my non-pseudonymed life, though I really love being able to play with both.

It’s changed me in other ways, too, though; I’ve been able to let a persona wander free and explore lots more of that toppy/butch identity, and it’s definitely strengthened my own expression of it.

10. Zoe asks: How did you develop boundaries for your blog? How do you decide what to write about vs what to keep private? Who would you be most worried about finding it?

I established the boundaries early on, with the tagline “sex, gender, and relationship adventures” – that’s what I write about. Occasionally I get the impulse to post links, or media, or general bitchy writing, but I ask myself: is this about sex, gender, or relationships? Otherwise, no. Axed. (I suppose I should add “self-awareness” to that list, though really, usually it’s self-awareness about sex, gender, or relationships, so it applies.)

I don’t have hard rules about what to write vs what to keep private. Sometimes, a date or a situation or a new revelation just begs to be written about, and I do. It’s instinctual, I guess. Occasionally, I hesitate – usually in those situations I write it all out anyway, and then ask one of my trusty advisees to tell me whether or not it’s appropriate to post. Most often, they say no, for whatever reasons, and confirm my suspicions.

Who would I be most worried about finding Sugarbutch … I suppose I wouldn’t want my boss at work finding this blog, especially considering how many hours I spend on it while I’m at work. And while there are many of these entries I’ve written that I would send to my mother, I wouldn’t particularly wish her to find it, either – though, my family being what it is (completely non-confrontational) I’d probably never know she’d run across it.

I would never want to get an email from Callie with her comments about what I’ve said about her on this blog (note to self: when are you going to get around to password protecting the old Callie entries?). I don’t actually know for sure whether or not Callie knows about this blog. My logical self says yes, of course she does, how could she not; but, on the other hand, I can’t imagine she wouldn’t have mentioned it. I guess we had a “don’t ask, don’t tell” thing going on. 

I’m really open about this stuff - sex, gender, relationships - and most people in my life know that I write here. I used to keep it much more of a secret, but as it’s been developing from a personal journal blog to a more thorough non-ficiton-essay blog, I share it more and more. Plus, I spend so much time on it, I like to talk about it and bounce ideas around.

Oh good goddammit.I just realized that, though I brought my large (huge, giant) cock with me for the date tonight, I brought the wrong harness. (See this old post about my new toys for the specifics of what I’m talking about. Sidenote: looking through those old posts, with all the details about me & Callie, makes me nauseous.) The harness I brought (my favorite one, not in that old post) does not have an adjustable O-ring, and the O-ring is too small for my buddy Rodeo.

Dammit.

It also occured to me as I was writing that post that I don’t actually want to enter a relationship with Joy, even a sexual/friendship relationship. I feel to some degree obligated to take advantage of a sexual opportunity when I have it, probably because I was in a sexless marriage (can you say “lesbian bed death”?) for so long. And also because, you know, maybe I’ll never have the chance to have sex again!

I know, it’s rediculous. I am learning this. It will take some re-learning.

But: I’m not sure Joy “does it” for me. I don’t even know how to articulate it, as she’s gorgeous and hot, good in bed, intelligent, et cetera, et cetera, but there’s something blocked in me that just does not want to open up this kind of connection - with her? or at all? I’m not sure.

I’m not sure where that leads me on the date tonight. Maybe I don’t want to encourage a relationship. Maybe my approach should be different. I don’t know what I want.

PS: I know I’m overdue for a Sugarbutch Star story. They are in progress, coming soon. They’re good ones, too, promise.

You bring out the want in me. Pull it from my pelvis like a pencil-thin purple string, purling my heart, bruise-colored and plump like an overripe berry, warm with sunlight and juice, falling off the vine with barely a brush of your fingertips.You welcome the way I want you, wrapping yourself around it and giving it a soft place to curl up and sleep. The way you look at me in the morning, when we wake bare-chested and touching everywhere, and we’d stand at the window to watch the sun rise over the Cascade mountains, watch the traffic light change from green to yellow to red to green, my arms around your shoulders, your pink mouthed reflection in the glass: the weight of your body leaning back into me; the color of the sun on your already stunning, smelting skin, stinging from the long night of lambent sex, lingering like a flush of red wine. My hand in your hair. The curls of it so delicate. The skin of you so thin I’m spinning on your grin, imprinted on my skin, a hint of your own glimmer tinting the slim limbs of me, sometimes too long too thick too much but then I discovered they were made to fit around you.

Remember how you used to want me? Remember the times early on when our lovemaking was still all heart and solicitous, fragile and raw and sometimes too too much, saccharine-sugar-sweet, and you would whisper fuck me with such quiet breath into my ear every pulse of my body would strain to hear you say it again, say it again, and you would, so I would.

Now our silences are getting longer. I watch my impulses to bring my open palm to the small of your back, bring the inside of my elbow to the underside of your knee, bring my ear to the hollow of your breast-bone and listen. I watch my impulses until they fade away.

I crave anything that will send my body into a tense coil of fervor, that sends my blood rippling like the fist-hard contractions of your stomach, sends my pulse thrashing on my neatly smoothed bedspread, sends the cadence of my heart like a high-hat in a big-band, taa ta-ta taa ta-ta.

You watch some TV show with a laugh track and sip hot chocolate and all I want is ice, crunching on it slowly until it threatens to chip my teeth and I’m forced to wait for it to melt. I want crushed ice in my throat. Swallow pieces whole as my tongue allows just to feel them on my soft palate: cold, jagged, melting. Like you used to.

You clean the apartment in tiny shorts and that sky-blue tank-top that clings and encircles and reveals and I want bread, flaky dough, thick with yeast and salt and rising in hot ovens under fire over coils of metal made for turning on, and turning red.

I used to fantasize about the usual exotic positions, threesomes, getting caught, but now just thinking of kissing you makes me wet and wanting caramel. Because while it’s always been too sweet for me suddenly I want that tinge of crisp pressure inside my skull-bone that comes from nowhere but burnt sugar. I’d suck sugarcane if it grew on my windowsill fourteen floors up where the New York air can still care for things with life and sweetness. I’d lick my fingertips, touch them to scattered sugar crystals on the cool white marble countertops of our borrowed kitchen and let them dissolve with the acidity of my saliva.

You leave early and come home late and I can’t even hold a conversation with you anymore because every word in my mouth is clouded with why are we not kissing right now? and my tongue bursts like a berry every time I try to say I love you. Juice in the corners of my mouth, spilling down my chin. I can’t think of anything at all, except that right now, we are not fucking. I’m ravenous with thirst and longing, insatiable, this pit in me can’t be filled by anything but the thin tender skin of your pink mouth and I think: I’m becoming a vampire, a cannibal, willing to do so much to get that saccharine-sugar-sweet feeling again.

You are teaching me slowly to put desire behind glass and watch myself reflecting, superimposed, and to rename that ‘satisfied.’ To watch my own ravishing hunger fading away, the lights changing from green to yellow to red. And I’m watching your every move, but I want you so much I might just be willing to let you lock it all away for good, keeping the key around your neck on a pencil-thin purple string.

What I’m trying to say is this: I’m not getting the sex that I want. No, scratch that: I’m not getting the sex that I need. My basic human needs, basic woman needs, basic self needs, include sex. If asked, I would say at least three times a week, though I can be a little flexible about that. I understand, having had some experience as a couple, that that can’t always happen. But I also know that it can, and does, when both people make the effort.

I’ve been with my girlfriend for three years. We met in college, in a Men & Masculinity class. It took another couple of quarters for us to get together; we had a slow start, easing into each other and into a relationship, which was wonderful. One of the great things about our relationship is how well we have been able to keep our autonomy – we never became one of those couples that you never see without the other person, we aren’t joined at the hip, we don’t constantly speak in first-person-plural. Of course, the greatest strength is often the greatest weakness, and in our case, the intimacy has fallen out of our relationship almost entirely.

We haven’t had sex in … longer than I care to admit. And in the last two years we have probably had sex five times. I stopped counting the days between.

It really eats me up. For one, she is fucking hot and beautiful and sexy. And two, we have had some really amazing kickass beautiful deep boundary-pushing sex. The best of my life, easy. She was so experimental when we got together. She made me feel like a top, like the butch top that I’d been aspiring to but hadn’t quite ever found a partner to match me. She wanted to explore s/m and bondage and more kink that my previous lovers hadn’t expressed interest in until we had broken up. I was so, so into the physical part of our relationship, for a solid year.

But its dwindling. More and more. I barely even ask anymore, I barely even bring it up. It makes her so uncomfortable, she seems to feel so inadequate. And I’m getting really needy. The talks don’t go well.

I don’t want to go too in depth into my relationship with her. Because that’s not what I want this blog to be about. I only want to introduce her so as to explain away my internet infidelity.

I’ve had dozens of lovers online. My first long-term-relationship I met in a telnet chatroom in 1994, we were together five years. I’ve courted, fucked, and wooed women online when I was dating men and not really out as a lesbian. I’ve met for dates, one night stands, and courtships through the internet.

And so I’m turning to the internet yet again, in this anonymous blog, to detail my overspilling desire and try to curtail some of the want that is really painful for me, since my needs aren’t being met. And, ultimately, to decide how much more of my own pleasure and desire and needs I’m going to sacrifice in order to stay in this relationship.