So much has been said these past two weeks but I still feel like it isn’t for the rest of the world. I can’t articulate myself in a way that makes it as big as it is so I keep it to myself and I privately swoon to a few friends and still feel like I miss the mark. There are tears of pain and joy and I’m so grateful for everything I’m feeling. Another playlist:

We have been home from Dark Odyssey Summer Camp for two weeks now and I haven’t said much about it. I’ve been processing my thoughts but I have a list of posts that I want to write about the experience. A lot happened there. I met Wendy, a longtime blog friend that is even more awesome when you get to see her in person. I got to spend time with my dear, sweet Viviane who is one of the most comforting and lovely people I’ve met in a long time. I also got to meet many new friends and take classes and workshops with remarkable presenters and educators.

Despite the plethora of experiences that I *did* have, I am going to start with one that I didn’t. A gangbang.

It was Sunday afternoon, laying around in the pool, that I got the idea that I wanted to have a gangbang. Just by merit of timing, the idea was already ill-fated but Jay tried to organize it for me. Needless to say, most people had pretty full dance cards and getting that many cocks to convene in one place at camp was, well, not going to happen.

But, in the spirit of better luck next time, let me tell you a bit about what I have in mind.

I want to be violated by multiple people in a way that is really quite beyond my control. I first got a taste for this during our playful threesomes with Ian. He and Jay often pin me down and tickle me and molest me. It is fun and sexy and I struggle, giggle, and moan. But what if I screamed and cried and begged them to stop? It could go either way. The reality is that I have two tall, strong men pinning me down and doing what they want to me.

I got to thinking that I really love this, the feel of my muscles straining against their power. Knowing that I can’t get away, can’t stop it from occurring. The ability to let go because there is nowhere else to go. Sure, I’m a rope slut and I like bondage of all sorts but actually being restrained by another person, unable to fight them off, is a totally different thing.

Suddenly the attention is divided. I can’t just think about the hand mauling my pussy or the teeth biting my nipples but instead have to focus on the fingers wrapped around my arm, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Or perhaps the knees pressed against my thigh, forcing my legs apart so that my unwilling wetness is revealed. And they can’t just focus on what they are doing to me, their animalism has to come out and it becomes just as much about the struggle as the sex.

The idea of multiple people making this happen for me, taking turns pinning me down and keeping my subdued while their companions touch me in every way they can imagine is an overwhelming urge. They can be faceless and nameless. I could be blindfolded or not. The details, the humans involved don’t matter. I am interested in arms and hands, mouths and cocks just as they should not be interested in me in this moment, just my sex, just what my warm and wet holes can offer them.

Fantasies like this are scary to some people. The lack of consent is alarming. There are feminists that would have some choice (or perhaps condescending) words for me. But it is mine and I own it. And I look forward, perhaps too eagerly, to the day that I can make it a reality.

“I wish you had a cock,” he says.

I turn while continuing to fasten my bra. He is sitting up in bed now, sleepy-headed. I’m looking around for a clean shirt to wear.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he explains, “I was invited to a gang bang and I wish you could come.”

I laugh.

“Plus if you had a cock, we could jerk each other off.”

I walk out of the room thinking about just how normal that conversation really was in our lives. In retrospect, I realize that I own plenty of cocks and am more than equipped to participate in a gang bang.

I have a pretty personal investment in this next set of responses because they come from Jay, my amazing lover, best-friend, and companion. There are a lot of people that blog in isolation from their romantic partners and that makes me sad. I deeply treasure the honesty we share and the fact that he loves all of me, unconditionally. I am lucky for that.

Jay is an incredibly special person and his answers here were not news to me. But reading them has made me feel closer to him. His memories and recollections are, like many of the men I have featured, heart-breaking, thought-provoking, and raw.

When was the first time you remember being aware of masculinity? How old were you? What was the cultural climate or influence?

My earliest childhood memories (ages 2-3) are of my father physically abusing my mother. The ensuing conversations that transpired between my mother and I told me in no uncertain terms all of the negative traits that made a man.

Growing up with a single mother and 2 sisters I never really trusted any men enough to let them have a positive effect on my view of masculinity. As a child I was more submissive and feminine than most of my peers and certainly less masculine than my tom-boy sister.

Do you think of yourself as masculine? Why or why not?

Now I feel a lot more masculine than I did as a child, but I’m still a very passive person in general.

I know that many people have read about my sexual experiences online and have commented to the effect of “You’re such a man, you know what you want and you go after it.” Of course they don’t know me and the fact that I am a kind, shy, passive, gentle person (or at least they look over those facts as I do try to write about them).

How does your masculinity relate to your sexuality (be it your orientation, preferences, or expressions)?

I’m the quiet, shy, rebellious type (wait, is there a type like that?). I look for any way I can to play with people’s traditional concepts whether it is family values, religion, or sexuality/gender. My orientation is bisexual, although right now I’m swinging back toward heteroflexible.

In kink play, BDSM, and parties I prefer to dress up as a woman and take a dominant role (which is a lot of fun since I have a very full beard). At a recent party I was dressed as Jackie O and spent most of my “play time” whipping the bejesus out of a tiny little woman in front of a rather large audience… if that gives you any idea ;)

Anyone that has been following my Twitter lately knows that I’ve got a pretty serious crush on Thursday’s Child. Sure, all of us flirt on there, but this one is real. I am so lucky to have met Thursday and D and to count them as close friends. I’ve watched them go through struggles and growth over the last few months and I’ve been honored to be a friend to them. Jay and I hope to meet them very soon – plane tickets will be ordered one of these days and we will have them to ourselves.

Lately, Thursday and I have been leaving each other fun little voicemails to titillate and amuse. I’ve mostly been playful, sexy, and tried to have fun. This morning, though, I woke up and had a message from her. It had come in the middle of the night and I had a feeling it would be special. I was right. I knew I couldn’t do the sexiness of this message justice by just describing it. No, my dear audiophiles, you deserve to hear it. Grab the headphones!

Thursday’s Voicemail to Me

You back? Shaking like I was? When I first met Thursday I was instantly attracted to her, we are so similar in so many ways and she felt like the sister I never had. Except, I suppose most people don’t want to do to their sisters what I want to do to her. I have the same curiosities about her skin and her body. We have already warned the boys that they may have to sit calmly in the corner as we focus on each other. They might whine but it will be worth it.

So the other day I was thinking about masculinity. And then I realized I should probably think about it in conjunction with men. So, I asked a few guys to answer some very difficult questions about their relationships with masculinity. I’m amazed by the response so far and I hope that a dialogue will begin.

My first responder is an anonymous reader whose ideas I can really appreciate. It seems like being a “typical woman” is an acceptable choice for ladies but being typical in any way makes a man an oppressor. I think that his interview really reveals how there are thoughts beyond those typical responses. I want to thank him so much for this careful and touching set of responses.

When was the first time you remember being aware of masculinity? How old were you? What was the cultural climate or influence?

When I was very young I played “doctor” with my two female cousins, one of whom was my age and one of whom was as couple years older. We were probably 4 and 6. It wasn’t actually “doctor”. It was more like “stripper”. We’d take turns standing on a table in their basement and dancing around while taking our clothes off. It was erotic in the most innocent way imaginable. We knew we could get in trouble for it, and that their mother was right on the other side of the basement door, in the kitchen. I wasn’t there when they got busted, but I know they did get busted at some point. Presumably there were other boys they played that game with. The older cousin was the instigator, ringleader, and master of ceremonies. Also usually the first person to dance.

That was my first experience of “female” as an attractive “other”. I guess I knew earlier on that girls and boys were different, but only in some vague cootie-related way that never gave me much sense of “masculinity” as opposed to anything else. There was something about being a boy, about that thing between my legs, about how those two girls got interested when it got hard. Somehow I knew that was part of my SELF–my Identity. Also, I knew my dad had one, and it was important to me that I did too.

Cultural climate or influence: suburban Utah. I grew up in a suburb about 20 minutes north of Salt Lake City, and the cousins were another 15 or 20 minutes north. Something like 90% Mormon where I grew up. I wasn’t one, but they were (and still are). I discovered in my teen years that Mormon girls are just BUSTING to rebel, and given the slightest provocation they become complete wildcats. I imagine that my older cousin was playing some of that game (we were aware of the transgression this was), coupled with natural young-childhood curiosity.

Do you think of yourself as masculine? Why or why not?

I do, in a sense. I don’t really ever think about myself as masculine; I just am it. I’m about the straightest straight boy on the planet, and every woman I’ve ever been with has said so. I’m very much a Typical Boy. Minx has been mentioning lately about writing your own manual. I don’t need a manual, I need a pamphlet. I like boobs and blowjobs and having dinner cooked for me. I like protecting and pampering my women, taking them out and showing them off, buying them things. I like going out with the guys and drinking beer.

I guess the only place I’m not completely typical is that I’m not possessive or territorial about the people I love. I CAN be, certainly, but I’ve dealt with those aspects of myself thoroughly enough that they no longer dominate me.

Masculinity as I experience it is fraught with anxieties, but is loath to admit that it is. Femininity may be the same way, I suppose; I wouldn’t know. Here’s an example: I played golf yesterday with two female friends, and I opted to tee off from the Ladies’ tees with them, rather than all of us stopping at the Mens’ while I hit, then all of us going down to the Ladies’ for them to hit. I confess, on the hole where the groundskeeper was watching us tee off, I had a moment of concern about what he would think. I had even more concern about how I’d rationalize hitting from the “right” tee box without my friends knowing I was worried about not looking like a sissy to a stranger on a tractor. I know the male golfing buddies I usually play with would never let me hear the end of it if they knew I played from the Ladies’, but I concluded pretty quickly that that would say a lot more about their hang-ups than mine. The punchline is, I had one of the best rounds of my life, and I’m now hesitant to brag about that because I know I got about 700 free yards based on hitting from the “wrong” tees.

So, while I’m quite confident and comfortable with my masculinity and sexual orientation, there’s always the “guy thing” of appearing macho and never letting anyone question your masculinity. Which I hate, when I’m sucked into it, but find myself having concern for anyway.

How does your masculinity relate to your sexuality (be it your orientation, preferences, or expressions)?

As I said above, if there’s a thing a Guy would like in bed or most anywhere else, odds are very good I’ll like it. Naked girls. Blowjobs. Tit fucking. Doggy style. Facials. Mainstream porn is pretty much made for me.

And that just seems the natural and automatic thing to me, and I have to consciously try to have anything else not seem weird. We’re good friends with a couple–actually, the first people my wife and I tried non-monogamy with–the husband of whom is a true masochist; he can’t orgasm without also receiving pain. Initially I found that unfathomable and unpalatable. After being around them sexually for a while, I now only find it unfathomable. I still can’t imagine wanting that, but I now get that that IS in fact what he wants. He’d be a lifestyle submissive, actually, and be quite happy with that. She doesn’t want a pet, though, she wants a partner. They had some stuff to sort out before they got married, obviously…

Part of what it is to be a Guy is to be constantly… not quite “on the prowl”, but always having my antenna up. I notice women like crazy. I probably fall in love with some random woman on the street five or six times a week. And I seem to have a “type”–which you would identify right off if you saw a picture of my lady loves. Cute, dark-haired, geek girls. There was a girl working the counter at a bowling alley one night that I nearly invited home with us on the spot, and you could have laid her down next to my other two and had a matched set. (Which was, in fact, exactly my plan.) A woman I’m attracted to has to be my intellectual equal, but have a vulnerability or softness for me to protect. And she needs to be tough enough to take care of me when I need it too.

I don’t know… I’m not a Big Macho guy, despite how this likely sounds. I’m fairly enlightened regarding my emotions and needs (I’m poly! Hello!). But there’s still an aspect of my masculinity that somehow never quite emerged from the cave. There’s definitely something primitive inside me that wants to howl at the moon and dominate others with force and sleep with every woman I see. I keep that fairly well contained, and generally manage to express it only in socially acceptable ways (with the exception of: I’m poly! Hello!). But it’s there.

This is an interesting inquiry. I saw some things about myself, engaging in these questions.

I have a lot of things to say about what happened last weekend. I had a play date with Artemis Hunter and a wicked sadist that involved upwards of 4 cases of sex toys and kink props. I was a demo bottom for Artemis during her class on predicament bondage. We ended the weekend by attending an amazing play party where Jay cross-dressed and was molested by half a dozen pretty girls while I got to try my first full suspension. This post is just the first think I felt like writing about. The picture is what I wore under my clothes at the demo and what I was stripped down to.

We arrived early and were waiting patiently for things to begin when Artemis walked up to me with a red collar in her hand.

“I was wondering if you wanted to wear this play collar for today?”

I didn’t think much about it and agreed readily. She fastened it on me and went back to preparing her things.

The collar felt a bit tight but it wasn’t choking me. I don’t normally wear things on my neck so I was just aware of it all the time.

It seemed that other people were aware too. I was sitting with Jay and as we met people or talked to friends they all did something peculiar. They looked at him for approval before speaking to me. One woman that I had talked to online and was looking forward to meeting shook my hand and started to hug me before stepping back and asking his permission.

We must have looked confused and stunned and then I put it together. The collar.

I’ve never been in any sort of master and slave relationship and I don’t particularly intend to. The collar was just for show, a costume. And if it bound me to anyone (for the next few hours at least) it was Artemis. I quickly explained all of this. She hugged me.

I respect the decision that people make to live in 24/7 dynamics but it isn’t one I can fathom. Additionally, anyone that knows me, knows that I bristle at protocol. I respect it and keep quiet at appropriate moments but it isn’t something that I choose to practice.

So, other kinky folks, share your experiences of this with me. Do you wear a collar? Maybe just for play? Have you run into unexpected assumptions of protocol from friends and acquiantances in the scene?

We met for drinks a few months ago and then schedules got tight and new jobs were started and we lost touch. Carmine found me again a few weeks ago, telling me that he wanted to see me.

So we met for drinks and talked about school and teaching and the law. We also talked about lubes and blogging and the joys of rope and electro-sex. I’m attracted to Carmine but the conversation wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t flirtatious, it just was.

He asked me back to his place so I texted Jay to make sure it was alright. It was. I knew that something might happen but I wasn’t expecting it. Carmine is sweet and self-effacing. He has a slight Boston accent that makes my pussy twinge when he says words like “car”. I couldn’t, for the life of me see him making the first move.

He did. Standing in his living room he grabs me and kisses me. He leads me to the bedroom and begins taking off my clothes. We tumbled around on the bed for awhile kissing and groping. At one point he paused, excusing himself to go to the bathroom. I posed myself so that I would look effortlessly sexy when he came back in the room. On my stomach, legs bent and crossed at the ankles with feet in the air. He came back in the room and slid on top of me, caressing my back with his body and kissing the top of my head. I felt his cock pressing against my ass and I wiggled a bit as I looked over my shoulder at him.

“You have a baseball bat next to your bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you afraid of intruders?”

“No, it helps me think.”

I look at him quizzically.

“It is a guy thing,” he explains, “it is phallic.”

I smirk and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. He is grinding against me and kissing my shoulders. He asks me what I want and I shoot the question back at him. So, he tells me he wants to fuck me and spanks my ass. Too softly.

I tell him I want to fuck him too but he’s going to have to hit harder. He does.

So we fuck.

Yeah, I know, I always skip that part. Here, let me give you some highlights. He slides into me and his cock is thick and hard and I squeeze him. His eyes widen a bit and so do mine. He pins my hands beside my head. He squeezes my wrists hard and it hurts and I really love it. I scream, a lot. Obscenities, sacrilegious prayers, and incomprehensible things. Throughout it all, Carmine retains a placid and contemplative look on his face. I smile and he smiles back but he is already smiling. I wonder if there is some joke that I am missing. And as his cock slams me, sometimes too hard and too deep. So aggressively that I have to remind him that my cervix is there, he still smiles. I wonder if this has something to do with the baseball bat.

So, we finish and I bite my lip and steal a quick glance at him. I giggle a bit. I’m not being myself so much as an approximation of myself. It is okay, he might know this or it might be too complex for the moment or he might not even care. I ask him to explain the baseball bat again. He picks it up and shows me. He is laying on his back next to a puddle of ejaculate with a baseball bat in his hands and my naked body slung partially over his. He looks a bit like he owns the world. He holds the bat like he is expecting a pitch and moves it back and forth a bit. I duck and giggle. He explains that he’s never even played baseball on a team and he isn’t that big of a fan. It just works. He tousles my hair and asks if I want a cigarette.

I tell him that I’ve never had a cigarette after sex before. Maybe it is too much of a cliche. He gives me an incredulous look. Law students are apt to smoking and Carmine knows that when I’m having a drink, I’m prone to a cigarette or two. I tell him that I’ve probably fucked smokers before but the cigarette never came up. He tells me it can’t be beat.

We slide back into our clothes and walk out on the porch and talk about evolutionary biology and have a smoke. He isn’t lying, it is a really good cigarette. The night is hot and exceedingly Southern he tells me that he hopes that now that we’ve gotten the preliminaries out of the way, we can get more adventurous next time.

Oh, thats right I left out some details. I met Carmine because he likes cross dressing and taking it in the ass from girls with strap-ons. He is also perfectly capable of spanking me and pinning me to the bed while he fucks me hard. Interesting how people and their sexualities aren’t just one thing. My life and relationships would be much too boring if that were true.