Blow Jobs, Annihilation, and Growth

When I was younger, I was a blow job queen.

My first real boyfriend told me that I sucked his cock on our second date. I don't remember this, but I believe him. I can't actually remember when I started seeing or playing with his dick. I've played with it and other cocks so many times since then that the first time has blended in with the other memories.

He was uncircumcised. I remember that; I could tell. Often he wasn't completely hard by the time I started playing with him, so there would be some extra skin when I first put my mouth on him. I didn't know what I was doing at first, but I'd looked up on the internet what to do. I knew to avoid teeth, to use my lips, hands, and tongue. I learned to respond to his movements. I made him come in my mouth.

After we broke up, I didn't stay celibate for long. I had a good girlfriend who I lusted after but didn't think I could be with. She was too Christian and I was too timid.

So I blew her ex-boyfriend. It didn't occur to me then, but I know now that the only reason I had any chemistry with T was that I'd hung out with him and my friend together. We'd all cuddled on my bed, and my sexual tension with her had leaked into my interactions with him.

T kissed like a dead fish, all lips and no tongue. By the time we fooled around, I didn't especially like him, but I was bored and considered him a challenge. He was selfish in bed, wouldn't do anything at all for me except fumble in the general area of my clit with thick fingers. He said he'd go down on me if I got him off, which I found out a few weeks ago has still never happened for him with another person. He was also even more Christian than my friend, hated his own and others' sexuality, and was very politically conservative.

Every time he'd leave my house or drive me home, I'd feel like a whore. I might as well have been paid for what I did. There was very little physical gratification for me, just the vague eroticism of serving someone, the humiliation of feeling hated because I was giving away physical pleasure. It was masochistic.

I had a few similar flings during the next few years, between more serious relationships. Boys who'd call me when they wanted to get off, or who I'd call when I was alone at night. I'd feel this intense need to be touching someone, to be giving something, and I didn't know any other way to satisfy it than by finding a boy to blow. Some of my motivation was simple loneliness.

Mostly, though, it came from a need to feel annihilated. When I was feeling empty or in pain, I could hurt myself by finding someone who'd think less of me for having sex with him. I could stop feeling anything by being with a person who did not see or understand that I was a human with emotions. I was reduced to body parts, objectified, fucked. It was everything those old feminists talked about.

One day, after a few months of therapy and a decision that I didn't want to do it to myself anymore, I finally said no. A boy I'd blown was leading me back drunk from a fraternity party, and as we started to pass my dorm I said "Wait, I don't think I should do this. My shrink says I shouldn't have sex for a while."

He gave me a funny look and said goodnight, which is what I'd wanted. I wanted him to think I was crazy so it wouldn't hurt his feelings. It had worked. I ran off, almost giggling, to my room. Awkward though it was, I'd finally drawn the line and walked away when I wasn't actually into the guy or the sex.

I haven't had that kind of sex since then, the kind where I give up my humanity to have a physical connection with someone. I have casual sex, yes, but I do everything I can to make sure it's with someone who will see and value my humanity even while we're fucking. I can't always tell ahead of time whether this will be the case, but I can get a pretty good idea.

I'm glad I had the experience of objectified sex. It gave me something to contrast with what I wanted, to grow from. It allowed me to understand what it is that I don't want. I'm just as glad, though, to have moved past it into fulfilling sex with people I like. It's just so much more fun.

On Being a Bottom

I'm a huge bottom in the bedroom. My best friend calls me "Little Nelly Bottom."

Depending on what sexual subculture you spend your time in, this could mean any of a million things. I spend most of my time in the lesbian community, and a little in the BDSM world, so that colors my understanding of the term. I use it to mean I like someone else to be in the driver's seat for sex, and I like to be on the tied-down end of bondage, a little spanking, and some power play.

Now, being in the passenger's seat doesn't mean I don't communicate my needs or that I'm not contributing to the action. I just like to get fucked. I like it when my lover takes control; I like to be pushed around a little, and I like being told what to do. As I've said before, I love to tease, but then I want to be thrown down and made to stop. (With appropriate consent, of course.)

I try to be comfortable with my naughty subservience, but as a feminist and a fiercely independent person, it's an awkward thing to feel and admit. I get this niggling sense that I should be large and in charge all the time, like my personal politics should be carrying over into my sexual preferences. I'm trying to overthrow gender roles, here. Being submissive in bed is a stereotypically feminine thing. Bad feminist!


I don't consciously subscribe to that way of thinking, but it sneaks up on me a lot. One unfortunate consequence of feminism's emphasis on the personal as political is that it becomes too easy to discriminate against people for not being "feminist enough." I think that feminism is largely about personal choice regardless of gender, and when we try to name some behaviors as always feminist and others as always anti-woman, we're losing sight of that.

It's absolutely true that the patriarchy is created and perpetuated in our personal lives and our culture. There are millions of little ways we all contribute to it every day, without even noticing. It's so programmed into us that it's nearly impossible to get rid of completely. It's good to try not to perpetuate male privilege.

I think there are as many ways to fight patriarchy, though, as there are feminists. I think I can be a sexual bottom in a feminist way. If what I want is to be handcuffed and fucked and I name that, claim it, and go out into the world trying to make it happen, that's a feminist action. Being a woman and respecting my own sexuality and honoring it is a powerful thing.

Controlling female sexuality has been a big way the patriarchy has controlled women. By resisting that and writing my own narrative of sexuality, whatever that may entail, I'm coming into my feminist own. So long as I'm conscious and deliberate, I feel good about being a bottom.

Tuesday Review: Wristcutters - A Love Story

I saw Wristcutters a couple of weeks ago, and I've been meaning to write about it. I figured what better time than on Tuesday, for my weekly review!

Wristcutters is a movie about people who have committed suicide. The premise is that when you kill yourself, you go to a world that's just like the real one but a just a little worse. Nobody can smile, there's not much to do, and everybody bears the scars of their suicides. When I heard the premise, I was excited for the film, and it definitely lives up to its concept.

They tell you in the title of the film that it's a love story, and I'd even go a step further to call it a romantic comedy. But it's a black comedy: the story wryly plays with the misfortune of suicidal people. Okay, maybe that sounds bad, but I think it brings a much-needed sense of humor to "offing," as they call it in the film. It seems like everyone I know is confessing to suicidal thoughts lately, so it was nice to see something that made light of a serious thing.

It was a classic film in a lot of ways: the main character, a wrist cutter named Zia, kills himself over a girl and then goes on a road trip to find her when he discovers that she's killed herself, too. He finds friends, romance, and adventure while he's looking for the girl. Classic bildungsroman travel film.

It's well done, though, with good acting and a great script. I definitely recommend this movie to anyone who likes a little heart warming with a dose of biting humor. I'll be adding it to my DVD collection soon.

Here's a trailer:

Blogging, Lack of Sleep, Six Feet Under

I've had trouble blogging the past few days. I think the biggest reason is that instead of sleeping I've been watching Six Feet Under, which I love, but I need my beauty rest to be able to string together any words that make sense.

I finally finished the series, which might mean I'll get some sleep tonight. Once I start watching a show I like, I just have to get all the way through it. Start to finish. I really recommend Six Feet Under to anyone; it's got some great commentary on the family and contemporary culture. I mean, it's made by HBO, I guess you have to expect quality.

The last few episodes of the show, though, were just horribly depressing. It's generally about death, but it's darkly hilarious and I usually enjoy it immensely. I think in finishing the series they felt like they had to bring it to a more serious place. It's put me in a down mood, along with my usual susceptibility to hormones and grumpiness. It's so funny how the lives of these imaginary characters can affect me in real life.

With my lowness, I've been at a little loss for what to write about here. Blogging is such a funny animal. There are actually plenty of things going on in my life right now that I could talk about, but I hesitate to put them here. Enough people read my ramblings now that I am too aware of my audience. I want to take risks with my writing, but I don't want to lay myself completely bare for all to see or step on. It's a fine line to walk, between honesty and needless vulnerability.

I've got a couple of big posts under construction, and after I get a real night or two of sleep I'll put them up. Right now, though, I need to lie down and have a good wank. Nothing better for a little cheer than good old-fashioned masturbation.

Stripping for Friends

This weekend I drank too much and ended up stripping in my room for my friends.

I have a pole set up in my room, which I spent too much money on but which I love. It keeps some of the stripping addiction at bay if I can spin around the pole to languorous music whenever I want. I also stay in better shape when I'm not working so I don't injure myself when I go back.

It's funny, though, what happens when my friends and I start playing good dance music and the pole is right there. My first instinct is to throw off all my clothes and writhe around. I want to spin upside down and grind my hips and touch myself, right in the middle of my dorm room. When I've had enough tequila, that's exactly what I do.

This creates an odd dynamic.

I'm very open about my job, especially with people my own age in a casual setting. All my friends know what I do, and most of them are kind of delighted to hear and talk about it. It's titillating.

When they come to visit me at the club, though, or when I drink and start acting like a stripper in real life, it gets a little funny.

I like to be good at what I do, and I'm vain enough to want to show off my skills. I take pride in my pole tricks and my lap dancing. But it's not so easy to show one of my friends a really good lap dance trick. If it's really such a good trick, they'll get turned on when I demonstrate.

Now, I like to blur the lines between friend and lover, but it does help to have a few friends around that I don't fuck. Wanting to show off my work to these friends becomes tricky.

That's one of the unfortunate things about working in the sex industry. While it is usually just a job to me, the thought and sight of what I do is so sexually charged to everyone else. Whereas I'm thinking about how my muscles are moving and my balance and where exactly I'm positioned when I put my leg over my head and grind in someone's lap, they're just thinking "Whoa, this is hot." If it's a friend, they're thinking "Whoa, this is hot. But this is my friend! Ack! I don't know what to do!"

I guess that's just one of those things that goes along with the job description. It's also a nice thing about hanging out with other strippers. I can talk shop with them and they get that really it is just a job.

Julia Nunes and Things I Didn't Say

I've been watching Julia Nunes on Youtube, and I really like her videos and her music. Check them out, get addicted.

And I saw this video:


It's funny of me to post this one, since she's usually pretty upbeat, but it really resonated with me in a way I didn't expect. I've said a lot of goodbyes in the last year, and I don't think I've let them really sit with me. I'm always on to the next thing, and I haven't been allowing the goodbyes to hit me. I haven't been able to let people know that I was missing them.

So the video above is for everyone I've had to let go. I miss you and love you. I'm sorry to see things pass away.

Romance? Not Just Fucking? What?

I just realized that in the past four years, I've only had to deal with new romantic partners in terms of putting limits on our intimacy. I am always coming into everything with a caveat.

When I was in the relationship with M, I had to make sure that my lovers understood that he came first. It automatically put a damper on new loves, having a committed primary relationship, and I learned to communicate that early on. I got good at finding people to play with who wouldn't ask too much of me, who would be accommodating of my emotional unavailability.

Even after I broke up with M, officially sometime this spring, I wasn't thinking in terms of actually meeting and opening up to someone. I started dating Z completely casually. One of the first things I told him was that I liked being single and didn't want a real relationship.

His moving into my room and our closeness came about mostly by accident, a matter of convenience and compatibility. I wasn't looking, though, to have a primary partner or start a relationship. It just kind of happened.

I think I haven't really wanted to be serious or close with someone for a long time. In the brief periods when I've been single, I've enjoyed the freedom. When I inevitably found myself in a new relationship, I was usually a little sad that I was giving up my self reliance and self concern. Not to mention total sexual freedom. I exchanged those things for a lot of other wonderful stuff, but it was an uncomfortable change to be responsible to someone else.

Now, though, I've reached a point where I actually do want to be in a relationship. I'm even a little disinterested in casual sex. I want to make looooooove. (My inner proud slut is rolling her eyes so hard, but what can I do?)

Now this doesn't mean I want monogamy. I'd like to get wrapped up in someone for a while, but that doesn't mean I'd close off my polyamorous possibilities. I'm okay with accidental monogamy, the kind where a new relationship is so consuming neither of you happens to sleep with anyone else. I wouldn't mind a little of that. However, I still don't want to have a relationship where my sexual energy with other people gets cut off.

I don't know how to approach my new Relationship goal. I'm so in the habit of making sure that I maintain distance from new lovers. I'm used to dragging my feet into relationships. Even when I started with M four years ago, it took me six months and some infidelity to reluctantly take the relationship seriously.

I'm at a loss over how to say "Hey, yeah, I'd like to get to know you. I want more than just a fuck buddy." It's something new I'll have to figure out.