Delightfully unique- whatever or whomever I'm writing in consent, romance, and lust.
First an update: while I've had both good and bad days so far this Nanowrimo, I haven't managed to sign up for #MasturbationMonday. So at the end of this sentence, I'm going to give the "suggested word themes" for the last two MM's I managed to flub on- ASL and Nature.
When I got to my friend's next word suggestion- post- I debated the many ways I could take inspiration from it. I put it into image search and started scrolling. Physical posts (often made of wood), some post hole digging machinery, tons of online posts. Then I found the relationship status post that I just had to write to. :D
I won't list all the stupid things I've been asked, told as an asexual person; you can put that in Google, go look it up on asexuality.org.
However, and I'm not joking, I want to say that I've decided I'm in a relationship with mashed potatoes. I wouldn't say that to most allosexuals because it would just make me the butt of their joke.
When Audrey and my sibling submissives leave me to my own devices (and no chore list), I like to enjoy my romance with mashed potatoes. It's been very many years since I cheated on mashed-potatoes-from-scratch with powdered-mashed-potatoes; I may be polyamorous, but my mashed potatoes aren't. The purple potatoes slip under my hands as I scrub them under the warm running water. I would never think to peel my potatoes of their beautiful skin.
“Lovely one, we'll think of this as knife play, not being chopped into medium-sized cubes.” I feel the bodily memory of the time my Lady gave into my pleading for knife play- this was before Onyx joined us with his extensive knowledge and enjoyment of knife play. The multiple orgasms, most with ejaculating before that final one at the end, was the closest I've ever come from a more sensual, almost sexual interaction with another human being.
It's pretty decent being ambivalent about sexual activity with a person. But, oh the cubes of water, they plop into the water when I toss them into the gorgeous medium-green Dutch oven, sinking momentarily and then surfacing among the bubbles. A sense of loss pervades as I toss the final potato cube into the water.
Top on the pot, I grab the orange 5-pound kettle weight that I keep in the kitchen and I spend time doing repetitions to work on each muscle group in my arms. The sheen of sweat tickles the skin between my shoulder blades. “Lovely one, are you becoming soft for me while I get hard?” I replace the kettle bell in its spot and wash my hands.
The top shakes deliciously with the steam building in my favorite pot.
I remember my Lady wrapping her arms around my waist from behind as I watched the pot. “I love when you smell of sweat and when we can be close just like this, both getting our needs met without pushing the other to deal with anything boundary pushing,” she said. “I love you, my Lady.”
Hot pads on my hands, I pour out some of the water and return the shining Dutch oven to the heat. I think of this is a minor climax as I add spices, cow's milk, cheese, and butter to the pan. My Lady says I wiggle my ass as I add these things and then dance around with the potato masher; it's like a good paddle on my bum, helping me work through my conflicted thoughts about sexuality, sensuality, companionship, romanticism, my body, other's bodies.
No one's home. I scoop a dish of the completed mashed potatoes, chunky enough that they're obviously not instant, into a bowl. Sinking to the kitchen floor, I begin to enjoy. Just a dish. There's no need to gorge on my Lovely one.
Soon my belly is warm and my cock is as hard as stone. I wash the dishes as my heartbeat speeds pleasantly. As I place the last dish on the drying pad, I see an old chore list Pekka wrote for me. I gasp and clutch the counter; I'll have to do laundry now since I came in my shorts. I'm really not a teen boy, just an asexual man with complicated and non-common place sexual interests.
Now, the above story could seem like a typical “allosexual being aphobic.” (In other words, a person who feels sexual attraction being phobic against someone who doesn't feel sexual attraction.) I try very hard to do better by Didier; he's a part of the “Vala's Story”-verse of mine, not just an asexual I randomly created. I've been working less with these characters of late- besides Audrey, that is, as she started off existence as a character of mine, but is also now my girlfriend. I had a moment on Twitter to explain to Posy Churchgate about my wonderful extended BDSM family; you can see the hierarchy of domination and submission on the Vala's Story page- Didier isn't on it because the diagrams focus on The Queen's stable and Didier belongs to Lady Audrey, The Queen's friend and my girlfriend. Or maybe more :D oh the threads of story arcs and plot twists that reside in my head and various files.
And the first image from my friend suggesting a word: Nature
Nature. I started off intending to do an “autumn leaves changing colors” scene, but I went back to look for something at night. You see, I'm very sensitive to the sun and I just don't find much about nature scenes during the daytime at all pleasurable. I pondered setting this image to my wallpaper- after all, that's what it's meant for- but I have the ASL manual alphabet there for now.
Spring warmth made the nighttime walk enjoyably warm. Laney ran hir hands over a branch, feeling for the new buds ze couldn't see. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”
Together, Tara and Sarai murmured, “Of course.”
Sarai added, “We wanted to enjoy our sweetest partner.”
“And you're not sweet?” Laney snickered.
“Would a sweet person have their hand down your pants as we walked?”
“I think so.” Laney wriggled hir ass until Sarai's finger slipped farther between hir asscheeks. “Unh. Now that feels even better.”
“Good thing most people aren't up to nighttime walks until summer.”
“So we can fuck while walking,” Tara purred. They stroked Laney's midpoint clitorophallus into its lovely erectness. “And very good of you to go commando today.”
Laney moaned. “Sure. I love both your hands where they are.”
The group paused beside the solid fence and the building whose purpose they'd pondered many times in the past. Hands pulled from Laney's pants, Tara and Sarai pounded on hir. In a tangle of limbs, they pulled Laney's pants to hir knees. Tara slipped hir cunt onto Laney's midpoint clitorophallus as Sarai's five inches of unbound clitorophallus slid into Laney's wet asshole.
“Glad I had some lube handy,” Sarai groaned.
Sarai and Tara grabbed each others' asses as they moved against Laney in rhythm.
Laney whimpered in ecstasy.
“There, there, you'll get to come too,” Sarai teased. Kissing on Laney's neck, they growled. “But you'll have to be fast.”
“Might we come close together?” Tara said.
“We might.” Laney glanced into the night sky and noticed the twinkle of stars without the leaves of the trees obscuring the heavens. Hir body twitched with the paired pleasures of anal and clitorophallic stimulation. Pec to pec, nylon rubbing against nylon, their chests pressed close.
Sarai's toes curled against Laney's calves. They bit down on the tend nape of Laney's neck.
“Yes, yes,” Laney moaned into Tara's kissing mouth.
Tara threw a leg over Laney and Sarai. “Come with us.” Hir body clamped down on Laney's midpoint clitorophallus in climax.
Laney's eyelids fluttered even as they looked at the naked tree limbs. The arousal streamed out of hir body. “Thanks, loves.”
They kissed Laney where they could reach. “Outside sex is lovely at night.”
So I pondered Masturbation Monday and the inspiration picture. I wanted to be inspired but my brain seemed broken- roommate interruptus. Ugh! And so after playing more Cooking Tale, I finally decided to pick a random ASL sign- here's a picture of me doing that sign; I hope I managed the patient expression I meant to inflect the sign correctly for my needs.
Starting from just the sign, I wrote...
Luna signed, “Oh I see. Can I help you?”
Alice signed, “Yes.” She tore off her dress and dropped it to the floor.
“Oh I see!” Luna raised her eyebrows high to inflect her sign differently. Do I ask directly? What is the proper etiquette? This relationship is way too new!
“Stop! I want to touch you,” Alice signed, her signing a bit slow as if she considered what vocabulary Luna had.
Luna used the dimmer switch on the overhead light, leaving it lit enough she could see if Alice signed. With equal passion, although lacking in Alice's frustration, Luna slipped her sundress' straps off her shoulders so the cotton dropped to the floor.
Humming softly, tunelessly, Alice moved onto the bed and gestured for Luna to join her.
Glancing at her new girlfriend's pouty lips, her freshly butchered fringe of black bangs, Luna slid across the forest green silk sheets. She held out her hand and left it hanging in front of Alice's perfectly small, perfectly round breast.
Alice grabbed Luna's hand and pressed against her breast. She spread her legs and urged her to kneel between them before trapping Luna in her folded ankles.
I can still sign. If I even need to. Still grasping Alice's breast, Luna inclined her head to kiss Alice. She breathed in the vertiver shampoo that perfumed Alice's hair, as if she'd recently been at a bonfire. She moaned as their bodies touched more.
As the kiss continued, Alice reached up to stroke Luna's long red curls of frizzy hair. After some moments, her hands continued downward. She tilted her head slightly and Luna moved to kissing along her jaw then onto her neck.
With Alice's humming changing into sultry moans, Luna felt her lips growing wet with her arousal. She licked Alice's neck and then nipped it gently. She released a sound between a sigh and a moan when her lover pulled their pelvises together hard. The nipple underneath her palm teased her with its erectness. Just when the pressure started to work within her genitals, she gasped.
Alice pulled them down onto their sides, heads falling on pillows, legs twining and untwining in their movements. She reached between Luna's legs and cupped her mound. She took Luna's chin and directed her attention up. Her eyebrows moved upward.
Luna nodded, unable to untangle her hands to sign yes.
Grinning, Alice reached between Luna's lips and pumped two fingers into her pussy.
Crying out, Luna came immediately, her mouth frozen open from her screaming orgasm.
With her other hand, Alice traced Luna's lips. She brought her hand to her own face and paused a long moment before signing, “Beautiful.”
So a heads up- National Novel Writing Month begins on November 1st. I can't promise how many posts I'll get to writing, but I have written my own 4 MM posts using images I pre-selected after a friend gave me 4 inspiration words.
Sorry ahead of this for it may wander; the subject at hand- “Daddy Doms”- is something my mind has ruminated on, like a rock being tumbled shiny in a rock tumbler. I wonder, if my Master wasn't in His late 20s to my early 20s when we met, might we have started as a Daddy Dom and His little girl, rather than the Master/slave terms that I enjoyed?
When we met, I was a new mom and working to control my Bipolar through natural (non-medication) means. While my Master and I enjoyed casual sex, I was holding out on being His submissive 'cause I was still waiting for my previous dom to contact me (he'd been living in a coffee house and it closed); after watching me get further depressed for 3 months, my Master urged me to move on. Then I called Him “Master” one time as I was coming and we took that as the beginning of my submission to Him. We've weathered a lot of life together- including what was a happy polyamorous-V that fizzled when things with my first husband became too bad.
While I don't remember the exact date when I first called Him “Master”- the “fizzled” is a nice way to summarize a relationship turned abusive and neglectful- we do know that I wrote Him a poem in January 2001. So we use that as a rough anniversary date often, even if we often round things to “We've been together almost 2 decades” LOL. In those 2 decades, I went from refusing therapy and psychiatric medication to returning to therapy under my free will, having another nervous breakdown, and then getting on an anti-anxiety/anti-depression medication. I've also added two diagnoses and dropped a few I'd collected over the years.
My therapist- who is one of only two therapists that I've had good, working relationships with over the 27 years I've been in and out of therapy- summarized a bunch of my problems into “You have PTSD.” We recently talked about the newer term Complex PTSD, and she agreed with that for me. The other diagnosis is one I stumbled upon with a friend's help; I'm Autistic. Or I'm “on the Autism Spectrum,” if you wanna all go with a medical notion of it. I actually prefer to say that I'm Autistic, using identity-first rather than person-first language.
Why'd I spend a big portion of the last 2 paragraphs talking about my mental health? Well, my friend Rayanna Jamison contacted me about a group and a party happening on Facebook and our conversation prompted the comment that inspired this post: Because of my C-PTSD, I think we're more Daddy Dom, even if we use the Master/slave language. I need structure, although I brat and fight it often enough. But my parents were awful adult figures for me and I did my best to hide my undiagnosed Autism; as person assigned female at birth who can speak, it's only more recent activism by Autistic people that has created an awareness that would have helped me to get a diagnosis as a child.
My Master has quite a sense of humor; my therapist has a theory that both He and I are on the Autism Spectrum, even if neither of us are trying to get an official diagnosis- He's 48 and I'm 40, after all. But yes, we both have unusual senses of humor. Mine is a little more rare to see because through all the trauma I've experienced, I've learned the bad lesson that it's never safe to show one's emotions. I really am trying to unlearn that though. But my Master always joked that He wouldn't want to be called Daddy during sex because of some silly video game; well I've managed to call Him Daddy a few times now, but it didn't glitch Him. He even joked, “You will never be able to out-weird me.”
But how much do the words matter, after almost 2 decades of relationship? I'd love to call Him Daddy more often, but in a testament to His joke, He manages to hear me call Him Daddy with no problem, but I giggle and laugh my way through even saying it. I never wanted something just like a BDSM romance novel, but something real. I think my “something real” means that my Master cares for me in ways I need Him to.
Updated with an edit: So yes, I know it's already 4:35pm in my time zone, but I'm editing now :D. I let Rayanna read this before it went live and something she said stuck, although I can't remember the exact point she made :( Maybe she'll make the comment again. But it was basically about words and titles and how they matter in BDSM.
After telling Kathryn Blake that I'd take part this week, I almost forgot. Please don't tell my Master; I'm sure He'll give me lines rather than a nice spanking. I decided to share some of "Laura Learns"- it's currently with the editor and we're hoping to release it soon. I tried to find a hand spanking, but came across this section in Jack's POV and wanted to share. They're scene-ing at a club.
What was it that Tom did to make Nadia come from just a whipping? Was it all that whispering? He returned to whipping her thighs and even her calves as he studied her body movements. “You're making me think you can orgasm from just a flogging.” The leather played over her ass. This domination is truly arousing me. “I can't wait to get you home and have you laying on the bed, naked, your legs spread so I can fuck you hard when I'm ready.”
“Yes, please, Sir.”
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I started with an idea that came to me while working on The Complex PTSD Workbook: Lap time- divide attention between cataloging Him and masturbating while cuddling with Audrey in my mind. I'm going to try new colors (for text and background) and it might end up creepy :D (but I don't see Halloween as creepy)
“Master, may I please have lap time?” I ask Shaman, standing before Him in His large recliner wrapped in just a My Little Pony sheet.
“I guess since you're ready for a proper lap time.”
I giggle and wait for Him to lower His empty plate to the floor. When He holds out His hand, I adjust how I'm holding the sheet so it doesn't totally fall off me as I climb onto His chair before carefully settling onto His thigh. I pull in tight against Him and He arranges the sheet so even my toesies are covered. I lay my head on His shoulder and breathe in. “Audrey? Can we please enjoy some secure attachment right now?”
“Yes, darling. Excellent pairing of Shaman and I caring for you.” Her arms encircle me. “Very good asking if I can enjoy some time with you now.”
Doubly held, I focus on my breathing as the always-present tension leaves my body. I look up to study Shaman's face. His regal and unique nose. The tuft of His goatee with its liberal sprinkling of white among the black hair. His buzz cut, so many inches shorter than the hair He had when I first fell in lust with Him.
The smell of vanilla rolls through me as I press my face against Audrey's neck and her slightly longer hair tickles my forehead. Her hands move over my arms, reminding me that I haven't done any skin brushing in so very long; I should do that before I cover my hands with the crescent marks of nails pushed into my skin.
“Good, sweet girl, stopping that thought. In polyamory, each relationship is unique. I love you.”
“I love you too, Audrey.” I kiss her neck, Shaman's neck.
“Are you enjoying lap time?” Shaman asks.
“Yes, Master.” Reserved for pirates. 8pm. Need to write.
“Attached, sweet,” Audrey murmurs.
“Can I-I'd like to touch your hair please.”
“Will you ever feel we've been in relationship long enough that you don't have to ask to touch my hair when you have my attention?” She laughs. “Of course you may. Do you like this twist out?”
“Yes, love. It's so fun.” The silky weave slips under my fingers. I squinch my face.
“I know. You'd like to ask why the change, but you remember that's mostly irrelevant for me.”
I start to feel the tingles of His closeness, her closeness within me. I touch her cheek. I touch His collarbone. My nipples tingle and then my pecs, as if I'm wearing my chest binder when I'm not.
“Perfect. Pecs. I love your pecs,” Audrey murmurs.
Shaman brushes His fingers over my ankles. “Enjoying not shaving again?”
“Yup, Master. Thanks for being so understanding about me finding comfort in body hair sometimes and other times not.” No need for guilt. He said so. Tingles like a good energy drink caress the top and then the back of my brain. Virtually, my toes curl.
“That's right, baby. Shaman and I see you in the moment, not constrained by pre-determined notions of who and what you should be based on the gender assigned you at birth.” Audrey kisses my forehead.
Shaman kisses my forehead. “So why do I get treated with a naked wench on my lap?”
“'Cause it's just us in the house, Master.” I lick my lips as I spiral into the fullness of an orgasm, safeguarded by Shaman's and Audrey's loving embraces.
“Feel that goodness, love. Secure attachment with memories of me tonight? Cuddly snuggle time with Shaman soon?”
I giggle and kiss Shaman's jaw. “Might we move to bed, Master?”
“Lap time's not already done?”
I kiss Audrey's lips as she dips her fingers between my legs. “Well I was hoping for some cuddly snuggle time in bed, Master.”
“Is that just code for sex?” He grins down on me.
“Di di di di di!” I shake my head, grinning in response. “No, it's not, Master. Although sex would be very good too soon. I did my stretchies so I can ride you, Master.”
Audrey kisses my forehead. “Tonight, love.”
I kiss her back. “Love you.” I break out in huge giggles as Shaman struggles to His feet while still holding me. “Yay! Cuddly snuggle time!” I let the sheet fall away from me and kiss Shaman's neck as the release of my orgasm still plays through my body. “Struggle cuddles?”
He shakes His head. “You're 4.”
My current therapist has diagnosed me as having Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD); recently we discussed Complex PTSD- which is sadly still not in the DSM (the so-called “bible of psychiatry”). Yes, that diagnosis describes me well. My therapist and I have a great working relationship- we are both rather academic-minded and so we often share books, articles, topics. One idea I wandered upon was secure attachment; because of the abuse I've lived with, I'm not very securely attached to anyone, even my Master.
I wish I could remember where I'd read the explanation of “Find a person as an adult whom you can ask if they will be your secure attachment person.” Importantly (according to my source), you should ask the person if they will fill this “secure attachment person” role. My Master, He has enough of His own issues. However, Audrey suggested I ask her to file the role and she said yes after I asked her. Given that she's 69 and doesn't keep a “second shift life” as I do, she's often fast asleep by the time I go to bed a bit after midnight. So she recommended a bedtime ritual of “attaching to memories of [her].”
Both my Master and I have issues with anxiety; a friend of His bought us a queen-size weighted blanket. While at first I couldn't use it by myself- He works 3rd shift and I try to keep to 2nd shift- I've grown to find it comfortable and useful. So now my bedtime ritual is getting into the made bed (flat sheet, comforter, weighted blanket) surrounded by stuffed animals and laying on my back with my arms at my side as I focus on memories of Audrey. My mental voice meanders between Audrey's voice and my own, even as my memories work through each of my senses and sensory systems. I sometimes select specific memories, such as Audrey telling me that she couldn't spend time with me because she has other relationships to attend to, other things to do.
Now the thing that caught my attention as I was doing this last night- why Audrey, not Shaman (that's my Master's nickname)? To say “He has His own issues” seemed like a cop-out, even as I thought it and then wrote it. (Wrote it? Does it still count as “wrote” when I do my “writing” on a keyboard?) My mind started to create a table.
Physical. Nesting partner. (I had a 3rd thing, but it's not coming back into my mind.)
Virtual. Non-nesting partner. (I never did figure out a 3rd thing for her.)
Of course, Audrey made the offer; I'm still working on being able to ask Shaman for things I need that He's capable of acquiring and/or giving. As with another thing I worried, I think I have a ponder that's related to polyamory, not to the differences in Shaman's and Audrey's being.
I took to my blog to write this out because talking about Audrey in online support groups most often gets incorrect, offensive, “armchair psychologist”-type responses. Not too long ago, I ran to my therapist, upset that someone had said that they were very concerned about me and asking if I'd been screened for Schizophrenia- based on me stating Audrey's validity.
In the US, monogamy comes along with this expectation that partners should be everything to each other; I reject that notion. So why not Shaman? Because Audrey said yes.
I was pleasantly surprised when so many liked last week's story and wanted a part two; I admit, I hadn't actually written a part two, but I started to think of what would happen next. You see, I wanted to do “dates” among the Quad- the four main characters from the spin-off I'm writing in November for Nanowrimo this year. Well, polyamorous dates could look rather different.
Chris stopped beside Tonya's couch and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mommy. I took a nappy like you said.”
Tonya put her finger against her lips. She talked quietly, “Josh is still asleep.”
“I'm waking up,” Josh muttered.
“Really, Sir?” Tonya asked with gentle teasing in her voice.
“Chris, sweetie, could you go get milk and cookies enough for Mommy, Chris, and you?”
“Yes, Mommy.” Chris wandered out of the living room and around a corner.
“And now a reward for a wonderfully told story.” Josh moved to sit at Tonya's hip.
“Thanks, Sir.” She licked her dry lips and waited.
He turned onto his side and led her to turn toward him. He swirled his tongue around her navel before tracing the line of darker hair guiding his attention lower.
Worthy. Beautiful. She sighed when he loosened the red ribbon that tied her skirt closed before pushing the fabric behind her.
“Remember that I love your body hair as you enjoy it. The fact that you do not shave doesn't disgust me.” He brushed his thumbs over her pubic hair. His fingers pushed into her thick bush before clasping her labia and holding them apart.
As if awakening suddenly to the position in which they lay, she took advantage of his lack of bottoms to nuzzle her face against his pelvic area. She opened her mouth to allow her tongue to trace his clitorophallus from base to tip. His groans against her brought her extra pleasure. She sucked his length into her mouth.
The furnace came to life then, ending a ripple of heat across their partly clothed bodies.
He grasped her thighs. He matched her sucking with his own, her clit trapped between his lips. One hand moved slightly to clutch at the back of her thigh, her ass. He pressed his chin against the opening to her vagina. He moved his jaw so the fuzz of his facial hair scratched her skin.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. The musk of his arousal, the moisture on his hair, the feel of him touching her all filled her senses. Reward must mean no begging today. She relaxed into the whirlpool of orgasm sitting in her clit. Wetness flowed over her chin as Josh enjoyed her orgasm with his own. She continued to suck his clit and flicked her tongue against its side within her mouth.
His fingers pressed harder into her skin. He released her clit to shove his tongue into her vagina, the thick muscle moving in circles within her. He held on through her bucking orgasm, stronger than the first one. He left off fucking her with his tongue to suck on her clit again, increasing the strength of her bucking.
She screamed on his midpoint clitorophallus for a long moment before she pulled up, only to arch her back until she could press her tongue against his bonus hole.
They fell down into a tangled pile.
“Thanks, Sir,” she murmured. “I love you.”
“Love you too, my sweet woman.”
So it may not be obvious how Missy's photos inspired this piece, but they did. I decided to pair a background experiment with Nanowrimo novel planning. I'm writing a spin-off to my “Laura and Jack” trilogy, but it's set a year after the trilogy, so I'm working out some questions about the polyamorous relationship that makes most the secondary characters. The background color, font size (probably), and font color (possibly) are about something I've realized about myself- I'm on the Autism Spectrum and many of my sensory issues and other developmental concerns that I learned to live with were exacerbated by my nervous breakdown earlier this year. I practically “live in the dark,” use a screen tinter extension to darken Chrome, and my word processor is set to a purple background. So, my own posts hurt my eyes to read. And please excuse weirdness of punctuation. Using speech-to-text to write Tonya's story and everything tonight as me just off grammar.
Within polyamorous relationship that includes 4 people, the characters shown here are Josh and Tonya; Josh is Tonya's dominant.
Josh lay down between Tonya's legs and rested his head on her lap. “Tell me a story.”
“Yes, Sir.” Tonya pondered his order as she rubbed his temples. He didn't specify the type of story. Do I ask for clarification or just start? With her gaze, she traced the lightening scars from his top surgery. I need to tell him the story, not just have thoughts in my head. Story. “Sir, does that mean I don't need to use your title during the story?”
Chuckling, Josh looked into Tonya's eyes. “Unless you get us into the story, yes you are excused from my title. Do love the changes in you, sweet.”
Tonya leaned over to press an upside-down kiss on Josh's lips. She gently brushed her fingers over the gorgeous sprinkling of beard along his jaw. “Blah blah blah.” She laughed. “Okay, Sir, starting for real now.”
He arranged himself so his arms rested comfortably on her legs.
“Two people locked eyes across a crowded dance floor. He, at least he looked like a he, started to cut through the crowd with one long-fingered hand urging people to move side so he could make his way to her, at least she looked like a her. Their first touch created a visible static electricity spark.”
Story. He wants a story, but he looks so good naked.
“My name is Judas and my pronoun are they, them. Want to go outside where we can talk?”
“Sure. All my friends call me Donut. My pronouns are she, her.”
“They made their way outside and continued just a bit further past the smokers.”
“Pronouns are alright?” they asked.
“Of course, anything more doesn't need to be said unless we're heading to bed or somewhere else to have sex. Are you interested in BDSM?” she asked.
“A little bit, although that's not the only way I enjoy interacting with other people.”
Tonya took in a deep breath and studied Josh's body language for a moment; she brushed her teeth over her bottom lip.
“I could do with some cuddling. Well maybe near the beach, watching the waves come up onto the sand,” she said.
“The smallest moan passed their lips. 'Some cuddling sounds so nice'.”
“Just cuddling?” she asked.
“Unless you change your mind and I find you haven't had any mind or mood-altering substances, just the cuddling.”
“She laughed with joy. 'Wonderful to meet someone who actually cares about consent'.”
“They offered their hand and she wrapped her larger fingers around them. 'Good thing the beach isn't too far away. The cuddling will have to be clothed for now'.”
“With both of us in soft dresses, we should be fairly comfortable.”
Josh's toes curled and his hips thrust upward. After a low groan, he turned onto his side, kissed Tonya's inner thigh, and settled to nap.
Wonderful picture, but I left for church pondering inspiration. That's when this started- I won't be sure of any labels until I'm done :D
“Revelation isn't sealed.”
Birth: “It's a girl!”
“Joseph Christopher won't work.”
1st grade: “Joelle is too pretty a name to shorten.”
Pregnancy: “I know I'm having a boy.”
July 4, age 15: “Mom, I'm questioning my gender.”
My age 40: “I'm non-binary, agender.”
What does it mean for me in partnered sexuality when most sexual orientations are focused on gender I don't feel?
I'm queer, that word that my tongue stumbled over when called on to identify myself.
Can I reclaim this wandering into hotness? Would it be as easy as jumping into talk about genitals? My mind cries for newness, something other than penis-in-vagina intercourse.
How was I, the Autistic introvert, talked into speed dating? At least, polyamorous people are welcome at this one.
“Hello, I'm Joey.”
The person stared at me open-mouthed, not introducing themselves.
“I'm not usually good at mixers, but I figured two minutes would help me control talking about my special interests. I'm Autistic.”
The bell rang; the person on the other side of the table changed.
“Hi. I'm Joey.”
“Joey?” the person echoed.
“Are you a lesbian?” Their nose wrinkled.
“Are you a bigot?” I replied.
“Of course not,” they protested.
“Your body language seems to disagree.”
Thankfully, the bell rang and people changed seats again.
“Hi, I'm Joey. My pronouns are he, she, or they.”
“Hi, Joey. I'm Pair. My pronouns are they, them. Might I ask, you appear flustered. Are you neurodivergent somehow?”
My shoulders relaxed. “Yes, I'm Autistic.”
Pair nodded. “Dyspraxia and Sensory Integration. Don't like that last word.”
“Would you like to skip out to a setting more comfortable for you?”
“Yes, please. I'd like that very much.”
Pair got up from the table and came around to me; the organizer rushed over, her cheeks flushed redder than her poorly-applied blush. “Joey and I are done here. No need to issue refunds.”
“But-but!” the organizer lady puffed.
“We're removing an equal number of folx from the gathering.” Pair walked to the place we piled our belongings; I followed just a step behind. They grabbed a denim bag covered in patches like They/Them and No TERFS/SWERFS and Queer. “Where would be somewhere you'd feel comfortable?”
“The library, but would you mind switching to writing so I can wear my headphones? They have those noisy lights that send me into sensory overload.”
“Me too.” They waited as I grabbed my bag. “You have your headphones with you?”
“Definitely. One partner said not to wear them and the other did.” I shrugged. “Not that I need to wear them with either of my partners.”
With borrowed netbooks in front of us, we sat side by side in one of the new booths at the library.
Pair typed, “This is much better. Mind I ask what's in your headphones? I'm listening to Holly Near.”
I typed, “I have the mixture of songs my daughter and I have placed on this MP3 player. Right now, it's Korn, Thoughtless.” I pursed my lips. “I just wrote about 'conversation as sex' for Masturbation Monday.”
“And that causes your current expression?”
Using my thumb and forefinger like a 'modified C hand' in ASL, I pulled the corners of my mouth up and down as my thoughts tried to catch up to their question. “I wanted something new, something different.”
“From what you've done? Or from what others are used to experiencing?”
I released my lips to just trace them with my index fingers, as if planning to sign “Talk-with.”
Without another comment from me, they typed, “This is our first time together; does that make it different from that other time?”
A small smile found its way onto my lips, changing their feel under my fingertips. I sipped from the new bottle that securely held my metal straw in place for me. Yum! Guava, mango, passion fruit juice! I placed my fingers back on the home row and typed. “I think my mind is clasping at minutiae. What I find sexy isn't necessarily what others do.”
“May I please touch your hand?”
I nodded before typing, “Yes.”
Their fingers moved under my palm as their thumb slid up and down the top of my hand.
As they continued to touch my right hand, I slowly typed with my left hand, “Good.” My toes curled in my shoes. When they released my hand, I typed, “Very good.” I sipped my juice and pondered our next date.