Tiger Stripes, Guest Post by Kyle Jones

One lamp was wedged between the wall and the side table, casting odd shadows across the room. The bed’s top mattress was halfway off its base and the bedding was completely off, a lumpy pile at the foot of the bed. The large console­ height dresser looked as if it had been tipped over and hastily righted, its drawers still hanging half open. Clothing was strewn around, some on the floor, some caught on corners of furniture in all directions. In short, the bedroom was wrecked, like a movie scene where the cops have tossed the place looking for evidence.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my packy peaking out of a tangle of my underwear and jeans. There were other sex toys scattered around the room, as well as objects borrowed from other rooms in the apartment and repurposed. The rubber spatula in my hand was one example. I took in these details with my peripheral vision, while keeping my eyes on my adversary/lover, on the other side of the bed. Only her eyes and the top of her ginger head were visible. In this moment of pause, the sound of our harsh breathing bounced off the plastered walls, underwritten by her feral growl.

I didn’t dare look away for fear she’d launch herself at me again. I felt the damage she’d inflicted with her fingernails in the welts stinging all over my body. The moment was about to break, I could feel it. Besides, I’d need to move soon, my legs were threatening to cramp. I raised my head, bared my teeth and hissed. Her head came up as well and I saw the furrows, like tiger stripes, that I’d dug into her upper chest. Her eyes were wild and her face was flushed.

What did she see when she looked at me? Did she see the wild beast in me that mirrored the one I saw in her? Did she see my desire? Did she know I was thinking about how I could pin her down between the bed and the wall and spend my passion on any part of her body I could get under me?

Was she thinking about how quickly we’d gotten from staring at each other all lovey dovey at dinner to staring at each other like prey?

The evening had started romantically, with a meal at a nice place in town and an after dinner stroll. On this particular night, she’d gone butch. Her hair was shaved close except for high on her crown, where the vivid orange of her natural color was accented by a bleached streak, reminding me of a sidewalk sundae. The short sleeves of her shirt displayed her strong upper arms and her tight blue jeans gave me plenty to enjoy with that sweet ass and bulge. After catching sight of our reflection in a storefront window, I whispered in her ear, “Look at those hot fags” and she’d grabbed my ass. We’d kissed and groped all over downtown before deciding it was time to go back to her place.

I’d figured the rest of the evening would be as romantic as dinner. Hand in hand, we walked toward her car and I was already thinking ahead to the ways we would enjoy each other’s bodies when she suddenly stopped, almost yanking my shoulder out of its socket as my feet kept going forward.

“Whoops” I said, swinging back around awkwardly. She pulled me close and bopped me lightly on the nose.

“Hey, sexy, what’s on your mind? Have you heard anything I’ve said?” She sounded curious, rather than angry, which I appreciated.

“I was thinking about later, when we get home…” There was no good reason for my face to blush at that moment, no reason to be embarrassed about fantasizing about having sex but my face heated up anyway. I grew hotter at the sudden intensity of her gaze and as I watched, her expression changed.

“Is that right?” Her purr had a hardened edge to it. Sometimes it was just that quick, from sweet and romantic to predator in 60 seconds. The hunger in her eyes was only distantly related to the romantic desire I’d seen over dinner.

She turned me around quickly, pressing me against a wall of uneven brick that bit into my flesh, and forced her knee between my legs. Light, noise and people spilled from a nearby bar causing me to flinch at the unwanted witnesses. I’m not normally squeamish about public sex, in fact, I usually initiate it. At that moment, however, I felt very exposed, nervous, unsure of myself.

“What’s wrong, baby? Where’s my cocky lover?” Her fingers dug bruises into my forearms. The color red flared into my vision as the pain registered. I pushed away from the wall quickly while pulling her off balance. Soon our positions were reversed and I pressed my body against hers, remembering the uneven brick and hearing her gasp as it dug into her shoulder blades. I looked at her through narrowed eyes, my lip curled into a sneering smile.

“You rang?” We stared at each other for a moment or two before becoming aware that we were attracting unwanted attention.

I stepped back and gestured toward her car, “Shall we, my love?”

She drove and I leaned back in the passenger seat, rubbing my crotch. The sensation transferred through my packy to my engorged clit. She kept stealing looks and it was even odds that she’d pull over somewhere, even though we were moments from her place. I was out of her car almost before she’d parked it, trying to get to her door first with my set of keys. I thought I could get there first and lie in wait in the apartment but she caught me on the stairs. She got one hand on my belt loop and pulled, which caused me to miss a step. She got ahead of me but I caught up in the short hallway near her door. I pressed her against the wall and reached between her legs to grab her mound. She swooned and cursed me almost simultaneously before pushing me off and moving to unlock her door. I came up behind her and pressed myself against her ass. She opened the door and we fell through it.

I turned to lock the door behind me and she slammed me against it so hard I tasted blood. She was laughing almost maniacally, pressing me against the door while she tickled me. Dammit, I cursed to myself, it was hard to be aggressive while giggling. Cursing and flapping my hands, I managed to get free and stand out of range, catching my breath and considering my options. I chose humor as a method for buying time, “Apparently, an episode of wrestlemania had broken out in the middle of our date.”

There was a mischievous light in her eyes. “So, old man, how long you think you can go at it with me before I beat you?”

“You little shit,” I chuckled and rubbed my bulge. “Long enough, youngster, long enough.”

“I don’t know, grandpa, you seem pretty out of breath, I think this is my night.” The wide grin on her face softened the taunt. She was moving toward me, hands at her sides. I didn’t trust her, and was wary, while simultaneously wanting to kiss her mouth hard. I made my move, holding her arms at her sides and attempting a lip lock. She wiggle and resisted, laughing triumphantly as she pulled one hand free.

“You are definitely going down, old man.” Her fingers sought the tender spots under my arms, twisting until I screamed in pain.

“Ouch! Dammit, you little fucker!” I wrenched free of her pinchy fingers and threw myself at her.

She stumbled back into her bedroom and into a wall with a loud thud. I wondered what neighbors must be thinking with all this shouting, cursing and crashing about. Not that it was the first time we’d made a ruckus. So far, no one had called the cops.

I had moved fast to make the most of my momentary advantage. Pressing an arm against her upper chest, and gritting my teeth against the way she pulled and pinched my nipples, I got a grip on her upper thigh with my thumb in the crease, and squeezed hard. That got her attention.

She cried out and tried to slap me. I responded by kneeing her between the legs and delivering a stinger across her face. After a few more strikes with my knee, I stepped back and gave her a hard look, hands on my hips. She’d gotten a rise out of me, which is exactly what she’d wanted.

The sadist in me came to the fore. I wanted to taste her pain, to see the feral look in her eyes when I began to push her through that pain to the other side.

“Is it on, little girl?” I growled out the words.

Her eyes widened as my dig found its mark.

“Oh, it’s on, old man, you’re going down.” And then she came at me.

We grappled for a bit until I had her pinned to the floor, my legs wrapped around hers to keep her from kicking me. I had her wrists pinned above her head, my arms dangerously close to her teeth, a fact she emphasized by snapping and growling. We were both breathing hard. I began to grind my packy into her mound, shifting my weight so that I would hit her just under her clit.

She moaned from pleasure and roared in frustration. I was so hot for her and the pressure against my clit was building. I wanted to come on her right then and there, as she struggled and cursed me. I wanted to come not in spite of her resistance, but because of it.

“Dammit, we’re fighting, not fucking!”

“All’s fair in love and war, babycakes” I worked her just the way she liked it, and she did her best to resist but I knew her tells. Her eyelids were half closed and her hips were responding to me. “Besides, isn’t fucking AND fighting your favorite?”

I got my answer seconds later. I’d gotten cocky again and let my guard down. She got her feet braced and flipped me.

We went at it for a while like that. At one point she had three fingers in my cunt and I was chewing on her shoulder while growling. Not long after that, I was vigorously sucking her left breast while teasing her asshole. Neither of us was able to get consistent advantage over the other. We are very well matched for size and strength. We finally broke free of each other when her attempt to flip me over on the bed sent me flying off one side and her tumbling over the other. And now we were catching our breath, staring each other down.
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It’s never a good thing to let my mind wander when we’re playing this way. I realized that a second too late and she took advantage, coming up and over the bed at me before I could move. She slammed me into the carpet, knocking the wind out of me. In the time it took me to get my breath back, she’d pinned my wrists down at my sides and was doing her best to chew chunks out of my chest while kneeing me viciously between the legs.

Lying on the floor with my arms pinned and her knee bruising the hell out of my cunt, I thought, Maybe she’s right. Maybe the old man is gonna lose. On the other hand, I could feel my cock getting harder as she pummeled it. So was I really losing? When I started moaning, she narrowed her eyes and stopped.

“Dammit, you’re not supposed to enjoy this!” She sat down on my pelvis and let go of my arms to punch my chest. Then I was able to get my feet under me and lift, pushing with my hands, throwing her off me. We both scrambled up, breathing hard. She lunged, and I sidestepped, redirecting her forward motion onto the bed. Then I wailed on her. I put a knee against her back and punched her ass hard, over and over. She pushed up and twisted, getting halfway up until I turned her and threw her down on her back. Then I resumed my assault against her chest and arms. She was getting her licks in too, punching hard against whatever she could reach. Her responses were getting weaker. Was I wearing her down? I wanted to push her over the edge, not just up to it. I knew that’s what she wanted, too. That’s what she always wanted.

I grabbed her wrists and pressed her arms against her sides. She struggled but couldn’t pull free. Leaning down, I got a mouthful of her chest and bit hard, causing her to yowl and me to wonder, for the millionth time, which of her neighbors would be the first to call 911. We paused, looking at each other, catching our breath. Her expression had softened, I eased up on my grip around her wrists. She slapped my face again, but not hard.

“That hurt, fucker!” She put on a mad face and I laughed. She took another swing at me and I caught her hand.

“Yes, I hurt you and you hurt me. That’s exactly what you wanted it, wasn’t it, beastie?” I kissed her forehead, then her cheek and hovered over her lips.

She pouted briefly and then pulled me in for a kiss and bit my lower lip, hard. Damn, that hurt. I didn’t pull away, that would have hurt more. Instead I waited her out. She let go after a moment and gave me a sweet full kiss, this time without teeth.

All of this physical exertion got me hot and bothered and I guessed the same was true for her. I moved my body so my clit was pressing against hers and she pressed back against me.

“Oh baby, yes, please, I need you.” Her urgency went right to my cock, and I could feel myself getting harder.

I licked her collarbone, then her nipple, moving downward while dragging my tongue along her curves. With a kiss to the top of her flaming ginger mound, I looked up at her and said, “You’re right about one thing, baby.”

“What’s that, love?” she asked.

“The old man IS going down.”

What does ‘Genderqueer’ mean?

On Gina Mamone’s mini-interview, a commenter named MS wrote: “Can you post a definition of or primer on what gender queer means?Kyle Jones was kind enough to comment in reply and explain a bit, and I proceeded to ask him to write up his own primer on genderqueer. Here it is.

This is a guest post from Kyle Jones, Butchtastic.net

Genderqueer people, by definition, are united by their rejection of the notion that there are only two genders.

Beyond their rejection of the gender binary as the sole way to describe gender, there is much diversity within the group of people who call themselves ‘genderqueer’—it’s a catch-all term that includes sometimes contradictory identifications.  For example, some genderqueers identify as neither male nor female, some as both male and female.  Some see ‘genderqueer’ as a gender in and of itself, some may identify this way because they feel they are beyond gender—genderless or a-gender.

I led a discussion on genderqueer identity at Butch Voices Portland 2010 and almost everyone who attended came to this identity from a different place.  There were those who described a fluidity of gender, a sense that they were a mixture of male and female.  Some people wanted to move beyond the terms ‘male’ and ‘female’ entirely.  They didn’t see genderqueer as being a region along the gender binary axis, instead many described it as independent of that spectrum.   Based on the diversity of personal definitions expressed in that session, we started to talk about a gender cloud rather than a gender spectrum.  Because ‘genderqueer’ is an umbrella term, to really know how an individual relates to it, you’ll need to know their personal definition of genderqueer.

The term “genderqueer” can also be used as an adjective to refer to any people who transgress gender, regardless of their self-defined gender identity.  And some genderqueer individuals also identify as transgender, because their gender identity does not completely correspond to their physical sex.  Genderqueers may have any sexuality/sexual identity, any physical sex.  There is also diversity in the way genderqueers relate to pronouns.  Some prefer gender neutral pronouns such as ‘they’ or ‘them’ or the alternate forms “ze,” “per,” “sie” and “hir,” “zhe,” “hir.”  And some prefer to stay with traditional male and female pronouns, though they may use them in less traditional ways.  Other terms similar to genderqueer are genderfluid, gender-variant, bi-gender, third gender, two-spirit and gender non-conforming.

If you find all of this a bit confusing, you’re not alone.  When I come out to people as genderqueer, I’m more surprised to find people who are familiar with the term than those who aren’t.  And when I’m asked to define genderqueer, as I was for this article, I find it challenging, especially with people who aren’t comfortable or experienced in considering gender beyond male and female.  In my experience, most of the world is still not ready to go beyond the gender binary.  It takes a lot of work and effort to learn the new vocabulary and open your mind to alternative ways of seeing gender.  One challenge I still have is trying to get my head around the idea of being ‘genderless’.  I know that much of the way my brain has organized information about the world is still ruled by the existence of distinct genders.

As I mentioned, I identify as genderqueer.  Butch describes my appearance, genderqueer describes my gender and queer describes my sexuality.  My personal genderqueer definition is that I am not male or female, I am male and female.  I have two distinct gender identities, each with a name, a set of pronouns and sexual preferences.  Sometimes the distinction is obvious and sometimes more fluid and combined. One visualization I use is that of a tree with two trunks, each coming from the same root structure and base.  My male and female identities have some shared history as well as some that is separate.  As I visualize my ‘tree trunks’, they start together, then grow apart, come close again, intertwine and grow together, then diverge again as you look up the tree.  My male side has a distinct personality, accent, sexual drive and issues.  It has also been suppressed more, being less accepted by the outside world and, as a result, is the less developed and mature of my two identities.  My female side, having had more time at the forefront, takes the lead in most situations, although my goal is to become more balanced.

You may be thinking, this person has multiple personality disorder.  Though I’m not a professional, I know that’s not the case.  I have multiple genders, which means I also identify as transgender, because the male side of me does not match my female body.  I’ve had some awesome and unexpected experiences lately where strangers have seen my male side.  It’s hard to describe the feeling of being recognized and acknowledged as male—something like a rush of adrenaline combined with a strong sexual charge—a big ol’ ego boner.

This is a frustration I share with other genderqueer and transgender people—the feeling of being partially invisible, of spending most of my days being partially unseen.  I think we all share a common need to be seen and celebrated for who we truly are, and not just the easily understood fragments, but all our wonderful complexity.

This article is meant to be a starting point for people new to the term ‘genderqueer’, but it’s by no means the last word.  If you’d like to learn more about variant gender identities, here are some excellent starting places:

Kyle Jones runs Butchtastic.net and was interviewed on Butch Lab earlier this year.

Kyle Jones: Mini-Interview

Writer, parent, lover, perpetual student. www.butchtastic.net

1. What is your relationship with the word or identity “butch?”
‘Butch’ is one of the words I use to describe myself. I’ve experimented with different identity terms over the years, and ‘butch’ is one that I come back to over and over again. I currently use butch to describe my presentation, as an adjective more often than as a noun. When I describe myself as butch, I mean to say that I am masculine in appearance and mannerisms. I wear clothing from the men’s department, cut my hair short and don’t mind when someone refers to me as ‘Sir’.

2. What kind of words and labels, if any, do you use to identify yourself?
When I talk about my identity, I say that my sexuality is queer, my gender is genderqueer and my presentation is butch. I also use the words transgender and trans-masculine to identify myself, as a female-born person who’s gender identity does not always line up squarely with my body.

3. What do you wish you could tell your younger self about sex, sexuality, or gender?
I would try to explain how fluid and changing identity is, that what we see as a rock solid personal identity can change over the years, as we grow and experience more in life. I would encourage myself to explore sex more, to experiment and play, to see the fun and playfulness of sex and not be hung up on judgements about what should, or should not, turn me on. I would try to explain some of what I know about gender now, which is much less rigid than my viewpoint when I was younger. Back then, I was very much trying to find the one gender that worked for me and that kept me bouncing back and forth until recently, when I finally realized that I didn’t have to choose. Gender is not only fluid and unfixed, we can experience multiple genders concurrently, or even feel a lack of gender identity. Gender is much more fascinating than I imagined 20 years ago.