Tease

Dom and Sub

So now that I've been spending more time with JM, who likes to make known he likes to be in control--also in bed--I've been wondering about "tops and bottoms" or "subs and doms".

I have a general idea in my head of dominatrixes whipping their submissive partners, and both getting off from their respective roles. But I'm wondering more broadly about "tops" and "bottoms". The more I think about it, the more intricate it seems.

Here's my thinking so far: tops need bottoms more than bottoms need tops, and this actually gives the bottom more power overall.

Even from the standpoint of single masturbation while the other's gone... Top can only imagine doing things to Bottom, who isn't there, so Top can't really get off on that. But Bottom can do things to hirself and imagine it's Top doing it--it doesn't really matter WHO is dominating Bottom, even if it's Bottom's imagination.


Me and JM

(Actually, I really should be explaining Me and SW first, but this will work, too)

So JM is SW's friend, but I'd actually met JM before knowing that! We were on the same bus one day and started chatting. It was great.

Now that we know eachother better, we've been hanging out more. He came to my going away party (I'll have to blog about that later) where we all got buzzed at my place later, and we're all flirty drunks so that was interesting (two mostly-straight guys, a bi girl and a gay man... Hoo boy). So JM and I flirted with eachother--a lot. It was a bit funny to see him restrain himself though: he'd start to say something, then stop and tell himself not to. Hehe.

I showed everyone around my house and we hung around in my room because it's in the basement and my folks were sleeping upstairs. Then I brought out my (brothers') complete collection of the original "Transformers" comic books. JM took a moment, blushed and looked away, then said, "I'm sorry--drinking makes me... um..." "Emotional?" MB suggested. "No, um, horny actually," JM finished. Hah! Awesome.

By the end of the night, JM was apparently very horny and trying his best not to make a fool of himself. It was great. And we decided we'd have to see eachother again before I'd left.

We got together last night.

We went to a Burger King and he got me a bacon double cheeseburger (in repayment for the last time, when I paid) and we chatted. For some reason, I ended up blathering on about my first and second boyfriends and how destructive they were to me. I dunno why I started talking about all that.

Somewhere in there, I bought bus tickets, and he saw a Cosmo magazine and decided it was a good way to change the theme of our conversations that night.

"'Fifty dirty-licious fantasies your guy has' [or something]" he quoted. After a moment to size me up, he offered, "Want to know mine?" Then, "Haha, no, I'm just kidding."

I took myself a moment to size him up and said, "Not in public."

So later, when we were out of the store, we chatted/flirted some more. At one point, there was some dog shit on the sidewalk and I walked very deliberately around it, then giggled at how huge/thick it was and how big a dog it must've been to create it.

"Fido's pretty big," JM said.

I looked his pants up and down. "Apparently!" It took him a while, but he laughed.

We got to a bus shelter and waited for the 11.

"So, now that we're out of the public, what are your 'dirty-licious' fantasies?"

"Oh, you're bold," he said somewhat to himself. I guess I like that recognition. He does that a lot--talks about me to me--and I think I like it.

"Well, you offered," I said under my breath.

"Well, I like to be in control. And public places--not getting caught, but the risk of getting caught, like if we were doing in the bush or behind a curtain. ... How about you?"

Now that I think of it, I do have a "fantasy" that would have gotten him stiff/er. But I couldn't think of any at the time.

"But I do have a weird relationship with pain," I conceded, and went to describe it.

After a while, he reflected, "I think I like that--not that I myself would get off on pain, but I think I like the idea of someone else..."

We continued flirting after we got off the bus and waited for our home buses. I think he was starting to get stiff, and I was definitely aroused. We talked about cougars (aka: cradle robbers) and long hair (I told him about how long mine used to be, and that it was very smooth and thick and how I loved the cool feel of it on my skin--"Damn, thanks for that," he said).

"Damn you're a tease," he said, "but it's okay, I like it."

He went on to tell me about this girl who used to tease him so much that one day, in the middle of a shopping mall, he started whispering in her ear for about five minutes, telling her all the things that she made him want to do. Not that it made it awkward, but just, "Damn, now that I'm horny, I want release. You bastard!" Haha!

We spent the next twenty minutes teasing eachother so bad. We're so cruel.


Me

I used to think I'd be a top. In fact, I still think I'm a top at heart. But I think I'd also enjoy being a bottom for things like orgasm control. I love being teased. But I also love teasing. I dunno. It'd be interesting, being with JM.


But right now, this keyboard is really bugging me so I'm gonna stop this post here.

--Charlie

Army Crush and Thoughts

So, Charlie has an "army crush".

He just happens to be two years older than me, too. But I... I don't know what to make of anything, of any of him.

Well I'll start with the superficial first. He's damn hot, and he has an accent, and he's "crazy" (there's some story about how, after having stepped on a nail, he dug it out with a knife rather than go to the hospital) and has at least one eccentric hobby (it involves a wheel).

What's under that? I have no clue. There's something.....strange, or different at least. He did a tour and came back. That in itself is gold. He told me once that he had hoped it would change him, that he would win huge medals or awards or make the news or at least come home in a box. But, no, nothing has changed, except maybe he's a little disappointed now.


We talked a little tonight. He makes idle conversation, and he seems to be aware of chivalry (let the girl win the first game when you're playing pool; open doors for others; let others through first in a narrowing, things like that).

Then he told me something strange: He likes to "mindfuck" with people--to tell them insane batshit crazy stories, because they'll believe them. Like, when he was overseas, all he did was eat Pop Tarts, but people don't want that, they want to hear outrageous war stories, so he'll make them up for them.

He also said I need to drink--at very least, have a drink in my hand to show "support" for those who do drink, or show that I'm one of them, something like that. He said to get a beer next time.

"I don't drink beer, I drink hard--I don't drink, but when I do, I drink whiskey, vodka... Beer is too light, I flare up--I'm Asian..." (I ramble.)

Somewhere in there, he said, "I like to live dangerously," in his thick accent--it gave me shivers. I wanted to seize the moment and say something uninspired and crazy and spontaneously and profoundly... Silence. Too long a silence--too thoughtful or appreciative to be honest. So I put on my "army accent" and asked, "What sort of crazy shit do you do?"

A pause. A hesitation, sizing me up. "Ehhh, that's a not so good question to ask me." There was a suggestion that I ask something different. He went on.

He'd had two beer, and perhaps it was showing. It's hard to say--but social drunkenness and my empathy is another topic for another day.

Twice, he made comments I couldn't hear, and then explained they were jokes, then quickly added that they weren't very good ones so it was okay. Before I left, I told one of my favourites:

"Infinitely many mathematicians walk into a bar. The first orders a beer. The next, a half beer; the next, a quarter; an eighth. Before the next can speak, the bartender says, 'You're all idiots!' and pours two beer."

He laughed--he got it and found if tunny, I was impressed! He'd said he'd taken Calc (and Stats I, Physics, Chem, Linear Algebra, and maybe Comp Sci, because he knew a bit about Java or C and object orientation and functions...).


There's something in me right now that seems to crave companionship. I'm alienating myself and convincing myself there is no one for me and that I should get used to this fact. But instead of motivating me toward independence, it depresses me and right now I just want to scream. Or jack off--but the basement is bug-infested, and jacking off won't solve anything. Does screaming solve anything? Crying?

My own caring undoes me, it seems. If I could either overcome my problems, or not care for them so much, I think I might be happier.

Well, I'm going to get a snack.
--Charlie

Story from Summer of 2008

I feel like writing about this past summer, 2008. I think enough time has passed that:
a) I have a clearer, more "objective" idea of what happened;
b) anyone who cared at one point has stopped caring by now;

This story contains explicit scenes of (hetero) sexuality.

This story takes place at the beginning of my SQ--the end of July or the beginning of August 2008. The fifty-odd of us had just spent a month together as a course, living in the luxury of separate rooms with television sets and lock-able doors.

About a week prior was the BMQ grad party. A bunch of us went to a bar and danced and drank and some guys went to the conveniently-close hotel to stay the night. I had drank a few and was slipping past "tipsy" and into "drunk", and I was dancing very closely with PMK. Annnd he slid his arm around my waist.

Aside: I'd never, NEVER in any of my, well, three relationships, been treated "like a lady". My friends and (past) lovers have always treated me as a respected person, and not like a sexy feminine figure. They might have thought of me sexually, but I wasn't treated this way, which is not a bad thing! All I'm saying is that this feeling was ENTIRELY NEW and felt....well, new and good!

When 0200 rolled around, and the bar closed, we were so close to getting a room together. The only thing that stopped us? No rooms were "available". Whatever.

The story takes place about a week after that party.

We got some time off. I went to see strippers with some guys (and gals). PMK showed up sometime. Then we all went back to the shacks. I'd had a few drinks and was tipsy--not drunk, just tipsy. I and another girl, KH, crashed on PMK's bed. Eventually, KH got up and left, and some guys came around, making some fuss about how I was passed out in his room. Someone said something about waking me up, and when I hear my name and "wake up" in the same sentence, I do. So I got up, made a drowsy exit, all the time asking, "What the hell are you talking about?" and followed the crowd.

Somewhere in there, IM pulled me aside and said that PMK was calling for me, that he wanted me, and that I should go see him. I didn't believe him (he was probably just trying to see what would happen), but somehow he convinced me to go.

The way the rooms are set up, the door opens inward and the first thing you see walking in is a desk-table-thing. To your immediate left (or right, depending) is a sort of door-less closet, and past that, hidden by its walls, is the bed.

I tapped lightly on PMK's door. He stuck his hand off the side of his bed, palm up, and waved me in with a simple bend of the fingers. So I shuffled in shyly and crouched at his bedside. We made idle chatter.

In retrospect, I think he was just chatting to get me into bed--not a bad thing, but at the time, thought he was only talking to make me more at ease, since he was already comfortable and confident about everything.

"There's no way you're comfortable sitting down there," he said.

He has a fascinating voice. He'll sing sometimes, just for the hell of it--he'll take his words and give them notes, any notes, or he'll make sing-songs when addressing others in front of others. He sometimes throws in a chuckle, a rueful or disappointed chuckle. But sometimes his voice takes on a highly sensual quality--it makes me very aware of his body, his physical feelings, and my own.

This time, his voice had a chuckle, not rueful but playful and inviting. It made me nervous and shy.

"I'm quite comfortable here, actually; actually, I can be comfortable almost anywhere--" I started abstracting, I probably started going on about how I could sleep anywhere at any time, but I could wake up at the sound of--

I stopped. I realized my chattering and accepted his invitation.

We chatted some more, idle chatter, time-filling, oppressive chatter, made to imitate closeness, to justify this indulgence.

Silence.

"I'm going to take my shoes off." Off they went, paired neatly together, just out of the way, beside the desk. Good job. I slid back into the bed. He had laid out his arm, and I fitted the bend of my neck into his thick arm. I looked over at my shoes. How orderly, how tidy and neat and--

"I'm going to take my glasses off." I folded them away and tucked them into one of the shoes. Back to his arm. He rolled to his side, drew his other arm around me, drew me close to him, gently pulling my body in.

"I want you to know," he began, "that I'll only go as far as you want to, only as far as you're comfortable with."

Something sparked and stirred in me. Excitement, gratitude, desire? Relief, anticipation, comfort...

We chatted more--or, he talked, and I drank his words.

"I'm a sensitive guy," he said, "not 'sensitive' in--I mean, my nerve-endings are closer to my skin, so I feel more, that's why I'm so touchy-feely." And, "I don't know if it's a matter of pride, but I like to make the girl come, too. I guess it's pride. If I don't, I feel like I failed somehow."

"This is crazy," I remember saying.

"What is?"

"This, all of it--being on base, on course, the whole frat policy..."

He chuckled. "There are worse things to get in trouble for."

We snuggled. He touched my nipples through my shirt. I drew breath, he paused. There was noise outside, and we realised how early it was. We agreed to continue in an hour.

An hour later, I poked my head outside my door and then tiptoed back into his room. He slept with his fire blanket, crazy guy. I slipped into his extended arm and he drew me in, touched my face, my arms, kissed my mouth.

There's something about mouth-kissing someone I don't know very well, it feels strange. I mean, mouths are for communicating--among another things. And mouth-kisses are two "communicating" -type body parts, interacting in very close proximity... They should be communicating! So, I dunno, these kisses make me nervous.

His skin was rough, I think I like it rough; textured, work-worn. He was--not quite "aggressive", but assertive and willing to go after whatever he wanted. He'd grab my ass--repeatedly--tighten his grip around a cheek either just to feel how it felt in his hand, or to turn me on. It gave me such a hard-on.

And he'd switch up our positions, too: he'd take top, he'd concede; take, concede, take, concede... And sometimes I took, and sometimes I would concede.

He lay me on my back and set his mouth to my naked torso; manipulated my nipples between his lips and teeth; and I thrust my hips up into his legs, down into the sheets, up again and grinding my clothed crotch into his clothed member. At some time, I managed to pull him off. "If you keep playing with my nipple, I'll scream from sheer pleasure." He chuckled, but backed off.

I lay him on his back--somewhere in there, his shirt disappeared or rolled up to his neck and shoulders and I pushed his elbows back down beside his head and pinned them there with my arms--and played my mouth on his chest, took his right nipple between my lips. He'd draw breath, move, and moan, and talk a little dirty. I moved to his left, and his hands took me by the shoulders and hefted me up to his face so he could tell me between breaths: bite me, use your teeth, harder. I took my teeth to the blunt of his nipple and he started grinding his hips into mine. Did I mention that he talks dirty? I think I like it.

"Fuck yes."

Eventually he said, "I can't stand it anymore. Take my cock in your hands," and he reached into his army-issue boxers and pulled it out.

Now, I should probably mention, up until that point, I had never seen a penis--I mean, up close and personally, where I could touch it and see it respond. There was this one time, a boyfriend sat in a chair and I undid his jeans and groped around for a while, but that was under silk Sponge-Bob boxers, denim and a sweater, and I didn't have to see it.

When PMK "whipped it out", there was a moment where I seriously thought it was some ridiculous, over-sized silicone imitation--why one earth would it lay so huge and limp on his gut? I think I laughed.

Giggling, I took it in my hand. What do I do with this? I tittered, apologised. "I've never done this before."

"Well, it's always good to try new things."

"How... How do you do it?"

He showed me. He closed his hand around it and moved slowly, pulling up gently, down gently; up slightly tighter, down gently... His fingers guided my timid hand and placed my digits around the limb. I remember my thumb just barely reaching my fingertips on the other side. Up gently, down gently, up tighter, down gently... Now you try. His hand closed around my own, moved us both, then let me continue.

I remember vividly the feeling of loose skin, like an over-sized wrapping for sausage--is that where sausage came from--and it moved with my hand as though gliding along some hidden shaft beneath. But I suppose that makes sense... Why didn't I know more about penises? It bothered me somehow, that this was so alien to me--yet it bothered me equally to take this alien organ and manipulate it in my hands... So much loose skin!

I got into the rhythm, got a feel for the pressure; started trying variations. It was enormously gratifying to feel him harden in my hand, and to have my hand pulled along, closer to him in a growing erection. I pulled down on the skin just by his head, exposing so suddenly a pink tip, and I twisted it in the palm of my hand. He grunted. "Fuck yes. Oh, babe--oh baby..."

At one point he said, "Slow down," and it caught me off guard. I slowed. We snuggled; kissed mouths, petted. He was all breath and sweat.

"This is so unfair," he said.

"Unfair?"

He went on to explain that he likes to give as well as get--so that "the girl" gets some attention, too.

"The reason I asked you to slow down was because I was about to come, and--and I didn't want to 'surprise' you." He kissed my neck. "Do you want..." I was so hot for him. "Do you want me to make you come?"

Some part of me was begging for release, I wanted him so bad, I was so insanely crazy for him, I might have done anything, I might have gone through with anything.

"I'm," I tried to put words together. "Hell no. I scream and I'm huge mess when I come."

He laughed, half with mirth, half with unbelief, as though he couldn't believe his good luck--as though he wanted to ascertain his good luck. What a tease--though he probably thought the same of me. We kissed. There was a suggestion of a chuckle.

"Why do you have to be so damned loud..."

From there, we began to settle down, drift into a calm. We chatted idly--and I was forever wanting to hold onto him past this month, past this course.


And that was my first, and at this date, my only one night stand. We didn't really have "sex" (in my opinion, we had sex), and it wasn't just the one night (it was two, but only one should be remembered), but a one night stand anyhow.

There's something very reassuring about entering that kind of (largely unspoken) agreement: You are you, I am I; you want, I want; we're just going to give into our bodies for this one time, no complications, no strings attached, you and me, fulfilling our bodies, together for this stretch of time.

Anyhow, there's my little story. More to follow, perhaps, some other time.
--Charlie

Opinions

So it turns out I have some weird ideas about my image as a woman, and I never knew I had these ideas! One of them I had mentioned before: Hetero penetrative sex.

Charlie on Pregnancy (personally)

Right now, I can't see myself having children--in the future, even. Sure, aside from being beautiful and wonderful, there's probably a lot of fulfillment and pride and other great things... But me--Charlie--pregnant? I feel that would only propagate the idea that women are factories for creating more humans.

People see pregnant women all the time and--though maybe this is a bit of a stretch--the sight of a pregnant woman causes people to stop and think about pregnancy and creation of new humans. I think it's MUCH more rare for someone to see a non-pregnant woman and think, "Oh look, there's a woman who isn't pregnant!" and think about women and how they could be non-pregnant.

Another thing: in a couple joined in civil union, there's an expectation to have a child--by birth or adoption, or what have you, but there's a cultural expectation, I think. And if a couple goes long enough without children, the norm is to ask, "Are they infertile?" "Don't they want kids?" "What's wrong with them?"

Whenever that question--"What's WRONG with them?"--is asked, there is usually a lot of assumption going on. Here the assumption is: it is normal to have children, it is normal to want to have children. Thus, a couple that has not conceived must have either some physical defect, or some mental defect for not wanting to procreate.

So, by becoming pregnant, I further the image and idea of women as carriers of new humans; and further the normality and expectancy of pregnancy in women. So.... Charlie won't be pregnant--at least, for a LONG time!


Charlie on Hetero Penetrative Sex (HPS)

HPS is gross and unfair. As a woman, there is no sex organ (long enough) I can use to penetrate--invade the internal space of--a man's orifice(s). As a woman, I cannot derive the same physicality of pleasure that a man can derive, by sticking a body part into someone else.

There is an invasion of personal space--even if there is consent, in HPS, I as a woman would be receiving the (repeated) entry of another person into the confines of my body.

I guess I want to "level the playing field". There is this sex toy I've seen, the Feeldoe (http://images.google.ca/images?q=feeldoe), used for girl-on-girl penetrative sex. One end goes into the vagina of the penetrating woman, who holds it in place with her muscles. There are little nubbies that ride along her clit (which is the female analogue to the male's head of the penis). The other end goes into the woman to be penetrated, like a penis would in HPS. I like this idea--especially about stimulating the clit, because it simulates (maybe) the feeling of penetration--ie, the nubbies on the clit imitates the sensation that the head of the penis gets from being inserted and withdrawn repeatedly.

Woots.



Thoughts

I used to be mysterious. I used to be so involved in myself that I didn't care about anyone else--and people were drawn to me! I guess I started taking that for granted, because I'm beginning to lose more of myself to others. Well, I was worried I had, but maybe that worry isn't as justified now as it was then.

I used to be such a Scorpio. I don't mind Scorp--except for the crazy sex drive. It drives me nuts sometimes and I need to keep it in check.

But now? I don't know what's happened. After the Summer of Eric, I deconstructed myself and tried to start anew. I don't know how much I rebuilt after tearing down, but it seems to have held so far. I'm a bit wary right now, though, that perhaps the foundation was less sound than I'd thought. It's always hard to.....remake oneself, since we are continually adding new bits, and perhaps even losing old bits.


So, this guy...

So this guy, he's an interesting fellow, something like Neek, but more...compassionate. Neek is a justified asshole. SW is.... he cares.

Hah, I'd mentioned to SW... There's a scene in Heroes where Peter meets Matt for the first time, and Matt tries to read Peter's mind, but Peter starts mimicking his ability and there's this feedback sound like you get with mics. I imagine that's what SW meeting Neek would be like!


SW

I dunno! I've already told him I like him; and he's said he likes me at least a bit more than as a friend... But he doesn't want to get into a relationship until he sorts some stuff out--which I think is noble and honest of him.

But... I dunno?

I feel very comfortable with him--which is good and bad. I trust him entirely too much for not knowing him. And, I guess this is where the "mysterious Charlie" thoughts come in--like, I used to be him. It's pretty freaky. Had I decided that [things] were important to me and decided to pursue them, I might have turned into SW. Crazy!

But that's another thing, he's young--not much younger, mind, but...maybe young enough. And I think I'm sick of waiting for people to grow up. But I'm waiting for....something anyway, so I may as well wait for another thing? I don't know...

Besides the familiar "me" in SW, there's something else familiar about him--something that reminds me of Eric vaguely. Not that SW is necessarily similar to Eric, but something reminds me of him. Argh.


Relationships?

I've been thinking about polygamy again, and--if I'm honest with myself--I can admit that I'm a jealous person. I also enjoy positions of authority and power--not necessarily for the sake of dominating others, but it feels....good within me. Like, "I am a full human being, I am as I am, I am fully myself, I am wholly myself, I satisfy/sustain/fulfil/enjoy myself..." -sort of thing. But I do also enjoy being in positions of power so I can better care for others, and I suppose, for security...

SW is a giver. I am a giver. But I think SW is more practised in giving and enjoys it more than I, so he would hold that position more easily.

Giving is easy--in some respects, I'm talking very generally in terms of what it requires of character to give. Receiving is less easy. Receiving requires grace and...a knack for making the other feel appreciated. I lack grace, generally. About the most graceful I can get is Milonga del Angel (Astor Piazzolla) on a good day and when my fingers are sufficiently warmed-up.

But that skill of receiving is perhaps more useful? In giving, I make the other feel good. In receiving, I can get AND make the other feel good. ...My old self would take advantage of this. Me, I don't know.


I've been sitting on my arse too long. Time to do something else.
--Charlie