my sexuality pondered by me
if you read it, please don't mock or judge me
throughout my life i've had my own preconceptions of beauty (greatly influenced, i'm sure, by my hyperactive sex drive). my earliest memory is my resentment when my father wouldn't share his bed with me anymore. it felt like a punishment to get my own room... the fact that this is the same time i started masturbating (age 4.5 years; it was how i fell asleep each night for years, and i'm only just now starting to take back my nights) and the time of the FBI investigation of my father's photographs of me, well... everything seems to amount to a self-supporting foundation for my views now.
when i was young, i would play acting games with my friends. we would play Princess, with one of us playing the witch who would torture the other (the fair lady herself). of course i wanted to be the fair maiden, but not because that meant i was pretty; i wanted to be the victim because she got to be tied up. i remember once asking a friend to pull the ties tighter, and i remember feeling the numb set in. i remember playing with a toy knife made to look like it was from Aladdin, telling one of my friends to press the point against my ribs until the flesh turned white.
i remember scouring each book my mother gave me for tales of peasant women disguising themselves as men in order to meet their handsome Prince. i remember one story in which a woman made a jackal run itself to death, and another book entirely that had a painting of a palamino unicorn tied with metal holdings to a street lamp... given any such image of surpressed urge, of bondage, or even of morbidity in nature, i would layer the blankets between my legs and wag my hips, pushing my labia in gentle ovals until my purple panties were wet. anything shocking, and around and around i would go.
i remember in 5th grade my mother bought me a book called Outlander. i never took it upon myself to read the entire book, but i found every sex scene in the novel. the pages are worn and dog eared, some even fallen out of the binding; i took furious notes in the form of impressions in my lobes as i would pant my way into a dream state, muscles quivering. the first time i gave my first boyfriend a hard on, i merely followed the motions of Outlander's heroine, Claire. my favorite scene in the book was one in which Claire and her husband have a huge fight, and then he takes her, furiously, until they claw into each other, pressing so deeply that they both forget to feel pain in any way but that which makes them Yowl. the other was a scene in which claire lies before the fireplace naked and her shadow's curve intoxicates him.
after reading all sorts of hidden erotica and disguising it with my love of novels, it wasn't a big stretch for me to jump into the world of cybering. i found myself in forbidden chats through a link my friend had unknowingly showed me through an anime website (Sailor Uranus, indeed), almost always pretending to be something i wasn't. i was usually 22 years old, 326, and 5'8", long hair, green eyes, and wearing something skimpy. i would take notes on what turned on whom and became the veritable Queen of Cyber Cock, but it stopped turning me on. i loved hearing them describe what they would do to me, but i grew weary of the few ways there are to moan and say "your hard dick presses into my depths." shortly after my mom and denise, her lesbian partner, grew more and more commonplace in my eyes, i ventured into girl on girl cybering: a far more rewarding endeavor. in this circumstance, i could learn about what turns on other women as i learned what could turn me on, too. i remember each of those scenes, one involving a bathrobe, vibrators, and nipple clamps. thus deepened my obsession with breasts.
i lied to my friends and told them i had lost my virginity. i told my camp friends it was to a guy in mexico, and i told my friends at home it was with my camp boyfriend (the one who i had been amazed at winning- how could i, the dorky ugly girlm be with this gorgeous a man?). i started going to porno sites, buying anime for the glimpses of apples, and buying bras that would pull my breasts up as high as possible. skimpy clothing was a must. i wanted to be like the two women i saw on one particular site, laying in a field of sinful sun flowers bathed in light and each others' lips... but not with another woman, of course. that was still strictly out of bounds in my eyes. what would my friends say?
CTY changed that for me. yes, CTY. and the sexual liberation i encountered at this summer program is what makes me emulate it so as a crucial turning point of my life... my first 2 kisses were at this camp. then was one boy at home, another at camp, and then her. i was flirting with a guy we coined "Hard Core" on a blanket in the moonlight when Cecilia, the spunky lesbian on campus that i secretly wanted to be more like or maybe, dare i admit it, be with (not an option, thanks to her girlfriend back in Phili), ran up to the blanket and pulled me to the Quad six laundry room. There, i was told that Jenna, Passion Fruit Empress and Slam Goddess, the hot chick with the bubbly laugh and the glow in the dark nose ring, was going to kiss me. I don't remember thining anything, just pulling her (or was it being pulled by her?) into the bathroom, turning off the lights, and losing my fingers in her magenta hair, her bandana falling into my hands as our lips played back and forth... then dylan opened the door. i felt like i was being caught. i felt like going back into the moonlight before i suffocated in... something? i ran. i never really spoke to her much after that. not that i had before...
nevertheless, i never forgot it.
near the end of sophomore year, tatiana asked me to pose in some photos for her. we went up to the photo lab and reserved the studio, locked the door with myself, tatiana, and aaron. tati set up the camera, i took off my clothes. i left my monkey socks on. the pictures were beautiful. i wanted tati to pose, but she wouldn't; aaron did, but i didn't really care to look. soon later, john asked me to go to prom with him. i thought to myself "yes! finally! validation! a man again!", and attached myself more to him the more i saw him getting atached. i taught him how i liked to be kissed, i learned with him and guided him into understanding how to make me moan, where to kiss and bite and scratch and squeeze and suck... he became phenomenal. before going to mexico, i took my hopefully condom out of my wallet. it had been just over 6 months, and i was growing bored. i thought of how to dump him when we got home, and i didn't want to give him the gift of my First Fuck. when we got there, i don't know exactly what happened; he blindfolded me and made me whimper, i blindfolded him and made him beg, pushing the tip of his penis against my own wet opening and asking him "do you know what that is?" in the sexiest movie voice i could pull off. that night, he pushed in. we didn't have a condom. i couldn't say no.
he and i were never really the same. i don't know what exactly had changed it or what made us try to convince ourselves that everything was still great, but from then on, somewhere in me, i knew it was over. a part of it might have been how i wanted him to describe to me what he was doing, down to the firmness of nipples to the wetness of clits to the curvature of another woman's hips. i think my love of the word "cunt: could have been a clue, or perhaps the whole hatred of penises was a tip off?
i still didn't quite accept... whatever it was that was presenting itself to me. i convinced myself "NO! i'm a toy for the boys!... and girls." i started seesawing back into curtis, another man (the third important one, the 6th overall) who could protect me in his big arms and could squich me if he wanted. i loved to feel little: it was like each of the stories i had read, like how i had been for my father, like how i thought (and in some ways still think) i ought to be. at the same time, i started having vivid fantasies of eating out women, of running my hands ticklingly down their sides and licking pointedly, of making someone arch her back and sigh. but i still had rabid fantasies of being tied up and pounded.
one night john tied me up. blindfolded me. put on a lubed condom. then said he couldn't do it. i realized i had bitten through the corner of my lip-- i hadn't really wanted to be taken that way. tying was phenomenal during forplay, but inviting a cock into my cunt given that sort of environment? no way. nice in theory, but not for me.
fast forward another few months, another few "almost break ups", and i find myself finally ready to totally dump john. i really don't have many quams about it... i hate to hurt him, but i really do need to "relearn how to define myself outside of the context of this relationship." the more i say that line the more i think that i might be becoming a lesbian. hardly fair to curtis after i've made him wait all this time... but then i look at my taste in men. adoring. respectful, but sexually overt. large and imposing. can please me. someone who can protect me. someone like Rye, the first boyfriend. i contrast that to my taste in women: fiery, medium height; intellectual; sexually overt; someone i can sexually please, someone i can protect. someone a bit like Jenna and a bit like myself.
so which is it: am i trying to be like the women i admire or the med i admire? am i masculine or feminine? what way am i leaning on the sexual preference scale? do i want to protect or be protected?
i'm still trying to figure myself out sexually. what am i interested in and why seems like a simple question and i could easily have given a bull shit answer, but this is more coherent. the stories of goddesses disguised as animals, the maids disguised as men, the beautiful mystery trapped by an invention of that which is mortal, the musty pages of a well-worn book... they mean more to me.
maybe i will experiment and masquerade as a man one of these days. i'll borrow Denise's clothes, a cap. i'll toss out the push up bras and bind myself like my favorite lady knight, still my inspiration in life, from my favorite teen novel. fuck make-up. fuck shaving. fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.
time to either wing it or think it all through again.
throughout my life i've had my own preconceptions of beauty (greatly influenced, i'm sure, by my hyperactive sex drive). my earliest memory is my resentment when my father wouldn't share his bed with me anymore. it felt like a punishment to get my own room... the fact that this is the same time i started masturbating (age 4.5 years; it was how i fell asleep each night for years, and i'm only just now starting to take back my nights) and the time of the FBI investigation of my father's photographs of me, well... everything seems to amount to a self-supporting foundation for my views now.
when i was young, i would play acting games with my friends. we would play Princess, with one of us playing the witch who would torture the other (the fair lady herself). of course i wanted to be the fair maiden, but not because that meant i was pretty; i wanted to be the victim because she got to be tied up. i remember once asking a friend to pull the ties tighter, and i remember feeling the numb set in. i remember playing with a toy knife made to look like it was from Aladdin, telling one of my friends to press the point against my ribs until the flesh turned white.
i remember scouring each book my mother gave me for tales of peasant women disguising themselves as men in order to meet their handsome Prince. i remember one story in which a woman made a jackal run itself to death, and another book entirely that had a painting of a palamino unicorn tied with metal holdings to a street lamp... given any such image of surpressed urge, of bondage, or even of morbidity in nature, i would layer the blankets between my legs and wag my hips, pushing my labia in gentle ovals until my purple panties were wet. anything shocking, and around and around i would go.
i remember in 5th grade my mother bought me a book called Outlander. i never took it upon myself to read the entire book, but i found every sex scene in the novel. the pages are worn and dog eared, some even fallen out of the binding; i took furious notes in the form of impressions in my lobes as i would pant my way into a dream state, muscles quivering. the first time i gave my first boyfriend a hard on, i merely followed the motions of Outlander's heroine, Claire. my favorite scene in the book was one in which Claire and her husband have a huge fight, and then he takes her, furiously, until they claw into each other, pressing so deeply that they both forget to feel pain in any way but that which makes them Yowl. the other was a scene in which claire lies before the fireplace naked and her shadow's curve intoxicates him.
after reading all sorts of hidden erotica and disguising it with my love of novels, it wasn't a big stretch for me to jump into the world of cybering. i found myself in forbidden chats through a link my friend had unknowingly showed me through an anime website (Sailor Uranus, indeed), almost always pretending to be something i wasn't. i was usually 22 years old, 326, and 5'8", long hair, green eyes, and wearing something skimpy. i would take notes on what turned on whom and became the veritable Queen of Cyber Cock, but it stopped turning me on. i loved hearing them describe what they would do to me, but i grew weary of the few ways there are to moan and say "your hard dick presses into my depths." shortly after my mom and denise, her lesbian partner, grew more and more commonplace in my eyes, i ventured into girl on girl cybering: a far more rewarding endeavor. in this circumstance, i could learn about what turns on other women as i learned what could turn me on, too. i remember each of those scenes, one involving a bathrobe, vibrators, and nipple clamps. thus deepened my obsession with breasts.
i lied to my friends and told them i had lost my virginity. i told my camp friends it was to a guy in mexico, and i told my friends at home it was with my camp boyfriend (the one who i had been amazed at winning- how could i, the dorky ugly girlm be with this gorgeous a man?). i started going to porno sites, buying anime for the glimpses of apples, and buying bras that would pull my breasts up as high as possible. skimpy clothing was a must. i wanted to be like the two women i saw on one particular site, laying in a field of sinful sun flowers bathed in light and each others' lips... but not with another woman, of course. that was still strictly out of bounds in my eyes. what would my friends say?
CTY changed that for me. yes, CTY. and the sexual liberation i encountered at this summer program is what makes me emulate it so as a crucial turning point of my life... my first 2 kisses were at this camp. then was one boy at home, another at camp, and then her. i was flirting with a guy we coined "Hard Core" on a blanket in the moonlight when Cecilia, the spunky lesbian on campus that i secretly wanted to be more like or maybe, dare i admit it, be with (not an option, thanks to her girlfriend back in Phili), ran up to the blanket and pulled me to the Quad six laundry room. There, i was told that Jenna, Passion Fruit Empress and Slam Goddess, the hot chick with the bubbly laugh and the glow in the dark nose ring, was going to kiss me. I don't remember thining anything, just pulling her (or was it being pulled by her?) into the bathroom, turning off the lights, and losing my fingers in her magenta hair, her bandana falling into my hands as our lips played back and forth... then dylan opened the door. i felt like i was being caught. i felt like going back into the moonlight before i suffocated in... something? i ran. i never really spoke to her much after that. not that i had before...
nevertheless, i never forgot it.
near the end of sophomore year, tatiana asked me to pose in some photos for her. we went up to the photo lab and reserved the studio, locked the door with myself, tatiana, and aaron. tati set up the camera, i took off my clothes. i left my monkey socks on. the pictures were beautiful. i wanted tati to pose, but she wouldn't; aaron did, but i didn't really care to look. soon later, john asked me to go to prom with him. i thought to myself "yes! finally! validation! a man again!", and attached myself more to him the more i saw him getting atached. i taught him how i liked to be kissed, i learned with him and guided him into understanding how to make me moan, where to kiss and bite and scratch and squeeze and suck... he became phenomenal. before going to mexico, i took my hopefully condom out of my wallet. it had been just over 6 months, and i was growing bored. i thought of how to dump him when we got home, and i didn't want to give him the gift of my First Fuck. when we got there, i don't know exactly what happened; he blindfolded me and made me whimper, i blindfolded him and made him beg, pushing the tip of his penis against my own wet opening and asking him "do you know what that is?" in the sexiest movie voice i could pull off. that night, he pushed in. we didn't have a condom. i couldn't say no.
he and i were never really the same. i don't know what exactly had changed it or what made us try to convince ourselves that everything was still great, but from then on, somewhere in me, i knew it was over. a part of it might have been how i wanted him to describe to me what he was doing, down to the firmness of nipples to the wetness of clits to the curvature of another woman's hips. i think my love of the word "cunt: could have been a clue, or perhaps the whole hatred of penises was a tip off?
i still didn't quite accept... whatever it was that was presenting itself to me. i convinced myself "NO! i'm a toy for the boys!... and girls." i started seesawing back into curtis, another man (the third important one, the 6th overall) who could protect me in his big arms and could squich me if he wanted. i loved to feel little: it was like each of the stories i had read, like how i had been for my father, like how i thought (and in some ways still think) i ought to be. at the same time, i started having vivid fantasies of eating out women, of running my hands ticklingly down their sides and licking pointedly, of making someone arch her back and sigh. but i still had rabid fantasies of being tied up and pounded.
one night john tied me up. blindfolded me. put on a lubed condom. then said he couldn't do it. i realized i had bitten through the corner of my lip-- i hadn't really wanted to be taken that way. tying was phenomenal during forplay, but inviting a cock into my cunt given that sort of environment? no way. nice in theory, but not for me.
fast forward another few months, another few "almost break ups", and i find myself finally ready to totally dump john. i really don't have many quams about it... i hate to hurt him, but i really do need to "relearn how to define myself outside of the context of this relationship." the more i say that line the more i think that i might be becoming a lesbian. hardly fair to curtis after i've made him wait all this time... but then i look at my taste in men. adoring. respectful, but sexually overt. large and imposing. can please me. someone who can protect me. someone like Rye, the first boyfriend. i contrast that to my taste in women: fiery, medium height; intellectual; sexually overt; someone i can sexually please, someone i can protect. someone a bit like Jenna and a bit like myself.
so which is it: am i trying to be like the women i admire or the med i admire? am i masculine or feminine? what way am i leaning on the sexual preference scale? do i want to protect or be protected?
i'm still trying to figure myself out sexually. what am i interested in and why seems like a simple question and i could easily have given a bull shit answer, but this is more coherent. the stories of goddesses disguised as animals, the maids disguised as men, the beautiful mystery trapped by an invention of that which is mortal, the musty pages of a well-worn book... they mean more to me.
maybe i will experiment and masquerade as a man one of these days. i'll borrow Denise's clothes, a cap. i'll toss out the push up bras and bind myself like my favorite lady knight, still my inspiration in life, from my favorite teen novel. fuck make-up. fuck shaving. fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.
time to either wing it or think it all through again.