Ellie Lumpesse: A Pretentious Pervert » Sex

Virginity

Ellie — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 15:01:51 +0000

I have been thinking a lot about virginity over the past few months. My own loss of virginity was informed, safe, and joyous. I’ve talked to many people who can’t say the same. I’ve yearned recently to re-enact my first time as a fantasy roleplay. While I’m not exactly sure what makes this so appealing, it is a highly potent fantasy for me. What was your first time like? Does the idea of being in that situation again turn you on?

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Strong hands

Ellie — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 19:40:33 +0000

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

“Would it help if I touched your boobs?”

Ellie — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 15:06:22 +0000

I don’t remember the exact context of the first time that Mr. Vanilla said this to me. I just remember that, as with subsequent utterances, it has produced significant comic relief.

It has become tradition now that whenever I complain about anything (an ache or pain, too many papers to grade, the state of public discourse in civil society) that Mr. Vanilla helpfully offers a nice boob grope to cheer me up and get my mind off my troubles. Increasingly, I’ve been taking him up on the offers.

Let me tell you. He is a nipple teaser of the highest order. Strong hands, long fingers, and a seemingly hair-trigger grasp on the finer nuances of applying pressure.

In my life, my nipples have been tortured, caressed, clamped, sucked, and licked. This is the first time in my life that they’ve been anything to write home about, though.

It seems, however, that he has a direct buzzer from tits to clit in the form of my nipples. So, if I haven’t been entirely clear in my answer to the question posed in the title, “Yes, it helps greatly.”

© Ellie for Ellie Lumpesse: A Pretentious Pervert, 2010. | Permalink | No comment | Add to del.icio.us
Post tags: breasts, Sex

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Keeping busy

Ellie — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 23:29:17 +0000

So, the last several months I’ve been keeping pretty busy working and travelling a lot. I’ve worked out an arrangement where I get trips to fun cities to stay in nice hotels and dine at fabulous restaurants for free. When I’m not seeing the sites or relaxing, I’m making love to a sexy man in the gorgeous hotel room that I didn’t pay for. Even better, I finish up these excursions with a bit of pocket money to show for my time.

No, I didn’t finally manage to become a high-priced call girl. I’ve actually been working as a freelance hotel evaluator. People will tell you it is super hard work to discourage you from getting involved in the industry but, honestly, it has been pretty fucking easy for me so far.

I’ve been quiet because, as sidelines go, blogging just wasn’t doing much for me. And there are some pretty nice perks to the pastime but my landlord still refuses to accept rent in the form of gently used sex toys.

But last night as Mr. Vanilla and I laid in an antique four poster bed appointed with super luxurious down pillows and comforter, we started discussing this blog. In the next few months, it will be 5 years old. So many of my favorite writers are gone. There are so many new faces that it is mostly a blur. But I am thrilled to still have dear friends from this space. And I’m having the best sex of my life so I figure that I ought to be chatting about it again.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Dating a (reformed) cheater

Ellie — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 15:30:53 +0000

A few weeks ago Mr. Vanilla and I were in the car and, being the upwardly mobile and white liberals that we are, we had on NPR. In particular, This American Life. Even more in particular, this episode about the cultural acceptance of infidelity.

Anyone that follows my Twitter knows how I feel about cheating in relationships. I don’t have a lot of sympathy for any of the parties involved. I’m particularly annoyed with sex bloggers that merrily write about cheating with the expectation that as long as they are fucking, the audience will continue to pat them on the ass and tell them how hot they are. My personal standards for honesty in relationships are pretty intense. Fuck, I’m even on record about this.

For me, infidelity is taking an action or having a feeling that I think my partner would want to know but that I’m not telling him for some reason. I used to say that I ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t want him sitting next to me while I’m doing,’ but I think that is pretty reductive and too prone to literal interpretation. Instead, any sort of keeping secrets feels like infidelity to me.

[Aside: I just quoted part of an article from Violet Blue where she quotes me. . . on my own blog. This post should implode now in a self-congratulatory wank-fest. But I’ll persist.]

So, as Mr. Vanilla [since I’m already on a roll with asides, he really needs another name] and I listened to this story my first interest was sort of academic. I thought about my opinions about cheating and at one point nearly blurted out, “God, I fucking hate people that brag about this shit.”

Then I remembered who I was sitting next to. Mr. Vanilla cheated on his ex-wife. He feels like crap about it, he doesn’t justify it with excuses or think that it deserves accolades. Still, he was a cheater. And, some (who operate in the “once a. . . always a. . .” school) would say that he still is.

I contained my outburst and we were quietly listening and driving for a few minutes before I reached for the dial, blocked out Ira Glass and his ilk, and said, “well, that is sort of awkward.”

While infidelity is still an issue in polyamorous relationships, it tends to be less of one because there is less of an incentive or necessity to cheat in most of those arrangements. I’ve been poly for awhile now I’m newly (and quite happily) monogamous. Since I am coming from this other framework, for me the logical solution to having a longing for another partner is to discuss it and potentially change the organization of the relationship. For many people that are monogamous by default, it is to cheat.

Mr. Vanilla and I returned to the topic of the NPR report a few hours later when I reminded him that my monogamy was my choice and that I didn’t make it to restrict him. He re-affirmed his own decision to be monogamous with me. I told him that I hoped he would discuss it with me if he started to have any doubts and that I trusted him.

Fast forward a few days and he is visibly distraught before me after a harrowing conversation with his ex-wife that included a rehashing of his own infidelity. This reminder from a person he wronged of the pain that he caused her was causing him significant guilt and pain. What’s more it was laid bare to me because it interlaced with his fear of making the same mistakes again. Because I love him, every bit of me wanted to take on his pain as if it were my own, grant him absolution, tell him that he didn’t deserve to feel guilty. But I didn’t because it wasn’t true and it isn’t my forgiveness to grant.

What I could give him was the gift of my trust. And in this moment of seeing a person I love deeply at a low of self-doubt, I recognized that it was a very small consolation. But, despite his past mistakes I could look at him before me with compassion and love and know that I trusted him to act in ways that would not harm me. It was a trust that he earned through his actions and displayed character and that he knows all too well that he could lose. But ultimately, I believe in him and his goodness and I believe in my own ability to bestow my trust and love where I see fit.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Light

Ellie — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 23:01:46 +0000

I’m on my knees in front of him and looking up. There is dim light streaming in the windows. I’d like to think it is the moon but it is most likely the sub-division street lights casting this cool tint on the moment. Regardless of the source, he looks painfully hot. I can feel myself get wetter as I slide my mouth over his cock and crane my neck to catch his expression.

Perfect. That look on his face and the way he bites his lower lip and the catch of his breath making the only sound in this room. His eyes are closed but I keep my gaze trained on him.

Eventually he opens his eyes and locks onto mine. His body softens a bit as he lets out a deep sigh. He gives me a sorta smile and lifts a hand from the edge of the bed to run in through my hair. As I feel his fingers tangle into my messy waves I soften too. His touch is gentle but authoritative. He doesn’t hesitate as he rests one hand cradling the back of my skull. I feel his thumb trace down my hairline from behind my ear to the nape of my neck and my whole body occupies that touch, a river of cool fire.

I wish I could say I worshiped his cock. But I was living in the nape of my own neck. Oh, I sucked his cock. Tongue darting out and teasing, stroking with my fingers and whole hand. I put on the whole show and I wanted him in my mouth. Wanted him anyway I could have him. But my desire had migrated beyond cock in mouth or cock in cunt or cock at all. I was under those fingers, that hand, this perfect grip. He flexed his fist from time to time squeezing my hair along with it. It never hurt, not an ounce. It was just a rare opportunity to bend to his will.

When he finally pulled me up to my feet by that handful of hair, our eyes met as equals. We’d never left that place but I got to flirt at the edge of something else. He devoured my lips and pulled me close to him. My center left the nape of my neck and I lived again in all of my flesh, all of it satisfied to be pressed against him. We breathed that moment, lips connected in the pale glow of the street lamp but creating our own light.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

What’s to love?

Ellie — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 03:55:53 +0000

As I focus on some key transitions in my life, I’m nurturing a new relationship. When I first mentioned Mr. Vanilla I described him as not being emotionally available. While our connection has grown and solidified in the two months that we’ve been dating, we’re both hesitant to box it in with labels. Notably, for me at least, love can be a terrifying word. In my past, less healthy, relationships that emotion has represented a willingness to sell myself terribly short and subjugate my own needs and well-being in incredibly harmful ways. Feeling loved and loving has caused me to justify abandoning friendships or letting them languish, relinquish big pieces of my identity, or simply self-destruct.

However, being an idealist, love can’t only be a dirty word. And while Mr. Vanilla and I don’t utter those three little words that mean way too much and often very little, we do express our admiration in words and action.

He loves the way I run my hands over his back when we are close.

I love that he stops at odd moments to shoot a 1000 watt smile at me.

He loves how I can’t time my steps when I bowl and skitter up to the line only to stop and throw the ball awkwardly.

I love the rough reassurance of his voice as he utters lustful praise in my ear.

He loves the way I move in moments of passion.

I love his hand on the small of my back guiding me through a crowded sidewalk.

We haven’t been shy to share the things that we love about each other. Some are small and insignificant. Perhaps he only loves my giggle the way one describes loving chocolate ice cream. But praise and reassurance don’t rest on what words one uses to describe them. Rather, they circulate on a basis of trust, safety, and mutual respect.

As Mr. Vanilla and I both heal from past wounds and learn to be safe with our own selves again, I hope that we can lean on one another as friends, allies, and cheerleaders. But I feel safe in saying that I’ll not ask for or serve as a crutch. If there are battles to fight or demons to tame, we each have our own weapons, ingenuity and strength to depend on. But in the peaceful intervening moments I do love having him near to reinforce and share in my joy and passion.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Summer

Ellie — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 03:16:12 +0000

Mr. Vanilla is an incredibly normal guy. He has a massive collection of relatively mainstream music. He has an average career. He isn’t a pervert. He isn’t emotionally overwrought (or even emotionally available, for that matter).

Mr. Vanilla and I have gone on half a dozen pretty normal and average dates. Drinks, coffee, dinner, movies at home, a stroll on the beach.

Mr. Vanilla is gentle when he touches me. He is not passive or unconfident, just deliberately gentle. He has reminded me that a soft, subtle touch can be just as controlling as a rough or painful one.

Yesterday Mr. Vanilla whisked me off to the beach in a convertible. We soaked in the water for an hour and told jokes and spotted dolphins. We even re-enacted a cliche and strolled along the water holding hands as the sun set. We talked about our failed past relationships and our current agendas.

Mr. Vanilla is more complex than he seems at face value. He isn’t intentionally enigmatic but I still find myself wondering about him at odd moments. He knows how to say the right thing at just the right moment and never any sooner.

After dinner at a shrimp shack, we drove back in the dark with the top down. I tried to control my sundress and beach hair and failed at both. When Mr. Vanilla put his hand on my thigh, I got a shiver and I couldn’t help but smile.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Independence

Ellie — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 01:23:37 +0000

I’ve had a hard month. Without going into too much detail, Michael said the following statements to me all in the course of a single day:

“I love you more today than I ever have.”

“If I were making choices based on who makes me happiest or who I love more, I would stay with you.”

“I believe you may be the greatest love of my life and I don’t think I’ll ever get over you.”

“I cannot be with you anymore.”

The last one seems like a bit of a contradiction and it was. I thrashed around in supreme pain for a few weeks. I was bitter, angry, and crying at the drop of the hat. Each beautiful memory felt like being punched in the stomach. Each interaction with him represented the pain of being re-rejected over and over again.

Just when I found some peace and was putting things back together, he hit a snag and reached out to me for the emotional support that his partner wasn’t providing him. No phone call has ever made me feel more used and degraded than this one did.

I’ve slowly worked my way back from that. I’m working back to forgiving him again, wanting to find a place to be kind to him. My love remains unconditional but my ability to care, nurture, and support is seriously strained. The reality is that Michael chose to leave me in order to put all of his effort into another relationship. He made the choice purely on his own and against the wishes of his parter, but it was still his choice to make. As that other relationship continues to flounder, I don’t know if he harbors any regrets. It isn’t for me to know.

***

But, the point of the post isn’t what happened. It is what is happening.

Yesterday I celebrated the holiday with many of my dearest friends. We grilled out, drank fantastic amounts of beer, played board games, and churned our own ice cream.

As it got late (and tipsy), I declared that I could go for a swim. Noah (who has remained a dear friend) got behind this idea wholeheartedly and we quickly organized a late-night march down to the river.

When we arrived near the water it was still and black. Most of my friends were too hesitant to scramble down the steep bank in the dark but Noah forged ahead and I managed to follow. We slipped out of our clothes and into the water. It was perfect. Not too cold and smelling green. We floated out past the rocks and stared up at the moon and an abandoned train trestle and listened to firecrackers exploding in the distance.

We just leaned against a downed tree trunk and lived in that lovely warm, wet, firecrackers moment. We talked about the moon and the train trestle and turtles. I realized that I felt fundamentally right in that water. The world was in place and my sorrow had subsided. Instead of feeling incomplete and broken, I actually had some peace. One of my best friends was near my side and there to observe my independence and tranquility. I felt beautiful, happy, and safe.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Requiem

Ellie — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 22:26:44 +0000

I wrote this weeks ago. And now I’ve lost the person that it is about. He has given up on trying to find a place for me in his future. And I’m grieving.

you told me that it was the best day of your life. i could see that in your eyes all day. the chronology fails me, the events are already slipping away. i just remember how it felt. the uncontrollable smiles. the calm, peaceful serenity of it. i remember memorizing your face over and over again. and i remember the music. singing snippets of lyrics to you. knowing that every love song ever written was about us. because we were loving each other not as the center of our individual universes but as the center of the entire universe. so, how could a musician write about any love other than ours? what could be more pure or intense or real? these are the ridiculous narcissistic thoughts that clouded my thoughts and utterances. this is why i looked in your eyes and earnestly said that one of the upsides of being codependent was sharing just as much in the other’s joy as in the sadness. i suggested at one point that we had spent the day doing nothing. you were firm and insistent that this wasn’t nothing. i see now that it was the biggest something i have ever done. but just like the way i love you, i can’t put a label on it.

***

We sang together. Our voices cracking under the stress of the moment. The fear weaves through the melody. But there is a commitment in that lyric. By the end of the song, all I could do was whisper the words. But I kept at it. The final lines didn’t choke me up so much because of the weight of the ones that had come before. That was bearable. What was unbearable was seeing the end of the song and knowing that this moment was about to end. I nearly panicked. I wanted to stop time. Perhaps if I could stop the song from ending, I could stop you from sliding away from me.

***

We stood naked together, smelling of sweat and tears and a day of anguish. You pulled me to you in the water and whispered dreams of a future in my ear. A home and cats and growing old together. Growing together. You wish for it. For a moment, I don’t hear the conflict in your voice anymore. You sound resolved. But it flits away quickly. It gets loaded down with caveats, maybes, and what-ifs. I’ve stepped closer to this dream but only for an instant. It is a dream that is more yours than mine. It sounds lovely, it sounds satisfying, but mostly it sounds like a way to have you near my always.

***

you asked me something unfair. to make love to you like it would keep you alive. i knew that is how i did it every time but i was still afraid that i could fail. and if i failed would it mean that you would die? so i plead for your life and made a million promises that would be impossible to keep if you would just stay on the earth.

***

I want to be strong for you. I want to be strong in your eyes. I want you to see the woman that, at the age of 9, picked the outfit her mother would be buried in. I want you to see the 18-year-old that moved across the country by herself to embark on a new education and a new life. You are so strong and I feel dwarfed by it on most days.

***

I remember holding you. Scooping you up in my arms like you were a child. Looking down on you and seeing your frailty and vulnerability and marveling at the strength that lived within it. I remember my shock at realizing that my body knew what to do at those moments. Even with no idea what to say, you fit in the space of my lap, I was built to shelter you and protect you in those moments. The same as you can provide me casual but total safety by welcoming me to rest my head on your chest. It occurred to me that my only purpose on earth in that moment, my only reason to take another breath, was to love you and keep loving you and being loved by you. Intensely. So you could feel it through the pain. And I believe that you could if only in small moments.

***

You told me that it was the best day of your life. I know that you might be approaching one of the worst. I feel so powerless to crack through that pain. I’m resisting the urge to believe that being unable to help is a reflection on the intensity or tenacity of our love. I pray for the chance to grow with you.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Waiting for the splash

Ellie — Wed, 27 May 2009 15:25:35 +0000

Last night

after you hung up

I wrote you a poem

hoping it might change your heart.

This morning I tell myself:

Get serious, man.

Someone once compared

writing a poem

and hoping it will

change the world

to dropping rose petals

down a deep well

waiting for the splash.

– Ralph Fletcher

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

All my little words

Ellie — Wed, 27 May 2009 03:03:49 +0000

The last few months have been a rough time in my life. I started this blog as a sex blog and it has meandered through so much more than the bodily machinations associated with the sexual act. Recently, I’ve been grappling with incredibly difficult relationship issues among the people I love. I’ve been afraid to say much about any of it for fear of burning bridges and hurting the people I love and am working so hard to cling to.

At the same time, it has seemed disengenious to segment my sexuality out from my loving relationships and chatter idly about funny news stories, sex toys, or jerk-off fantasies. I’m hoping to find the courage soon to break my silence through some vignettes of particularly poignant moments that have transpired in the last few months. It might not be particularly sexy (unless you get off on emotional masochism) but I’ll be as honest as a can.

So, bear with me as this blog transitions into something that is, at once, a protest song and a love letter to the fears, insecurities, and joys in my life.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Emotional Abuse in Relationships

Ellie — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 19:00:22 +0000

At Frolicon I got the chance to attend a discussion on domestic violence and abuse in the BDSM community. This is a poignant topic for me personally and I learned some things about emotional and verbal abuse along the way. I’m coming to realize first hand that words can truly wound in ways that are unfathomable. Emotional abuse victims often suffer depression and post traumatic stress disorder. Here are some resources related to the topic of you or someone you love is in an abusive situation:

Warning Signs of Emotional Abuse

Verbal Abuse Assessment

Examples of Abusive Behavior

A study proving that emotional abuse can be even more harmful than physical violence

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Loose Ends

Ellie — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 13:33:13 +0000

My Google reader has been on 1000+ for weeks now as I deal with relationship drama ad nauseum and other parts of life (good and bad) getting in the way of blogging. But I have some progress and news to report.

The gorgeous and sexy Thursday wrote this really pretty water sex post and dedicated it to me. Swoon.

I avoided a total fangirl moment and played it cool when Jayme Waxman asked to interview me for a piece on phone sex at YourTango.

Apparently, I am one of the best sex toy reviewers of 2008. I do know that my boyfriend loves listening to me snark on all the crap toys available in the average porn store.

March 26th was the four year anniversary of this blog. I missed that fucker again. How frustrating. Maybe I’ll make it up to you with a new episode of Bedroom Radio. But, if you’ve never listened before, the old ones are new to you.

Next week our entire quad is packing off to Frolicon. I’ve never attended before but I’m pretty excited. Turns out some people that I really admire and enjoy will be there: Lolita Wolf, Sharrin Spector, and Nina (my preferred leather pusher.) If you are going to be there and have been ignoring my queries on Twitter, please speak up!

Sex 2.0 is coming up again next month and we’re 95% sure that we’re attending. Assuming nothing goes ridiculously wrong financially, I’m so excited to get to go again. I’m not sure if I’ll be leading a session or just actively participating but I can’t wait to see all of my friends again. Too many to mention here easily but if you look at my blogroll, it gives you a pretty good idea.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Train Crashes

Ellie — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 15:33:06 +0000

Today I see the people I love being ripped away from me. I see scenarios for losing the dreams I have let myself build over the past six months. I even see scenarios for losing the dreams that Jay and I have built over our three year relationship. People are taking sides, factions are forming, and the teams are all wrong.

In the past, Jay and I have told Michael and Ariel that if their primary relationship wasn’t strong and solid, that we couldn’t be with them. We’ve told them that we would all have to take a break while they worked things out to whatever conclusion they needed to reach. That system has never been engaged before, we’ve always been convinced to stick around. Sometimes we’ve helped, sometimes I think we’ve hurt things. I always feel like a bandaid.

This time around, I don’t think I can bear to pull the bandaid off. Michael and I are clinging to our relationship desperately. Jay and Ariel seem to be doing the same thing. For the first time today I felt like I might lose Jay if this all breaks. What is worse, he refuses to talk about it any further as of this moment. I’m looking down the track and I’m seeing the obstacles instead of the destinations.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Dirty Laundry

Ellie — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 22:31:13 +0000

It has become very clear to me that the people I write about here are real people that I have complex relationships with. Meanwhile, there is still some way in which I am a character. I’m pasted together with flippant comments on sex and dirty pictures and the occasional glimpse into my professional life via Twitter. But really, mostly I’m a self-constructed person. On the other hand, Jay and Michael and Ariel don’t have as much agency in their representations here. I try to tell my stories honestly and I try to make them beautiful and I try to see them as imperfect and very partial glimpses into my experience.

Lately, I’ve been hungering to show off the bad with the good. The petty feelings and fears and nasty fights. When this all started we were tripping through daisies and in many ways we still are. I thrill at memories of snuggling Jay in another couple’s bed and sliding Ariel’s hand up my thigh at the dinner table and shivering in an abandoned park with Michael while recreating his first kiss. But I also know that the other moments are what make those so beautiful. Jay calling me an insensitive bitch at 5am and Ariel clattering across my living room floor telling me in stark detail the ways I had hurt her and Michael coldly acusing me of devaluing his love.

There are times when the four of us tear ourselves apart and I think that we won’t make it. That something fundamental will break and we will drift, cut lose from our cores. There are other times when I think that we grow stronger each time we bleed out pain in this way. More honest, more real, more committed. That perhaps scar tissue is stronger than baby soft flesh and our battle scars are really growing pains. Hard fought and hard won. It knocks the idealism and fairy tale ending further out of my reach every time but I suspect that a dream more permanent may grow in its place.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Visual

Ellie — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 18:41:35 +0000

I have a very visual memory. I think it comes from growing up with a father that was taking snapshots constantly. I take my own snapshots of moments. And short videos of them as well. I can see faces displaying certain expressions or particular words being delivered from the mouths of friends and loved ones. Today I laid on the bed reading a book and lazily stroking my clit. Eventually I tossed the book aside to concentrate more fully on my pleasure and an image flashed into my head. At first I ascribe it to my visual memory but quickly realize that this is an image I’ve concocted to illustrate a moment that I experienced but didn’t actually see. As I work my own fingers across my cunt I imagine Michael’s hands. I have an image of them, long graceful fingers and dark hairs and rounded nails that are just barely too long. Then I can see a vivid image of these fingers insistently prodding at my wetness, grazing my clit and filling me. I realize, as I come, that this image is invented. I’ve never actually seen what his fingers look like as they touch me but the memory is still clear enough to conjure the feeling again.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

All by myself

Ellie — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 20:37:46 +0000

Jay and I haven’t spent much time apart since we first got together. I took a two day business trip almost three years ago and otherwise we have spent our nights under the same roof (even if not in the same bed). This weekend I’m visiting Michael and Ariel by myself because Jay has to work. I’m doing it because there is no reason not to. I’m doing it because I desperately need some time with Ariel that we haven’t had much of lately.

I’m also anxious about it. Jay will go on dates while I am gone. Everyone will likely fret about this. I’m going to miss him and feel a bit untethered on my own. I’m going to worry about him and if he is lonely or hungry or bored. Nonetheless, I think this will be a positive experience and I won’t be far away from the arms of people that I love and who love me.

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Femme sex and taking up space

Ellie — Tue, 17 Feb 2009 18:28:42 +0000

I’ve been grappling with something over the past few months as I embark on a serious relationship with a woman for the first time. My femininity feels under fire by my own fucked up gender programming. The reality is that it doesn’t matter how much Judith Butler and Eve Sedgwick I read. It doesn’t matter that I have idols like Tristan Taormino, Lee Harrington, and Bear Bergman. It doesn’t matter that I love genderbenders and all level of gender fucking. I have some fucked up assumptions and ideas about sex and gender and sexuality that infect my ability to be as fearless as I want to be.

This is a confession of sorts but also a cry for help. I think about myself in reference to kink and sex and realize that I associate submission and service with being feminine. I associate beauty, weakness, and delicacy with being feminine. And I also realize that I am so terrified of being seen as anything other than feminine that I put up some strange defenses against this.

Case study A: Ariel

Ariel is my gorgeous girlfriend. She is beautiful and petite and has long flowing hair. She moves gracefully on high heels. She also has a powerful job in a male-dominated industry and changes car batteries and asserts herself aggressively in conversations. She looks high femme but has always thought of herself as butch. Still, when I touch her I sometimes feel huge, ham-fisted, rough, and all-together ugly. I know she longs for me and I fail her because I don’t know how to be. On the one hand, strapping on a pretty dildo and fucking her for hours sounds like pure bliss but I know that getting to that point will be full of second-guessing myself and my desires and my actions.

Am I being entirely heterosexist in my view of this sexual relationship? Abso-fucking-lutely! Because she is feminine, I feel masculine. (We won’t even get into the terrible fact that I associate masculinity [on myself!] with ugliness) I don’t want to feel this way. It isn’t enlightened, it isn’t sex positive. I wouldn’t teach it to my students. But it infects my reality and I don’t know how to deprogram it.

Case study B: Michael

[Note: This section has been edited for nuance. The lack it previously exhibited, though, is likely symptomatic of my issues with binary thinking.]

Michael is a petite man. We are the same height and I outweigh him significantly. When we first met I didn’t think the relationship would work because of this. I thought I would feel huge and be self-conscious and afraid. So I submitted myself to him. He felt like he was capable of being in charge and I let him be. Even if I couldn’t be delicate and small by comparison physically, I knew I could shrink myself mentally. It works out well that he has discovered enjoyment of beating me until I cry, pulling my hair, grabbing my throat. (Again we won’t get into how fucked up it is that my way of feeling feminine involves simulated victimization) Even when I am initiating sex with him, it feels like an act of service and devotion. He often gives me feedback on how to touch and where and when. I siddle up to him and slither a limb around his body. I kiss gently. The touches are a seduction and they are a worship and only in my most wanton and least self-conscious moments do I allow myself to be aggressive and take up space.

Taking up space

I haven’t really defined what this means to me just yet. You may have guessed some of it by now, though. I think of it in terms of physical space – my body is larger and I attempt to diminish that regularly. I also think of it terms of political space – my voice should be smaller, my needs should be less important, my desires should be locked away.

This might seem ridiculous to some of you that have met me or read this blog. Of course I take up space in terms of talking about sex. Here I am now with this presence on the internet. Blabbing, opining, discussing in detail, issuing edicts and judgments and ideas. But some of that strength leaves me when I’m making love to some of the people I adore most in the world.

I know that every relationship goes through growing pains and these are no exception, but this issue feels bigger and scarier and more about me being fucked in the head than any I have run into before. So, dear reader, tell me what you think. How do I get my theory to line up with my practice? How do I deschool myself of gender? How do I embrace femininity in a way that doesn’t make me need to masculinize others? How have you done it or how do you wish you could?

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Radio Appearance

Ellie — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 02:12:21 +0000

I will be appearing tonight (January 21, 2009) at 10:30 PM Eastern time on the Passion talk show with Dr. Laurie Betito. The program is on a Montreal news talk station, CJAD. You can stream the broadcast and listen in! I’ll be talking about phone sex and other tidbits about life and sexuality. Try to tune in!

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh