Tuesday, June 15, 2021

For the Men: Your Gender is Not a Reason for Shame

I have noticed a disturbing trend in my Facebook feed of late, even more disturbing when it comes from people who are part of the kink community. Although, I have seen it from those I presume to be vanilla as well as community folks. As members of the BDSM and/or LGBTQIA+ communities, we're supposed to be all about the celebration of the free expression of gender and sexuality

So why are we so comfortable shitting on men as a gender?

I have seen ridiculous posts lately basically shaming men for existing, or indicating that they should apologize for being men or heterosexual men. It utterly baffles me that anyone should be expected to apologize for fundamental aspects of their identity that they can't change.

Image text: Yes, I'm bisexual: I'm attracted to
women because women are incredible, and
I'm attracted to men because I love making
bad choices.

Why are posts like this okay? I understand that there are a lot of men who have done problematic things in this world, but there are toxic women, just the same as men. I recently saw a post where a woman complained because a friend of hers expressed problematic views, all of which were indeed problematic. Except for the last one. Apparently it was problematic that this person DID NOT believe that "Men are trash."

This is not the first time that I have witnessed problematic statements like this, and it bothers me. Yes, there are horrible men in this world, but I think it is wrong to vilify an entire gender just for existing. Does this "men are trash" sentiment apply to transmen too? Because transmen are men, after all. 

Image text: The fact that I'm still attracted to men
should prove that sexuality is not a choice.

Here is another one. I understand the sentiment behind this, trying to indicate that sexuality isn't a choice, but was it really necessary to indicate that it's distasteful to be attracted to men? 

There's just something really gross about expecting men to feel bad for being men. I don't deny that there are social conventions and educational issues that lead to toxic masculinity and the propagation of rape culture. But there are so many amazing men in this world who fight against these things and love as hard as people of any other gender.

I am all for holding men accountable for their actions and encouraging men to hold other men accountable and to educate others to help bring an end to these social issues. What I am not for is shaming men for their gender, expecting them to apologize for an aspect of themselves that they cannot change, and making them feel like you believe your attraction to them is somehow bad or wrong. 

I've always found gender supremacy to be very distasteful, regardless of the gender being put up on the pedestal. We're supposed to be about equality and inclusion. That certainly can't be achieved by belittling each other at every turn.

Your actions define you, not your gender, not your sexuality, not your race, or any other fundamental quality you were born with. Never apologize for those things. Your existence is not a reason for shame. 

We need to do better and not reduce people to those singular immutable aspects. Those attributes are not what makes someone good or bad, or better than anyone else. 

Whatever gender you are, be proud of it and don't let others shame you for it. You are amazing, or, at the very least, you have the potential to be. Never let the hatred of others hold you back.  


Wicked Wednesday

Tuesday, June 1, 2021

If I Could Go Back

When I was younger, I mostly traveled to the past. I let the pens of others whisk me away into the lives of heroes and lovers of another time. I often found myself in the likes of ancient Greece, or the medieval Scottish Highlands, admiring the way warriors with their swords and courage defended those they loved. Or in fantastical lands of enchanted forests, mythical beasts, and wondrous magic.

I often felt I was born in the wrong time, an old soul cursed to live in this dystopian modernity, isolated from the beauty the world once held and the unshakeable faith that gripped mankind. So I took up my own pen and traveled again and again. Often, back to those archaic Highlands and most often into the realms of fantasy and ancient gods.

In more recent years, I find myself traveling forward to the distant future to visit lands and peoples beyond the stars. Peoples who have chosen to protect their planets and preserve their nature with technologies we refuse to employ for the love of the illusion of wealth. Peoples far advanced beyond us in many ways, but still trapped within the same intrigues and problems of thought we have now, because, no matter how many limbs, eyes, horns, or tails they possess, people are still people and humanity is still humanity regardless of the body in which a soul resides. 

But if I could go back again, just one more time, I wouldn’t waste the trip on those ancient lands. I wouldn’t idle my hours away in the realms of might and magic.

I would go back but a few years, about half a decade or so. Back to the time where I first learned what true love was and those that came before were cast into the obscurity of childish infatuation. Back to those moments where I was the happiest I’d been in my entire life. Back to when you were mine. 

I would find myself back in your car, top down, cruising down the road with the wind in my hair and your hand on my thigh. You would smile, looking at me out of the corner of your eye as we embarked upon another adventure in search of dilapidated abandoned buildings to capture with your camera. We would both laugh when Guys My Age by Hey Violet came on the radio and we realized what the lyrics were.

Back to when I would sit naked at your feet while we watched some silly movie and you played with my hair. Or the shower where I would enjoy washing you while you tugged on the thick chain of my collar before returning the favor. To the moments we tried and failed to take a nap, always managing to fall into each other’s arms where you made me realize I could feel sexual attraction for someone. 

To the time when you would insist on opening every door for me like the chivalrous creature you were and I could sneak a peek at the best ass I’d ever seen. I would pinch that ass and relish your startled jump and the stern look you would give before squeezing the back of my neck and directing me into the restaurant. 

To the time when such a large man as you, crawled gingerly across the floor to attempt to pet my skittish cat who was scared of men. To the time you traveled three and a half hours to come to a dance show I wasn’t even performing in just to kiss me for the first time. To every time you locked that collar around my neck when I entered your presence.  

I would go back for just one more taste of the best omelets I’ve ever had, lovingly prepared after a night beside you, hoping against hope that you would one day love me back. Hoping that every touch, every kiss, every slap of my ass wouldn’t be the last. 

I would go back with what I know now and fully embrace the things you brought out in me but never fully bloomed until after you shattered my heart and walked away.

I would go back, for one more touch of your fingertips upon my skin. For one more breath of your scent in my nose. One more look at your agonizing beauty, your kind eyes, and your strong shoulders. One more night in your arms and your love in my heart.

If I could go back one more time.


Sunday, May 30, 2021

Petrified Perversions

I've long been a fan of horror. Fear has become one of my favorite kinks. A way of dealing with my anxiety I guess. Turning it into sex. I do the same thing with horror movies. If they scare me, I find a way to morph it into a sexual fantasy. 

I find I now enjoy erotic horror, so here is another homage to that aesthetic.

Sinful Sunday

Friday, May 28, 2021

Orgasms Are Hard

Growing up as a presumed straight girl in a heteronormative patriarchal society, it is drilled into you from your earliest days of budding womanhood that those of the male persuasion can often be selfish lovers, more interested in their own pleasure than yours. It’s a trope you see in various forms of media. Women joke about it, complain about it, but they all admit it exists. We are told he will always get his and you may or may not get yours, depending on whether he knows what he’s doing or even cares to try. 

But what they rarely do is tell you that you probably can’t get yours through penetration. Romance novels outright lie. Virgins always have orgasms the first time and it only ever hurts for just a moment. And they always come from penetration. I remember some time in my teenage years, when my mother and I were reading a lot of the same romance novels, she flat out told me that these scenes were lies and that’s not how things worked. 

My mother’s first experience was nonconsensual and I’m sure that colored things quite a lot, but I also learned later that she did not experience orgasms with a partner until she got with my father, despite having had previous partners. The orgasm gap was certainly a reality for her. But like with many of us, she was kind of raised with the expectation that as a woman, our pleasure often comes last and often not at all. 

Of course, she would not identify this way herself, because that’s just not in her wheelhouse, but I would classify my mother as a heteroromantic ace. I really think she only has/had sex out of a sense of obligation to the relationship, at least in most cases. I’m sure it was different with my father, but I, understandably, do not wish to delve into the particulars of that. Just...no thanks.

Now, for myself, orgasms, or, at least, orgasms with others, have been...difficult, and that’s often been a source of shame and a sense of failure. Since adolescence, I have been plagued with an anxiety disorder that includes some physical paranoia. I did not like being touched by anyone outside of my immediate family, and being touched by strangers would often trigger a panic attack. So intimate touch from someone other than myself took a bit of getting used to. 

My first experiences with a man were not exactly stellar. He claimed to want to give me pleasure but made very little effort to do so. When he “tried,” it was often painful and slightly traumatizing, so I learned very quickly how to fake it just to make things stop. It was not a healthy relationship. Looking back on it now, I can recognize it as abusive and I still don’t know the extent of the psychological damage he caused. 

My second partner was infinitely more generous and caring. He was older, so we both had trouble for different reasons, and there were several times we had sex and neither of us climaxed, but it was still a good experience. I remember our first night together, and he was trying so hard to please me, but my body just wouldn’t cooperate and I started crying because I felt that I had let him down. Once we became comfortable with each other, and I unfortunately fell in love with him, orgasms came more easily. All of it made parting all the more devastating.

Throughout those years, I discovered that I was not multiorgasmic, which made erotica books and porn even more alienating, because they seemed so unrealistic with the women coming over and over again and screaming as they did so. I remember being at a group event and a discussion about forced orgasms and orgasming on command came up. Someone mentioned a situation where they were required (or required their partner) to orgasm so many times during a masturbation session before they were allowed to stop. I brought up that something like that wouldn’t work with me, because I am not multiorgasmic. Another woman, a supposed community leader at that, very rudely told me I needed more training then. 

As if all the training in the world could somehow change how my body functions on a basic level.

It was with my most recent partner, that certain puzzle pieces began to click into place. Maybe it wasn’t my disorders, my medications, or my past traumas causing all the issues. Orgasming was still difficult with him, because of physical incompatibilities. My orgasms could not happen during penetrative sex, otherwise everything became too painful for me due to his size. 

I made that mistake once. Once. 

He did his best to please me, and I am certain that with another woman, his efforts would have been more effective, but it was in those months with him that I began to discover the extent of my asexuality and how much of my sexual pleasure was derived from BDSM.

Straight up sex just doesn’t do it for me. I rarely have problems giving myself an orgasm. I have my handy dandy pocket vibe, the ability to dream up the kinkiest shit necessary, and the ability to make instant adjustments to pressure and position as needed in order to blast off that particular rocket. I can only recall a couple times where I was able to come from penetration, and that was with toys, which I honestly don’t do much anymore. I have lots of toys, but I find penetration too much effort for very little payoff when done solo.

I long for the day I find a partner that sticks around long enough for all those different elements to come together to make sex as fun as I remember it being. I would like orgasming to feel less like a chore or an obligation. Someone whose body I can thoroughly explore and a love I can dive into head first. Someone who can close the gap.


Wicked Wednesday

Thursday, May 27, 2021

Star Fighter: The Fight Pit

I thought I'd offer you a bit of what I've been working on when writer's block on Star Talker hits me. Here is an excerpt from Star Fighter, my sequel, featuring a lesbian couple.

A bulky fist came flying at my face much slower than I expected. I ducked easily, delivered two quick jabs to the man’s ribs and danced out of reach. I had hoped this opponent would be a little more challenging, since he also had four arms, but I was becoming more disappointed by the second. He was a big boy, thickly muscled, almost prohibitively so. Thick, mean-looking tusks protruded from his lower lip, a stark white against his grey, hairless skin. He had a good thirty centimeters on me. 

The newcomers and tourists were laying bets against me. I wasn’t particularly small. Compared to a human woman, I was on the large side, blessed with some of the height and bulk of my father’s Lo’Rahni blood. But the goliath Gushrak dwarfed me. They thought, as I let him land a fist against my shoulder, that his size gave him the advantage.

But, gods, he was slow. I could see every punch eons before it got close enough to hit. He didn’t even try any leg maneuvers, just relying on his four meaty fists. Getting his baseline was much quicker than usual. Scouting his openings, mere child’s play with his lack of speed. I continued to dance in and out of his reach, leaning into a few blows I allowed him to land for a bit of show. But eventually, it just got boring. 

He grabbed for me with all four arms, frustration with my evasion clear on his face. I spun into him, checking him in the solar plexus and the gut sharply with my right elbows and ducking out of the closing circle of arms. He dropped to his knees with a loud groan, gasping for air and clutching his arms protectively over his middle. I grabbed his shoulders and slammed my knee into his face. Pain radiated up my leg as his thick tusks dug into my skin, but I felt his nose break beneath my kneecap. He roared with pain, two hands rising to catch the gush of blood spurting from his face. One last kick to the side of his head finished him. He flopped forward onto his mangled face into the dirt of the pit, unmoving but for the slight rise and fall of his breathing. 

The crowd roared. They chanted my name victoriously as I roared back, beating my chest with two fists.

Malik! Malik! Malik!  

The caller entered the pit and held up my arm, but not that high, being a short, pug-faced man of a species I had never bothered to ask about. I threw my arms up one last time and walked out of the pit, exiting through a door beneath the stands.

The noise of the crowd followed me into the tunnel, albeit muffled now. I passed through the locker, ignoring the bruised and battered defeated and those still waiting for their match. A few greeted me as I passed. I returned their greetings with a silent nod. Unwrapping the tape on my fingerless gloves, I made my way to Geb’s office. It had been a long night. I was looking forward to a good soak and a fat hunk of roasted meat. 

The sound of an unfamiliar feminine voice traveled from the office’s cracked door. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but she sounded distressed. The few women I saw back here were either professionals trying to cash in on the night’s winnings, or fans trying to seduce their favorite champion. I edged closer to the door, staying out of sight.

“Do you know how hard it is to break into one of their plants? They probably have like the highest tech security out there!”

I heard Geb chuckle. “That’s why I have you, my stealthy little friend. Your species’ natural talents are perfect for this job. Get me the tablet, and these five thousand credits will be yours. In. Out. Easy peasy. Eat like a queen.” 

I backed away from the door. The only plant they could be talking about was the Centauri manufacturing facility on the edge of the city. They built the Arkiv tablets for the Centauri membership in this sector and the commercial access tablets sold to the public. There weren’t any new models in the works as far as I knew, so I could only imagine he was after an Arkiv. Geb was the head booker for the pits. He wasn’t hurting for money, so he could have purchased a commercial tablet any time he wanted.  

When I reached a reasonable distance from the door, I stomped back toward it. 

“Geb! You gotta stop booking guys just because they have four arms!” I shouted down the hallway before barging through the door. 

The girl had crammed herself in the corner of the room as far away from Geb and the door as she could get. The instant I saw her, I knew why he chose her. The azure skin, long pointed ears, large violet eyes and lavender hair pegged her as a Diwii. She was petite and had an unhealthy thinness about her. I knew her kind had the innate ability to change their skin color to blend in with their surroundings and their large eyes made it easier for them to see in low light. I had seen many of them in the local clubs I frequented and occasionally made use of their other talents.

I gave her a quick, appreciative once over before turning back to Geb. “Nice to see you’ve got better taste in women than you do in fighters at least,” I said, lifting a suggestive brow. 

He rounded back behind his desk with a laugh, acting as if he hadn’t just been planning a heist with the terrified girl clutching her tail in the corner.

“Aww, Malik. You know the big ugly ones bring in the crowds. You get better odds too. Bigger takes.” He plucked a lock box out of one of his desk drawers. 

I looked down at the portly human man, managing to hide my disgust. “Yeah, but they’re so fucking slow. I do like a little challenge now and then, you know. Definitely makes for a better show.”

He threw up his hands in a placating gesture. “All right. All right. I’ll find you something good.”

I smirked. “Wonderful. Now for my cut for tonight?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, opening the lock box and plucking out a wad of paper credits. Licking his thumb, he carefully counted out the bills and set the stack on the edge of the desk closest to me. 

I spared a sideways glance to the little Diwii. She was gawking at the stack of money with an unveiled desperation. I took the bills and rolled them up, turning back to look directly at her while I stuffed the roll into my chest binder. If it were possible, her eyes widened even further. I licked my fang suggestively before winking at her and exiting the room. 

“I’m taking the rest of the week off, Geb!” I called back as I continued down the hallway toward my personal locker.   

Most combatants didn’t get their own locker room, being relegated to the community locker I’d passed through to get here. But I brought in a lot of money to the pits and I was also the only female fighter that competed regularly. The pits weren’t regulated by the local government, so the concept of weight classes or fair fights was nonexistent. The ugly truth was, of the species in this sector of the quadrant, few of them made women big enough to compete with giant meatheads like the Gushrak. I was about average for a Lo’Rahni woman, clocking in at 188 centimeters--which was pretty impressive, given the amount of Terran blood I had and the tiny stature of my mother--but I towered over the local females with very little effort. 

I hadn’t made a big show of my sex when I first joined the pits, and being the only Lo’Rahni within a couple dozen parsecs, most had assumed I was male. I didn’t dissuade the notion at first. I was proud of the musculature I had developed with the help of my father’s genetics and a significant amount of work on my part. I had always been more comfortable in masculine spaces anyway. Once it got out though, newer fighters started harassing me in the locker. I started breaking noses outside the pit and Geb got a bit antsy. Couldn’t make money on locker room brawls, so I got my own locker room to keep the fresh meat from pissing me off outside the arena.

I tossed my wraps on the table in the small room, picking up a bottle of water and sucking back about half of it before I put it down again. I left the door open a bit, knowing the blue pixie would have to pass it to leave. I tugged off the sweaty tank top I’d been fighting in all night and tossed it into a nearby basket. I might have to toss that one. Gushrak blood was an inky black color and I had no idea if it would come out. I changed out of the bloody combat trousers and tugged on a pair of loose sweats and sat in the little metal folding chair that comprised the only seat in the room. I leaned back in the chair, plopping my booted feet on the comically small table, and balancing the chair on the two back legs, waiting. 

It didn’t take long for the dainty feet of my would-be thief to come scurrying down the hall. I folded my arms behind my head, resting my head in my hands. I heard the soft, sharp inhale of her breath when she finally saw me. I liked to think I appealed to a number of females. I had deliberately sat in only my sweats and chest binder, leaving my arms and abs bare. I may or may not have been flexing said abs for the benefit of the Diwii. Based on the look in her vivid amethyst eyes, it wasn’t wasted effort. 

I crooked a finger, beckoning her into the room. Her eyes widened, darting around in a panic before settling back on me. I cocked an eyebrow, looking impatient, and jerked my chin toward the interior of the room in another silent command. Her big eyes got even wider and she all but fell over herself scrambling into the room.

“Good girl,” I said with a small smirk. I righted myself in the chair, planting my feet on the ground. The girl was so small. Even standing, she was just eye level with my sitting form. 

“Hi. I’m Malik.”

She blinked several times. “I...I know. I’ve seen you fight.”

She was really quite pretty. Her face was delicate, almost elfin. A bit too thin for my liking, but that was nothing a few months of regular meals couldn’t fix. She had full lips a slightly darker shade of blue than her skin, with a pronounced cupid’s bow. Her hair was pulled back from her face into a high tail at the crown of her head, the lavender locks falling between her shoulder blades in loose ringlets. Her clothes were tattered and worn and not just a bit dirty. 

“What’s your name, little bit?” I said, throwing her a slow smile.

“Uh...Um..um..Y-yashili,” she said, clearly disarmed by the question.

I stood, enjoying the sensation of looming over her. Her gaze slowly drifted up to look me in the eye with a nervous gulp. I turned away going to my bag to grab a fresh tank top. I took my time putting it on, flexing my back muscles. 

“Well, Yashili, I’ll give you some free advice. Don’t trust Geb. He’ll screw you over in a heartbeat. He makes a living off bowling over little bits like you.” I cast a glance back at her. A terrified expression crossed her face. 

She quivered under my level gaze, lowering her eyes to the floor. “Has he screwed you over?”

I laughed. “Oh, he tried. When I was new. He still doesn’t have full use of two of his fingers.”

Yashili let out a startled squeak.

“Don’t you worry, little bit. I can handle shady shits like Geb any day. Just keep what I said in mind.” I hoisted my duffel bag up onto one shoulder and headed for the door. Yashili stood glued to the spot, just staring. I squeezed past her, brushing her shoulder lightly with my body. She squeaked again and I headed down the hall toward the exit with a laugh.